Page 30 of Wed By Proxy

The widow set about seducing innocent Sir Pelomon at once, but was astonished at his unworldliness and purity. Her propositions barely seemed to register with him, and as such she was forced to take increasingly drastic action to spark his interest.

Mathilde sat up. This was the point at which she needed to pay special attention. This morning she had intimated to Lord Martindale that the deed had already been done, but that was far from true. She needed to make it fact as soon as possible. Maybe she should take notes? She glanced about, but could see no writing paper in the room. Impatiently, she dismissed the idea, vowing to commit the tips to memory instead.

The widow started out by wearing her gowns cut indecently low, revealing her abundant charms to the chivalrous knight, hoping to incite his lust. She sat at meals with him, spilling out of her gowns, with her hair loose, “…shooting him many lascivious stares, until he could not fail to notice the whiteness of her bosom or the redness of her pouting lips.” Mathilde pondered this a moment. Her bosom was more pink than white, and it certainly wasn’t abundant. It had never spilled out of any gown she’d worn, and she doubted it ever would, even with the lacings half undone. As for her lips, they weren’t red either, but more of a middling color. She sighed. Unluckily for the widow, Pelomon was so dense he did not pick up on these cues either, so the lusty widow was forced to step up her campaign to another level.

Mathilde turned the page eagerly. This time, she started parading herself to him in his bedchamber, only half-clothed and making feeble excuses for her presence there. Mathilde frowned. At least she already had an excuse to be in Guy’s bedchamber. The widow was really scraping the barrel with the reasons she came up with, in her opinion. A mouse had scared her, she had a tangle in her long golden hair that her maidservant could not free. To all these excuses to get close to him, Sir Pelomon seemed impervious.

Then finally, on the third night, the widow had a portentous dream. She cried and wailed, Sir Pelomon was roused from his slumbers and forced to try and comfort her in her distress. She twisted and turned in his arms, wrapping herself around him like a snake. In the confusion, her shift “fell off.” Sir Pelomon found his limbs entwined with those of a naked woman. Finally, his cast-iron virtue faltered, and quicker than you could say “‘knight errant,” his chastity was a thing of the past.

So, her own instincts had been half-correct the previous evening, Mathilde thought with faint pride. She had been right to discard her shift. According to this book, strong men were weakened at the sight of the female form. But what she should have done, was pressed her flesh against his as much as possible, instead of keeping to her side of the bed. She frowned. Her own forays over to her husband’s side had been far too timid. She should have been bold like the lusty widow!

Mathilde examined the subsequent illustrations with fascination. The page was quartered into four and in each of the frames the couple were arranged in some different licentious position. The first one was much as she had imagined, with Sir Pelomon on top of the widow, her legs and arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace. Mathilde flushed at the position of the widow’s hands which gripped Sir Pelomon’s buttocks with shameless abandon. The widow’s back was arched as though she tried to mesh their bodies as tightly together as humanly possible. Sir Pelmon’s face was buried in the widow’s neck in an attitude that reminded Mathilde of that very morning. Guy had lain like that atop of her. If she had wrapped her legs around his back and grasped his buttocks, would he have submitted to desire like Sir Pelomon? An image of his backside when he had walked across the bedroom floor that morning flashed into her mind and she nearly gasped aloud. Would she ever have the nerve to do such a thing?

Gulping, Mathilde’s eyes wandered over to the second picture where Sir Pelomon sat upon the bed and the widow knelt at his feet. Her face was pressed into his lap, Mathilde noticed with consternation, and Sir Pelomon appeared to have steam coming out of his nostrils. What on earth…? Giving up on that one as a total mystery, Mathilde moved to the next where the widow was back on the bed, on her hands and knees this time, and Sir Pelomon was pressed up behind her, his hands grasping her waist. Surely not? A suspicion entered her mind, but she dismissed it almost instantly. Surely a man would never do such a thing? A beast was one thing, but never a man! She frowned over the image. It certainly looked like it though.

The fourth picture was very similar to the one she had already seen in the bathtub, with the widow astride Sir Pelomon. But this time, she was the one with her head flung back, and Sir Pelomon appeared to have his face buried betwixt her breasts. Mathilde stared. He certainly seems to have taken to fornication like a duck to water, she thought. Maybe if you got past a certain point then instinct took over. She certainly hoped so. A sound at the door startled her, and she slammed the book shut guiltily and flung it from her. It landed in the middle of the floor with a heavy thud.

“Milady?” It was Prudence. “I was wondering if you was expecting any visitors this evening?” she asked, pursing her lips and staring at some point past Mathilde’s left shoulder.

Mathilde licked her lips, and glanced furtively at her discarded book which lay between them. “I, er, dropped my book,” she said weakly.

Prudence frowned and took a step forward, as if to retrieve it for her.

“No!” Mathilde burst out, springing from her seat and practically throwing herself on top of it. “I have it! Do not trouble yourself,” she panted, scrambling to her feet. She pushed the hair from her face and cleared her throat. “Wh-what was it you were asking me?”

Prudence stared at her now as if she were quite mad. “For supper milady,” she said sharply. “Are you expecting guests, or will the leftovers of the game pie do?”

“I hope my husband may call around,” admitted Mathilde wistfully. “But he may not.” Prudence gave a start. “H-he may be too busy,” Mathilde explained, and wondered why the maid was staring at her like that.

“Lord Martindale?” asked Prudence in an odd tone.

“Yes, was that not what I said?” Mathilde gave herself a small shake. She needed to pull herself together. “I fear I got a little lost in my book,” she explained, hoping that would explain her scattered wits. She hugged the wicked book to her stomach.

Prudence gave a short nod. “I’ll make a new pie, milady. Right away.”

“Oh, but you needn’t trouble yourself,” Mathilde said hastily. “It may well just be Robin and I for supper. I would not want you to needlessly—”

“No trouble, milady,” said Prudence loudly. “I hope as I always know what’s due to my own mistress.” She dropped into a spontaneous curtsey that took Mathilde entirely by surprise. Now that she thought of it, she didn’t think she’d seen Prudence curtsey once since they had been introduced.

Returning to her window seat, Mathilde took up her book to find out what happened next with the lusty widow. She was a bit disappointed to find that the next morning, Sir Pelomon heartily repented his actions. Had she been expecting him and the widow to live happily ever after? It seemed this was not that sort of book. Mathilde read on. Sir Pelomon determined to leave the widow’s castle the very next morning, and that lady seemed to accept his decision with equanimity. Riding resolutely away, the widow waved him off with her handkerchief from the highest tower. Sir Pelemon vowed he would ne’er fall prey to such wickedness again, but alas his soul was now besmirched and it almost seemed as though others could tell.

At the next tavern, the ruddy landlady slipped a hand in Sir Pelomon’s breeches, fondling and telling him how “well-built and mighty a member he possessed.” As Sir Pelomon struggled to contain his no longer innocent reaction, the landlady bent over his bed, hitched up her skirts and invited him to slake his lusts on her ample body. Her own husband was sadly incapacitated and she longed for the touch of a man. Clearly from the illustration, Sir Pelomon was fired up from the view afforded him between the landlady’s generous thighs, for he fell upon her with ravenous, awakened appetites. Mathilde’s eyebrows rose. Now that he had sampled the forbidden fruit, it seemed it would never be as easy for him to live a blameless life again. Once again, in the aftermath, Sir Pelomon bitterly reproached himself, but Mathilde was starting to suspect that a pattern was emerging.

Biting the side of her mouth, Mathilde found herself wondering if Sir Pelomon was really the victim as the book portrayed him to be. Should he not be firm in his resolve, and simply barricade his door against all these wanton women? On the next page there were several illustrations of him bending the cushiony body of the landlady over every stick of furniture in his bedchamber and even rutting her upright against the wall. The widow’s mouth was wide open as though she yelled her pleasure for all to hear. The positions of their couplings were varied. Mathilde’s cheeks burned red.

A sneaking suspicion entered her mind and she flipped quickly through the rest of the pages. Sure enough it looked like the rest of the book consisted of Sir Pelomon’s many various amorous adventures. In amazement, Mathilde wondered just how many times could a virtuous knight be seduced? Slowly she closed the book. She fancied she was really too much of a beginner to be reading the advanced stuff. She needed to stick with the basics for now. It seemed to her that the first story was the one that would prove the most useful to her present circumstances.

Now, what devices had the lusty widow had at her disposal? A very fine see-through shift. Mathilde thought of the only one she owned at present and frowned. It was of a rather coarse linen, and she doubted very much that anything could be seen through it. Low cut gowns a-plenty, she remembered, thinking back to the story. Well, again, at present all she had was the gown she was wearing which was more designed to keep one warm than desirable. Mathilde tapped her chin thoughtfully. It seemed she was badly in need of some new clothes. Tangled hair, she thought remembering the story, a misplaced mouse. Well, her own hair was so wavy these days it often knotted, and she could always feign a mouse’s presence. What else?

She reopened the pages and turned back to the beginning. A quick scan told her the only other discernible factors were the widow’s own unquenchable wish to seduce Pelomon, and a desirable female form. While Mathilde was confident of her own burning desire to be a true wife to her husband, she was a tad less certain that her body was the sort men lusted after. She glanced down doubtfully at her own small figure. No one had ever mentioned it if it was.

She thought of court, her only frame of reference. Lenora Montmayne was widely considered the most beauteous maiden in all Karadok, but she seemed to inspire courtly admiration over anything else. Mathilde had never heard tell of even a whiff of scandalous rumor about her conduct with her suitors, who all tended to be eminently respectable. Besides, Lenora was likely very well chaperoned when she was escorted.

Helen Cecil on the other hand, was not so respectable, and said to be the king’s current mistress. She was perhaps a little earthier in her appeal, Mathilde considered. Helen had a bold, appraising way of looking men in the eye when she spoke to them, and she threw back her head, when she gave her full-bodied laugh. Mathilde had seen her reach out and touch a sleeve fleetingly when she stood conversing with powerful men. She did not hang on to their words in a fawning manner, it was more an appreciative look in her flashing eyes. She liked the company of men, and she did not care to hide the fact behind a demure expression or modest gaze. Sometimes, she threw her words at them like a challenge, by turn mocking and then admiring them. She kept them on them on their toes. Men probably found Helen Cecil seductive, Mathilde thought with sudden conviction. She bet Helen knew a few tricks to incite a man. Maybe she had even used them to ensnare the king’s favor? She had never really considered such things before.

In truth, Mathilde had not much cared for Helen. By the same token, she was sure Helen herself had no good opinion of Mathilde. She would have dismissed her as a total nonentity. Helen was not the sort to have female friends, she did not join in with the tapestry circles, or the various friend groups that appreciated the arts. Mathilde did not think she had ever seen her much about with any women, apart from her sister Jane who by contrast was rather quiet and had recently become one of the queen’s ladies in waiting.

Would Guy think Helen Cecil was attractive, Mathilde wondered with a pang? She fancied she already knew the answer. Biting her lip, Mathilde devoutly wished she had spent more time observing the bold Helen, instead of looking away from her bright flame. But Mathilde had always kept to the quiet corners at court, creeping about like a little mouse. To be honest, she wasn’t sure such tricks would work for one such as she. With a sigh, she wondered where she could hide The Seduction of a Virtuous Knight by a Lusty Wanton Widow. It would not do to have anyone come across such a book by accident. Climbing the stairs to her room, she hid it in one of the many sections of a large carved chest at the foot of the bed. It had certainly given her plenty to think about, she reflected, sitting back on her heels. But did she have the nerve to put any of it into practice?