Page 86 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle

‘I’d like that,’ Kitty said.

And so the conversation limped on between two weary people doing their best; until the lateness of the hour released them, and they retired to their suite and their waiting servants.

Changing again, this time into a nightgown, washing face and hands, having her hair taken down by Marie – from being warmly sleepy Kitty became nervously wide awake. Marie, fortunately, was not talkative, and attended to her in rather grumpy silence, going away at last leaving her sitting up in bed and prey to her thoughts.

Two days before the wedding, Mama had summoned her, alone, to her private sitting-room, and after staring at her disconcertingly for some time, she had said, ‘There are things I have to tell you, Catherine, on the eve of your wedding.’ She had paused, again for a long time, staring into the distance, while Kitty wondered what she had done wrong. Then abruptly she’d resumed. ‘When you are alone together, in the bedroom, your husband will want to do certain things. You will find it strange, perhaps unpleasant, but I assure you it is necessary to the creation of children. It is your duty to endure it. Do not question your husband, or protest. Make no sound – it would be most indecorous. Above all, do not cry afterwards – men hate that above anything.’

Kitty felt cold with fright. ‘Wh-why would I cry?’ she stammered. ‘What—?’

‘I do not propose to go into detail,’ said Lady Bayfield, grimly. ‘It is not something one speaks about. I will just say that if you experience pain, it will be brief. After the first time there is usually none.’

‘But …’ Kitty began, with a score of questions pressing on her.

Lady Bayfield stopped her with an upraised hand. ‘Obey your husband, try to please him. It is a relatively minor thing to endure, but men find it important, so you must be agreeable about it, and try not to show distaste. That is all. You may go now.’

Kitty had not spoken to Nina about it. Nina was not going to be married, and presumably unmarried girls weren’t allowed to know. In the whirlwind of the wedding she had half forgotten about it, but now – her anxiety tripped by Marie’s grimness – she supposed that the strange ritual, whatever it was, was about to happen. Sitting up in bed waiting, she felt like a sacrificial victim. But it was silly: Giles was not going to cut her throat. Whatever it was he had to do to her, she would bear it bravely, for his sake.

The door opened and he came in from the adjoining room. Her stomach swooped sickeningly, and a cold sweat broke out on her back. She couldn’t look at him. She stared down at her hands and felt herself trembling.

‘Shall I put the light out?’ he said, and his unexpected voice made her jump.

‘Yes, please,’ she whispered. She thought it would be better if she couldn’t see him. But as soon as he did, her anxiety increased. Now she couldn’t see what was coming.

The mattress moved under her as he climbed into bed. She swallowed hard. This was Giles, whom she loved more than anything in her life. Whatever he wanted, she wanted it too. She felt him lie down, and then he put his hands on her shoulders and drew her to him, and she went, trembling, frightened, willing.

Giles entered the bedroom wishing he could be anywhere else. She looked so pathetic and child-like in her white nightgown, her hair loose on her shoulders, that he felt like a brute by comparison, a marauding Goth. It was now his duty to – well, not exactly assault, but in the circumstances it was not far off it – to do those things to a very young girl who had, he was absolutely sure, no idea of what was coming. He had to do it, whether he wanted to or not. The responsibility for getting it done was all on his shoulders – and, as it happened, he had never done it before.

Oh, he had had the normal feelings from time to time. As he had told Richard, he had kissed girls, and there had been that little episode with Ippy Cobham, the daughter of the publican at the Royal George. But he had not done everything with her. There had been fumblings, certain areas of the body had been touched with mutual pleasure, an outcome had been achieved – by him, at least – but there had been no actual penetration.

He knew the theory, of course, but he had never completed the act. His life had always been so full of other things, there hadn’t been time, and young women had hardly come in his way. Richard, as a soldier, had presumably had access to various sorts of camp followers. Well, he was not going to be too apologetic about it – he had always rather looked down on men who scattered their seed willy-nilly. And his adventure in the hay barn behind the Royal George had left him feeling rather grubby …

But now this. He felt too embarrassed to look at her, and asked if he could turn out the light. It was easier in the darkness. He shed his dressing-gown, felt his way into bed, and, summoning up all his will, drew her towards him.

She came to him fluidly, and her soft, slender arms going round his neck unlocked something in him. Carefully, slowly, so as not to startle her, he began to caress her. Her skin was soft and warm and silky. His body began to stir. Perhaps it would not be so bad after all. She let him manoeuvre her into the right position, seeming willing, ready to learn. The moment of penetration was difficult, but then suddenly all was smooth and easy, and the sensation was overwhelming, so different from anything felt or guessed at before. He was glad for a fierce moment that it was his first time, as it was hers. Then there was no more thought. It was a storm of almost agonising pleasure. Dimly he thought that he understood now why literature and poetry made such a big thing of it.

She had not made a sound. When his tumbling senses slowed enough for him to remove himself carefully from her, he could hear her rapid breathing, and was afraid she might be crying. ‘Did I hurt you?’ he whispered. He thought she said, ‘No,’ but the word was too small to be sure. He turned onto his back and drew her to him, and she came with that same fluid willingness, her body folding into the lines of him, and he heard her give a small sigh. He could not mistake that sound – it was a sigh of content. He was overwhelmed with gratitude and tenderness towards her, and fell instantly into a dead sleep.

Kitty woke to a sense of absolute happiness, something she’d never felt before. For a moment she was puzzled, not knowing where she was. Then she became aware of the unexpected bulk of a body in bed beside her, and memory came flooding back.

Mama had been right, it had hurt, but only for an instant. And after that, it was – oh, there were no words for it! She never could have imagined such bliss. And then he had taken her in his arms, and she had fallen asleep, her head on his chest, cradled and warm and protected and safe in the circle of him, so utterly happy that if she had died then she would not have thought her life wasted.

She felt his breathing change, knew he had woken. After a moment he loosened his grasp a little so that he could look down at her, and she looked into his face properly for the first time since they had been married. How she loved him! She was the luckiest person in the world. She smiled.

The smile seemed to surprise him for the fraction of a second. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

She knew – she didn’t know how, some new womanly knowledge, she supposed – that he meant the thing they had done last night. Mama had implied it was something a man did to a woman, that the woman had to put up with, but that was not true. It was something they had done together; and she answered his question with a rapturous ‘Oh, yes!’

He looked at her quizzically and freed one hand to push the hair back from her face. ‘Really?’ he said.

‘Can we do it again?’ she asked.

For an instant he was shocked, then he laughed, not at her but in happiness. Her nightgown was twisted up and rucked and he said diffidently, ‘Can we get rid of this, do you think?’ He helped her take it off, and now she experienced the new bliss of her naked skin against his. It was astonishingly good. She thought he felt the same, because he started to breathe faster, and in a moment stretched his body over hers and—

No words for it.

Afterwards, she felt agreeably sleepy again. She wanted to ask him what time it was, but it didn’t seem terribly important. I’m married, she thought. Married to Giles. The idea impressed her as both impossible and wonderful.

‘Now, a lot depends on your demeanour,’ said the barrister, David Carson. ‘We’re lucky to get old Lewthwaite – he has a soft spot for the military.’