The Rebel’s Daughter (43 page)

Dear Helena

I hope you will accept this gift to remember
me and your home city.

I relate here a strange tale of
your former home, which may interest you. Lord Blanden has
complained for months about disturbances in the property at night,
which have increased in frequency since he returned in such sour
spirits from London.

His lady’s screams brought him
running in the middle of the night, armed with a loaded musket. He
fired at what he describes to anyone who will listen as a white
apparition.

When the house was roused and the candles
lit, there was nothing there, not even bloodstains.

More rational citizens suggest
that Blandness frantic shot went wild and the intruder fled, but
his lordship swears he aimed true. Blanden claims it was a demon;
one that couldn’t die and would be returning to kill them
all.

Now everyone talks of Blandness
ghost with a wry smile and sage nod.

He isn’t seen much in the city
now and even his servants have deserted him, which is no more than
he deserves for the way he treated the Woulfes. His Catholicism is
a particular cause for censure, as is the sad-looking old priest
living at Loxsbeare.

Go into your marriage with an easy mind,
dear sister, and be happy.

Your loving brother, Tobias.

Be happy. Could she dare expect
such a blessing? Wasn’t it enough to have the chance of a secure
home with a man who gave every indication he cared for her and
would be kind? Did being happy simply mean not being miserable? Or
was there more to it? She shivered, wrapping her arms around her
upper body, but it was not the night air that turned her blood
cold.
I wish
Mother was here
.

A sigh of disapproval and the distinctive
scent of bruised roses reached her, announcing the arrival of
Alyce. “What have I told you about unhealthy practices, my dear?
The night air is most injurious to your lungs.” She sailed across
the room and slammed the window shut, muttering darkly.

A smile tugged at Helena’s mouth; she had
never been able to explain to a city dweller like Alyce that
sometimes, she longed for the clean air of Devon and would dream
about filling her lungs with the scent of cut grass and damp
leaves.

Alyce turned from the window, her wired
fontange tilted forward from her crown with ribbon bows and lace, a
new fashion she carried off beautifully.

“
There
is something I need to discuss with you, Helena,” she said,
arranging herself on the chaise at the end of the Helena’s bed. “I
regard you as my own daughter, and as such feel I owe you a certain
courtesy.”

“
How
kind,” Helena murmured, surprised. Alyce had never sought her out
this way before. Her gaze drifted to a brown, leather-covered book
in Alice’s hands. Oh no, not Mistress Hannah Woolley? Amy Ffoyle
dragged her copy out at every opportunity, regaling Helena with the
woman’s wisdom for young housewives.

“
I know
what you are thinking.” Alyce smirked. “And no, this is not the
scribbling of that jumped-up lady’s maid with literary ambitions.
My dear, this is a far more interesting work. It is called
Aristotle’s Masterpiece.”

“
I don’t
think I am familiar with it.” Helena frowned.

Alice
’s eyebrows rose. “I would be most
surprised if you were. This book…” She patted the leather with
affection, “…contains all a woman should know when they become
wives. Or mistresses,” she added mischievously.

Helena
’s cheeks flamed. “I-I appreciate
your sentiments, Mistress Devereux, but-.”

Alyce interrupted her. “I don’t deal in
sentiments, as well you know. This” she slapped the cover
affectionately, “is a font of knowledge for an inexperienced
woman.” She paused to fix Helena with a hard stare. “I presume you
have no knowledge of men?”

Helena gasped, horrified.
“Never!”

“
Not
even with that young man, Blanden, was it?”

“
We were
no more than children.”

“
That is
no safeguard in my experience.” Alyce sniffed, flipping the pages.
“This part here will be of especial interest to you as a
maiden.”

Helena caught a glimpse of something she
never imagined to see on a printed page, and certainly not on her
wedding day. “There are - drawings.” She sucked in a shocked
breath.

“
My
dear,” Alyce gave a long-suffering sigh. “Later tonight, you will
be expected to know something of what is laid out here. You should
at least be forewarned.”

Helena opened her mouth to protest, but
Alyce held up a hand. “There’s nothing more disconcerting to a
red-blooded man than a shrinking virgin. His pleasure will be quite
spoiled if he has to make explanations and calm ragged
feelings.”

Helena swallowed. “Er-I feel sure Guy will
make my duties in that direction clear when we…”

“
Huh!
Then you will be more fortunate than many women. Oh, don’t glare at
me with such an injured expression, Helena. It will not harm you
one whit to read what Aristotle has to say.”

Helena
’s curiosity battled with her
embarrassment, but before she could decide how to react, Alyce
slammed the book shut, and rose. “Well, no one can say I did not
try, but if you choose to walk into marriage with the ignorance of
a lamb, I refuse to take the blame for any anguish that might be
caused.”

“
Don’t
go, Alyce. Maybe I was a little hasty. May I at least see?” What
was it she was asking to see?

Alyce inclined her head, sniffed and
resumed her seat. “I can spot Guy’s ilk at a glance,” she gave a
musical laugh, “he’ll need encouragement.”

“
What
sort of encouragement? “Helena asked nervously.

“
He
needs to know you aren’t hostile to the physical side of your
duties.”

“
I-I
have made it clear I shall be his true companion,” Helena
stammered, hurt.

Alyce regarded her with sympathy. “He
doesn’t want a companion, my dear, he wants a lover.”

“
But I
am to be his wife, not some tavern girl!”

“
Ah,
that is where so many young women misjudge the nature of marriage.
You should be civil and respectful towards him in the public eye
and a saucy, forward wench in the bedchamber.”

“
Are you
sure?”

“
I know
what I know. Now…” she softened her tone, “as a gentleman, Guy
would not expect you to have the proclivities of a
courtesan.”

“
Would I
knew what those were, I might anticipate married life with a little
less apprehension.” Helena surprised herself at her sharpness. She
had never admitted, even privately, that the prospect of married
life sometimes filled her with stomach-wrenching dread.

“
Then,
my dear, I and my friend Aristotle will show you.”

Together, they leafed through
the pages: Alyce enthusiastically, Helena with shaking fingers.
“See here, for instance.” Alyce ran a finger along a line of text.
““
A wife
must never be sorrowful or despairing when she lays with her
husband as should she conceive, the child would have a malevolent
temper.”“

Helena frowned. “Could that be
true?”

“
It
would certainly explain the disagreeable character of some of my
acquaintances.” Alice’s laugh came again. “The knowledge that their
parents conceived them in sorrow makes me less inclined to dislike
them so much.” Her exuberant mood was so infectious, that Helena
found herself laughing with her.

“
And
what of this, Mistress Devereux?” Helena asked,
“that man derives much more
satisfaction in the embraces of a loving wife, than in the wanton
dalliances of a deceitful harlot.”“

“
As to
that,” Alyce gave a knowing smile. “I would not place all my faith
in Aristotle’s wisdom.”

Helena suppressed the smile that tugged at
her mouth and turned the page slowly. “It appears most of this
advice is aimed at those seeking to begin and keep a pregnancy, as
if that were the only purpose of marriage.”

“
It is
the reason for life after all,” Alice’s face lapsed into
seriousness. “Apart from one’s duty to God, of course.”

“
Oh, yes
of course I didn’t…” Alice’s gaze met Helena’s, her lips twitched
and as one, they both burst into spontaneous, raucous
laughter.

The heady excitement of being part of the
world of married women and their secrets banished all traces of
Helena’s embarrassment. Being Guy’s wife was in reality far more
than playing housekeeper in his house and the preparation of his
meals; stuff of girlish fantasies compared with what Alyce was
showing her.

“
And
this is all quite necessary?” Helena asked, their reading
finished.

“
More to
be aspired to, rather than necessary. Such devices will contribute
much to his pleasure, and to yours.”

“
Mine?”
Helena lifted her eyebrows in surprise.

“
Of
course.” Alice’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “If you imagined
physical pleasure is solely a man’s domain, then you’ve been sorely
deceived.”

“
Not so
much deceived as kept ignorant,” Helena said, halted by the
appearance of Chloe, her pale eyes fixed nervously on the
chatelaine of Lambtons.

“
Ah,
here is your maid, come to dress you for the ceremony.” Rising she
hefted the volume into her arms, her eyes dancing with mischief as
she delivered her parting shot. “I shall see you later, my dear,
but remember, Aristotle and I will be waiting should you ever need
us again.”

* * *

Helena woke the
morning after her wedding in her husband’s arms, lying within the
warm darkness of the closed bed hangings, not daring to move in
case she woke him. Through a chink in the fabric, she saw it was
not quite light outside. She teased the hanging closed again with a
bare foot shutting out the frigid cold of the room.

Guy moved in
his sleep, his rough chin rubbing against her forehead. She smiled,
recalling the power that had been hers mere hours before.

Fortified by
some of Robert’s excellent wine, and using phrases she had never
used before, she had submitted to his embrace with uninhibited
delight and curiosity.

Disjointed
images replayed in her head of pale skin glowing red from the
firelight, their combined taut, urgent hands pulling and kneading;
his broad, naked shoulders and the swish of sheets combined with
the low creak of the bedframe beneath her.

She had
observed his responses in an almost detached way, marvelling as his
eyes grew smoky and his breathing quickened to an urgent moan in
response to her fingers exploring his bare skin.

She gazed at the prone figure beside her, his arm heavy across
her hip, and tried to identify what is was she felt for this man,
who was to be her companion
tell death did
them part
.

No desperate
longing tugged at her heart, nor did the prospect of his absence
fill her with dread, but there was safety and warmth in his
presence. Revelling in their new-found intimacy, she ran her hand
across his naked shoulders, stroking the soft hair at the nape of
his neck.

Recollections of their first night together sent ripples of
warmth into parts of her body she had barely been aware of before.
She hoped it would all be repeated, and often. She stretched
luxuriously under the coverlet, whispering to herself,
thanks to Alyce and the wisdom of Aristotle, I am
truly his wife now
.

“Is something
amiss?” Guy groaned sleepily into her shoulder.

Helena smiled.
“Nothing at all, husband. Everything is as it should be.”

The End

Also available from
Books We Love

The Woulfes of
Loxsbeare

Book 2 – The
Goldsmith’s Wife

About The Author

As a Londoner
constantly drawn back to the city, Anita connected with its history
at a young age. When the rest of the school trip were busy throwing
the contents of their lunch boxes across the school coach, Anita
daydreamed about men in high white wigs, long coats and petticoat
breeches climbing into sedan chairs on the cobbles of Paternoster
Row, where the sight of Christopher Wren being lowered down the
outside of the half built St Pauls Cathedral in a basket was a
daily occurrence.

The Woulfes of
Loxsbeare continues with Helena Woulfe’s story in London, where
life alters for everyone after the Glorious Revolution.

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