Under A Duke's Hand (23 page)

Gwen gawked at them. “Your husbands spank
you?”

The three of them stared back at her.

“Your husband hasn’t spanked you yet?” asked
Aurelia. “I mean, that’s wonderful.” She looked at her friends.
“Only a bit difficult to believe.”

“He has,” said Gwen, a blush rising in her
cheeks. “I didn’t realize it happened to other women. Your
marriages seem so happy.”

Minette laughed. “Oh, that has nothing to do
with it. In fact, our marriages are probably happier because our
husbands turn us over their knees once in a while. It dissipates
emotional tension.”

Josephine giggled along with her. “Along with
other kinds of tension.”

“There will be no spankings this time
around,” said Aurelia. “Hunter encouraged me to bring these along,
since...” She gave Gwen another apologetic look. “Well, you see, we
came to Arlington House to try to help your marriage. And a great
part of being married... Well, our husbands in particular have a
fondness and reputation for...”

“Just say it,” said Josephine. “All of them
are perverts of the highest degree.”

“They are all perverts,” agreed Aurelia with
a sigh. “Josie has the right of it.”

“But perverts in the nicest way,” said
Minette. “And once you learn about the sorts of things that arouse
gentlemen, it becomes easier to maintain marital harmony. Because
men can be very harmonious when they are having a good time in
bed.”

“Prettily put, Minette,” said Josephine.
“Aurelia, let’s dive into the naughty books.”

Gwen blinked as the ladies spread the books
and drawings out on the tabletop. They were of fine paper and
craftsmanship, at odds with the lurid subject matter. Naked,
cavorting ladies and gentlemen engaged in all manner of shocking
pursuits, and each drawing was accompanied by an equally sordid
description.
The Milk Maid shows her Master an extra “Measure”
of Service. The Horned Gentleman makes Merrie with Lady Diddle’s
Quim.

Aside from the sexual drawings, there were a
great many drawings depicting corporal punishment: maids getting
spanked, housekeepers getting spanked, wives getting spanked, even
gentlemen getting caned like schoolboys. There were drawings of Far
Eastern harems and parlor-room orgies, and abandoned masquerade
balls. Gwen had never seen such materials in her life, never even
imagined they existed. If she had, she might have been more
prepared for the things Arlington did to her.

“Oh, this one is my favorite,” said
Josephine, pointing to a pair of lords standing over a wide-eyed
servant girl, brandishing birch rods and outrageous erections.

Aurelia smothered a giggle. “Josie, you
trollop.”

“There is something about the look in that
one’s eyes,” said Minette with a theatrical shiver. “When Barrymore
looks at me like that, I run away.”

“But not fast enough to avoid being caught,”
said Josephine. “I know how that running-away thing works.”

“Nothing like a chase to get the blood
flowing,” agreed Aurelia. “It’s another form of teasing. Like
this.” She slid a page across the table to Gwen.

Gwen flushed as she regarded it. The woman in
the drawing was tied to a bed while her partner caressed her curves
with a garishly colored rose.

“How…interesting,” she offered, too ashamed
to admit that she’d been tied to a bed in that same way. She turned
it over, only to be confronted with another drawing that reminded
her of Arlington. It was the expression, the intent authority on
the man’s face as he fondled his lover’s nipples. She realized, on
further inspection, that the woman had whip marks on her
breasts.

“Oh, my,” Minette said, studying another
drawing. “Does Townsend do such things to you, Aurelia?” She turned
it sideways with a goggle-eyed expression. The pictured couple did
have a lot going on, with bondage, avid sex, and a line of waiting
footmen with cocks jutting from their breeches.

Aurelia took it from her and nodded. “Of
course. We do this every week.”

All of them erupted in laughter. Even Gwen
couldn’t help but smile. For sex to be funny… But in a way it
was
funny. It was funny and confusing, and enjoyable, and
terrifying. Gwen’s gaze fell on a drawing of a naked woman tied to
a pole, being whipped by her stern-faced captor. She sucked in a
breath.

“These materials are quite explicit, aren’t
they?” she said, to cover her distress.

Aurelia gave her an apologetic look. “My
husband amassed this collection in his younger days. It
is
a
bit shocking, isn’t it? But you needn’t do the things in these
pictures. You need only browse over them to feel inspired, and gain
new ideas. One of the most lovely things about marriage is the
pleasure you can give one another in private moments. Perhaps you’d
like us to help you think of things to do with Arlington to
increase your marital happiness. Improve your ‘connection,’ as you
say. If you have any questions, the lot of us have been married
awhile.”

“Yes, to utter perverts,” said Josephine.

“And we would be happy to be very open about
anything to do with marital intimacy,” Minette assured her. “You
needn’t be embarrassed at all.”

“Goodness,” said Gwen. “How very kind of you.
But...” She leafed through a few more of the pages, only to be
polite. “But this is not our problem. Our intimate life is...in
good order.”

Josephine looked at the other two and
shrugged. “Well, it
is
Arlington. One imagines he would ask
for what he wanted.” She turned to Gwen with an expression of
concern. “Does he ask you for all sorts of troubling things?”

“Josie,” Aurelia chided. “That’s
private.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not curious,” Josephine
said back to her. “Tell the truth, Gwen, he’s awfully commanding,
isn’t he? I always imagined he’d be a very demon in bed.”

Minette giggled behind her hand. Aurelia
tried to look outraged, but ended up looking curious too. “Is that
the problem, Gwen?” she asked. “Is Arlington...too much?”

Gwen rubbed her temple and took another sip
of tea. “Sometimes he seems too much,” she admitted. “But I...”

She looked at the three of them. They had
been so forthcoming, even bringing Lord Townsend’s naughty books
for her to look over. She decided to be forthcoming also. “He can
be a demon, yes,” she said, using Josephine’s word. “But I like it.
I enjoy it. That part of our marriage is all right. Maybe too
good.”

“How can it be too good?” asked Minette. “If
you enjoy one another, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Goodness,
when Barrymore gets going sometimes, he rather shocks me, but I’m
the first to admit I enjoy it all the same.”

The other ladies nodded in unison. “If you
and Arlington are well matched in that way,” said Josephine, “it
bodes well for your marriage all around.”

“I don’t know,” said Gwen. “I’m afraid it
just reinforces his feelings that I am not a proper lady. That I’m
not some duke or earl’s daughter, with courtly manners and an
impressive pedigree. I came to him a plain miss, reared in the
country. My father isn’t a wealthy man. He only earned his barony
from being in the war. I’m afraid that—” Tears welled in her eyes
again. “Oh, the duke disdains me so. I’m not even sure he means to
do it, but he does. I’m tired of feeling that I don’t make him a
worthy partner.”

Aurelia reached to squeeze her hand. “Oh,
Gwen, you mustn’t think that.”

“Everyone thinks it. Not just him. There has
been much gossip about our uneven match.”

“This for gossip,” said Josephine, snapping
her fingers. “And Arlington has never seemed a man to stand on
circumstance and titles. I’m a baron’s daughter too, you know, and
he’s never thought the lesser of me.”

Because you are not married to him
,
Gwen thought.
Nor are you Welsh, or common-born.
“It’s not
even a matter of social inequality, or gossip,” she said aloud.
“It’s that I always dreamed of marrying a man who loved me. I know
that sounds silly.”

“It doesn’t sound silly,” said Minette. “We
all dream of a loving marriage. I don’t know a woman in the world
who doesn’t. But it doesn’t always happen right away, especially
when it comes to arranged marriages. Sometimes love takes time.
Please, Gwen, don’t give up on Arlington yet. He’s a wonderful,
caring person. I pray for your happiness every day. We all do.
We’ve all become something like family, and families help one
another.”

“Yes,” said Aurelia. “You must give your
marriage more time, and as for the gossip, our holiday gathering
will put those wagging tongues to rest. You and Arlington can
welcome everyone to your home, and they’ll see how perfect you are
together.”

“I don’t know about having a big party,” said
Gwen. “If I cock it up, like I did the royal audience—”

“You won’t cock anything up, not with us to
help you,” said Josephine. “Minette can do the guest list and
Aurelia will do the planning, and I’ll handle the music and
decorations. All you have to do is spend time with Arlington, and
let love develop. He cares for you, Gwen. Minette was right when
she said he’s changed. I think marriage shall suit him nicely, once
the two of you have got things in hand.”

“And then there shall be babies,” said
Aurelia, “and laughter and love, and all the things you’ve always
wished for.”

Oh, how Gwen wished for happiness. If only it
didn’t seem such a great distance away.

* * * * *

Aidan walked through the rain to the stables,
cursing under his breath at the weather. Their dinner party was to
take place tomorrow, and the heavens had seen fit to send down a
mixture of ice and rain.

You cannot control everything.

He was coming to understand that. He could
not control sunny skies or callous gossip, or his friends’
good-natured meddling. He could not control his feelings toward his
wife. He could not tame his emotions into neatness or reason, and
the more his friends goaded him, the less self-assured he felt.

He opened the door and walked within the dim
interior, down the row of stalls to the one at the back. Eira
lifted her head at his approach. “Hello, pretty girl,” he
whispered, stroking her forehead. “Have you seen my wife? I thought
she might be here.”

Had he been reduced to conversing with
horses, then? Things were no better than before his friends
appeared. There was only more pressure, and an ever-present shame
that they did not rub along so comfortably as the other couples.
When he tried to behave comfortably toward her, it always went
wrong, or felt awkward. He’d grow embarrassed, which in turn made
him angry, and he didn’t want to be angry with her. None of this
was her fault. It wasn’t her fault that her father had petitioned
the king, who had then requested them to marry. It wasn’t her fault
she wasn’t at home here.

He heard a sound above, in the hayloft. Was
she hiding from the chattering ladies, or from him? He climbed the
ladder and found her curled against the back wall, under the
window.

“You’re going to get wet,” he said. “You’ll
take a chill, and you won’t be able to go to the party
tomorrow.”

She looked almost hopeful at that. “It’s not
wet here,” she said. “Your stable doesn’t leak, or your
windows.”

“I thought you’d be down with your horse.” He
walked over, brushed away a bit of straw, and sat on the boards
beside her.

“I visited Eira for a while, then I came up
here to listen to the rain.” She tilted her head. “You can’t hear
it in the house when it rains. I miss the sound of it. I always
heard it when it rained at home.”

His lips tightened.
Not her fault.
“Still miss home, do you?”

“I miss some things about it. I miss the
hayloft.” A smile flitted across her lips. “I used to play with my
cousin there. Tilda and I would make dolls out of straw, and sew
clothes for them. We played the most imaginative games.” She
shrugged and turned to him. “Are the ladies looking for me again?
I’m sorry. It’s only that I need a break from them now and
again.”

“I know what you mean,” he said ruefully.
“It’s the same with my fellows. They mean well, as overbearing as
they are.”

“I know. I don’t wish to hurt their feelings
when they’ve been so kind to us.”

“I don’t think they are hurt. I think they
are concerned.” He picked up a bit of straw and split it into
pieces. “They wish us to be happy. They want this party to be a
success.”

“They say everyone will want to come see me.
Am I such an exotic creature?”

He looked over at her in the loft’s dim
light. “Yes, you are.” How beautiful she was, and how unknowable,
and sad. He reached to trace a lock of her hair, as blue-black as
Eira was snowy.

“Why haven’t you come back to my bed?” she
asked.

He let the bit of hair go. “I don’t want to
trouble you while the ladies are here,” he lied. The truth was, he
didn’t trust himself. The more frustrated he got, the more he
feared hurting her again, holding her down, taunting her, using her
in ways no man ought to use his wife.

He wanted to have a good relationship with
her, like his friends had with their wives. If only it was as easy
as doing some particular thing, or saying some particular right
words, but he didn’t know what those words were. “Sometimes I think
about that afternoon in the meadow,” he said quietly. “I wish we
could always be those people, Jack and Rose, flirting together
without a care in the world.”

“I had a care in that meadow,” she said. “I
was to marry a duke the day after the morrow. A man I’d never
met.”

He frowned at her grim tone. “So you
were.”

“And you were to marry me. You didn’t even
care.”

“I hadn’t met you yet,” he said in his
defense.

She looked away from him, at the rain pelting
the glass. “You speak of that time in the meadow as if it was a
pleasant thing, but you took advantage of me. You thought me
someone of no consequence, and so you toyed with me, and
manipulated me into doing inappropriate things.”