Cressida's Dilemma (8 page)

“My husband,” she whispered through her fingers as she hunched over, covering her face. “I heard he attends Mrs. Plumb’s salons and that he’s”—she sucked in a shaky breath—“taken a mistress.” What did it matter that her dreadful fears were revealed to this stranger? A kind stranger with a motherly touch. Cressida was too distraught for caution. “At first, I didn’t believe it. No.” She drew herself up straight. “I don’t believe it. Not my husband, who’s shown me nothing but kindness, respect and affection since we met. And yet—”

The specter of what the unknown man in the room beyond had come for, and why—taking his pleasures like an arrogant young god—returned to haunt her. Was that what the men who came here indulged in? Did it really give them pleasure? Cressida had never touched her husband intimately with more than a fleeting, half-accidental caress. She’d allowed him to take control, and although their lovemaking had been wonderful, she’d never in a million years dreamed of taking the initiative in such wanton exploration.

The idea made her squirm with embarrassment at the same time as she felt her body burn with a slow, intense heat, accompanied by another gush of wicked moistness in that mysterious part of her body that no one talked about.

She shifted position, unable to look Miss Mariah in the eye.

“You must love your husband very much to come to a place like this if you are the innocent you appear to be,” remarked her new friend. “I think you are very brave.”

“Or very stupid,” sniffed Cressida. “If I’d been a better wife, he’d never have strayed, would he?”

“How like a woman to blame oneself. If your husband has strayed,
who
has committed the sin?”

Cressida stilled. She’d never thought of it in those terms. Then guilt, a far more loyal companion than she was a wife, washed over her, and she blurted out the truth of their failing marriage—her terror of pregnancy.

And as she spoke, she felt the tenseness drain from her for it was catharsis to voice the sense of obligation and the continual fear which drained the joy from her marriage and which she could not even hint at to Justin because it branded her such a failure.

“Mama died giving birth to my brother, her sixth child. I’ve had five children in less than eight years…” She’d started so well, but now she could barely get the words out as she hunched over, speaking between sobs. “Each year, I have another child, and each time, it’s been harder. I cannot bear it anymore. I need a rest, yet until this moment, I couldn’t even put my fear into words. No wonder he’s hurt and confused and”—she gulped—“needing diversion.” For as she said the words, she allowed in just a little more doubt. Justin was the kindest of men and she knew he loved her, but men needed physical release in a way women did not. Would it be so very surprising if he had come to Mrs. Plumb’s seeking what he could not get at home? Had Cressida any right to despise him if he did? After all, she was hardly honoring her side of the bargain. As part of their marriage contract, she was obliged to fulfill her conjugal duties, yet not once had Justin persisted in an act that clearly was distasteful to her these days.

She glanced at Miss Mariah, disappointed, though not surprised, to see the shock on her face.

So this woman thought Cressida gravely remiss, too. Quickly, she rose, wrinkling her nose at the smell of cheap perfume and staring at the faded, drawn curtains, wondering if the moon was out and how fast she could be back in the safety of her own home. “I’m wicked, I know! You have every right to look at me like I’ve failed my duty. I know what I must do now. I have to win him back. I have to be the wife he wants and needs.” She only realized how hard she’d been shaking when the woman put her hands on her shoulders to push her back down into her seat. Cressida welcomed the comfort in the gesture, the soothing smile. Closing her eyes, she whispered through clenched teeth, “Even if it kills me.”

Her companion’s words had the comfort of a caress as she deflected blame away from Cressida, letting in hope like the sun into her dark, dull mind. “My poor child. Surely you don’t think I condemn you for such an understandable fear. If you only knew how easy it was to be helped, and yet women like you are kept in ignorance. Truly, you may hold your husband in thrall, or submit, or whatever it is that makes you feel you’re doing your duty, but please understand there is no reason for you to make sacrifices.”

In all her life, Cressida had never discussed the intimacies of marriage. To do so now felt like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She raised hopeful eyes. This woman didn’t think Cressida a disloyal wife?
No reason to make sacrifices?

Her companion cleared her throat, as if understanding the delicacy her approach required for one of Cressida’s innocence and ignorance. She smoothed her cerulean skirts as she began to pace, biting her lip as if she were contemplating a great conundrum. “Lord knows, it’s important enough, but preventing conception is not a subject considered appropriate talk between husbands and wives of your station. It would be safe to assume you have not asked your husband to take precautions?”

Cressida gasped. “Precautions?” For a moment, she grappled with the meaning, much less the concept. “How could I—?”

Smiling, her friend turned and walked slowly toward the window. “Of course not,” she said, turning as she grasped the sill. “It is a conversation a man has with his mistress, not his wife. I daresay you do not even know wet nursing your child will lessen the likelihood of conception.”

Cressida frowned and shook her head. “When I wanted to suckle my children myself,” she said, “my mother-in-law told me it was not the role of a woman in my position. She found me a wet nurse, a healthy, kind woman, who has nursed all except little Thomas, my only son, a sickly child who needs all my care.” Her voice broke. “I should be with him now.”

“Little Thomas no doubt has a devoted nursemaid. But, my dear, abstinence is not the only answer. If you still harbor such a
tendre
for your husband, surely he is sufficiently in tune with your feelings to have remarked upon your withdrawal from the usual intimacies?”

They had ventured too far for Cressida to feel embarrassed. It was even a relief for her to relive her awful exchange with Justin some months before and again just after Lady Belton’s ball. “My husband did ask me,” she managed, twisting her hands in her lap, “after yet another of my excuses, whether I was afraid of conceiving a child.”

There was a pause. “And your reply?”

Miserably, Cressida admitted, “I adamantly denied it—”

“Good Lord, child, why? Not every husband shows such a capacity for understanding.”

Even now, Cressida couldn’t quite understand her reasons, though she recalled that at the time, she’d been fueled by fear and obedience. Four nights ago had been no different. “My mother-in-law told me it was my duty never to question my husband and to deny him nothing. Little Thomas is our only son, and being such a sickly child, she reminded me that I must ensure more sons in the nursery.”

“But not every year! How many children did you say you had?”

“Five. A child for almost every year we’ve been married. Then, when our youngest was only a few months old, I started making excuses to my husband each time he—” Dabbing at the fresh tears that ran down her cheeks, Cressida stood up. “I must go! I was a fool to come here. I have friends who have nurseries larger than mine and, no doubt, far more satisfied husbands, so of course mine is perfectly justified—”

“Stop!” Arresting her retreat with a stern frown, her friend went on. “You say you love your husband.”

“I
adore
him—”

“Yet you cannot speak to him of your fears?”

“What do wives know of such things?” Despairingly, Cressida continued, supporting herself on the back of the sofa, “My mother died when I was a child. Whom can I ask? No one told me what to expect on my wedding night, much less—” Taking a deep, sustaining breath, she calmed herself. “Do you have children?” she asked the woman.

Her new friend certainly inferred that she knew a lot more about minimizing their likelihood than Cressida did. And she must be ‘experienced’, otherwise she’d not be here.

She thought Miss Mariah had not heard, for she appeared distracted as she fiddled with the tassels of the brocade curtain. “No,” she said finally.

“But you’ve had lovers?” Cressida heard the desperate note in her voice, as if pleading for the two to be compatible. How pathetic she must seem. This was a fool’s errand. “I’m sorry. That was impolite of me.” She clasped her reticule, straightened, and took a step toward the door.

“Home, to your children?” A smile hovered about Miss Mariah’s mouth as she fixed Cressida with a level stare. “Or to find your husband and explain what is at the root of your troubles? If he is as considerate as it would appear, I think your frankness will not go unrewarded.”

Cressida winced. “My youngest is teething—” she mumbled.

“With a competent nursery maid. I’ll wager your husband needs you more. Listen to me. I know all about husbands, too. I was married for many years, and I can assure you that husbands and lovers are no different where a desirable woman is concerned.” With an incisive look she asked, “I am curious. If you
had
found your husband here, in the arms of his mistress, do you think your feelings for him would survive the trauma? Yes, I know straying husbands are a matter of course, but it is easier to ignore and forgive what is not presented to you on a platter.”

Through gritted teeth, Cressida maintained what she truly believed. “I will
always
love him, for if he’d strayed, I’d know it was only because I’d driven him to it.”

She’d reached the door and now turned, hurt and angered by the smile on Miss Mariah’s face. “You think it’s not true? I’ve had time to reflect, and I’ve been reminded of my duty. Women like me have no choice but to be compliant wives if we want to trade in happiness. I am going home to wait for my husband and to do whatever is required so that he will never seek diversion elsewhere. I shall return to reclaim his heart.” Lowering the veil of her bonnet, she put out her hand. “You have been patient, listening to my foolishness. You talk of sacrifices not being required, but I am not—” She swallowed. “That kind of woman. Women like me must honor our marriage vows in return for comfort and security. We have an obligation to our husbands, and I’m about to fulfill mine, though, truly, I thank you for your good advice.” Righteous indignation and purpose fueled her decisive nod as she pushed away Miss Mariah’s restraining hand to turn the doorknob, but it was the woman’s soft, suggestive words that proved too intriguing to resist.

“It is not your husband’s heart that needs repossessing but his desire. Of course you are upset, my dear, but think a moment on the reasons you came here…of your fears and what I can teach you.” She put her hand on Cressida’s shoulder, then gently touched her cheek.

The gesture of sympathy was almost more than Cressida could bear, but she had to leave before she succumbed to the fresh wave of self-pity that threatened to overcome her.

“Don’t act with too much haste and undo all the good that’s come from your bravery tonight,” Miss Mariah said, rubbing Cressida’s shoulder, tucking an escaped tendril behind her ear. “I would be very happy if you would like to come back next Wednesday so I can tell you more about the many women
like you
who do not have extensive nurseries but who are equally dutiful wives. I can show you how to satisfy your husband without necessarily conceiving a child.”

Cressida stilled. She felt her mouth drop open. This was the second time the woman had alluded to such a possibility, the first she’d said it in such direct words.

“Satisfy my husband without conceiving a child.” She repeated the words, more as an incantation than questioning the assertion.

Her friend gripped Cressida’s fingertips and gave a comforting squeeze. “That’s what women do when they’re not raised in fear and ignorance.”

Chapter Five

She’d learned nothing, yet she’d learned too much to go home and meekly await Justin’s return. Excitement thrummed through Cressida’s veins as she stepped out of Miss Mariah’s sitting room and into the dimly lit corridor, lowering her head as two passers-by approached. A smirking young man was holding up a woman old enough to be his mother, whose drunken laughter and unsteady gait sent them on a trajectory that required Cressida to press herself against the wall for fear of being bowled over.

Lord, she thought, panic gripping her as she touched her thick veil for reassurance, ducking into an alcove to tidy her hair so it was completely concealed by the ugly bonnet. What would Justin say if he discovered her in such a place? His faith in her constancy as a pliant, loving wife would be rocked to the core. Could he even look at her in the same way, knowing what she must have seen simply by coming here?

Yet she’d gained so much. And soon, she’d gain so much more. In a few days’ time, she’d have all the knowledge she needed to remind Justin of the glorious days when they’d reveled in their newly wedded bliss.

Entering through a doorway at the end of the corridor, she tried to concentrate on the hope she now embraced rather than the guilt and shame that would stifle her if she let it. She must put it out of her mind. Never hint to Justin what she’d seen—

With sudden disorientation, she realized that what she’d believed to be the hallway was instead another private sitting room, cozily furnished with a fire crackling in the grate. In the far corner was a desk lit by an Argand lamp, at which sat a gentleman bent over a document he was reading. His frown indicated the deepest concentration, his left hand thrumming his knee, his right foot tapping as if he was agitated. Like everyone else here this evening, he was dressed in masquerade, a demi-mask half covering his face that he must have forgotten to remove, considering no one else occupied the room. The pristine spill of his cravat was the only relief to his austere clothing, which was cut to perfection and which clung to him…

In the most heart-stopping way.