Polly
“It’s beautiful. It’s far too fine.”
“You must not say that anymore. The wife of Jack Springton wouldn’t say that.”
The circle of gold on my finger is the most valuable thing I’ve ever owned. The top is set with a round white stone that sparkles even in the dark. A diamond—a real diamond , set in gold . It’s more than I’m worth. I know that’s why Mr. Springton gave it to me. Last night made it clear. He wants to use me like Mr. Bunson did—only no, not like he did. He wants the same things, but in a different way. I flush when I think of what Mr. Springton did to me last night, of how he made me feel.
I want it again.
I’ve heard many women say that marriage is the same as working as a maid or cook in service, except now you have to serve your husband’s needs, too. You belong to him in every room of the house, kitchen and bedroom. But, fair trade it is, since he’ll pay for the roof over your head and the clothes on your back.
“Will we need a maid now? And a cook?” Mr. Springton asks, building up the fire.
I hurry to help him, thinking of an answer. I could be an awfully grand lady in a fine house with servants of my own—except that I wouldn’t know how to manage them. Most would probably know more about running a house than I would, and then how would I come off as lady of the house without looking like some imbecile? They’d talk down to me and it would be clear they should be in charge. Mr. Springton would see how little I know of such matters and think me foolish. More foolish.
For some reason, I can’t bear that thought. “No, no. I’ll still keep house and cook. I wouldn’t like servants about.”
“Good. Nor would I.”
“But... you had servants. Before me.”
“They left quickly. I’m not an easy man to work for.”
I can’t help but laugh at that, taking sticks from his hand. “You are the easiest of all men to work for! You are generous to a fault with the money, and generous to those in need. You barely make a peep at home. You eat what I cook, although I know it’s not the fancy things you’re used to.”
“.”
I stiffen. My name comes out of his lips like a purr, but when I turn to him, he is unsmiling.
“Yes?”
“What about... What about other things I give to you? Like last night...”
I drop the second stick I hold, and a shower of sparks shoots up. “I... I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have let that happen. I’m not a girl of low character.”
“I can tell that. You are entirely pure—deliciously so.”
“You oughtn’t to do what you did. It’s not clean.”
“It’s scrupulously clean. You had just bathed. You can bathe every day and every night, three times a day, I don’t care,” he hisses, stepping behind me. His hands are on my waist, and his head rests on mine. “I want you to like what I give you, . I want... I want you to love it.”
Love. The word rings like a mockery in my ears. I agreed to be his wife because it was a better position than being his housekeeper, but I’m not so foolish to think that he intends to love me. “You can bed me when you like, and I won’t mind,” I say. “You don’t have to lie about love.”
His hands drop as if the flames licked him. “I wasn’t.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I misspoke.”
“Call me Jack, for God’s sake. I cannot bear to hear sir all the time,” he paces away from me, worn and stained boots squeaking on the floorboards. His hands clasp behind his back one second and tear through his glossy curls the next. He is the cleanest of men, the cleanest I’ve ever met, constantly washing, constantly careful of his appearance. Clean, generous, protective... A smile sneaks across my face when I recall how he put those sniffing, haughty dressmakers in their place.
A woman with far better prospects than someone like me would be lucky to have a man like Jack Springton just for his wealth and looks alone.
I cannot imagine, in spite of what he says, that I am the wife he truly wants. I’ve been told that I’m pretty and that the color of my hair makes me stand out to some men. Many a man weds a woman so he can bed them, but regrets it later.
“You do not think I can love?”
Did I speak out loud? “I’m sure you can!”
“Well, I’m not. But I would... I would consent to learn if it would please you. It would please me to try.” The words drag out of him, low and agonized.
It is my turn to squeak the boards, hurrying to stand in front of him. “Many men take a wife just so they have their physical urges met. Or maybe you’d like a child. I don’t doubt you can love, sir, it’s just I see no reason to pretend that you’re in love with a girl when you simply want to fuck her. Oh!” I cover my mouth with my hand as the foul word slips out. It’s not like I am a stranger to the crudest words in the English language, being raised in a workhouse and passing every drunkard and doxie going to the market for Mr. Bunson when he was too busy to go himself. Still, I know never to say such things.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp. “I know I’m not a lady, but I try hard, sir, not to—”
“Call. Me. Jack .” Mr. Springton suddenly seizes me and pushes me against the wall, pinning my wrists to the sides of my waist. “Please. Please call me Jack. And you are a lady. I’ve seen it. Tasted it. There is no more beautiful lady in all of London and likely in all of humanity.”
His compliments make me dizzy.
“And I do want to fuck you. In every hole, in every room—but only if you want me to. If I am willing to learn how to behave in London, do you think you might... Do you think it is possible that we might learn to have something like love? As I say, I’m not sure if I can—”
His grip softens, and it is my turn to suddenly grasp one of his hands, my fingers so much smaller than his. “I am sure you could. Most men can.”
“I’m not most men. I’m not even—I’m not a man. I’m a beast.”
“Why? Because you took the life of a horrible man trying to force a girl against her will? A man who would beat her black and blue? A man who would toss a little boy or girl of six into the streets if they were particularly strong-willed?”
“Murderer is much shorter. Or monster. I believe that’s what I’m called here,” he says with a small, grim smile.
“I don’t mind that you killed a worse monster,” I whisper. “Beasts slay beasts. But so do knights. Heroes.”
Something flashes in Jack’s eyes. His hard face softens. “Heroes?”
“Well... the man who slays the dragon isn’t a hero to the dragon’s mother, now is he? But to the villagers who were getting eaten he certainly is!”
“Ohh, .” Jack lets out a long, shivering breath, the sound of laughter under it. His eyes sparkle as he pulls me into a twirl. The skirt on my new black dress spins around me, held full by petticoats underneath. “You have a clever mind. A unique, brilliant mind.” He strokes a hand down my cheek, and I think for the hundredth time that he has claws.
Such nonsense. As nonsensical as him believing I’m brilliant. Or a lady. This might be one of those things that he doesn’t understand. “Sir. Jack? In England, a lady is someone who has been raised properly, with parents and an education in the finer things, like music and French. Or even sewing and managing a house. I’m a woman, but not a lady.”
“I like you as you are. And I know humans. Some of the ones covered in jewels and silks with their carriages and estates are nothing more than guttersnipes in disguise. I meant to say that you are a woman—but you are a lady to me.” Jack gives me a low bow.
Sometimes he speaks as if he’s above all other people, some divine creature separated from the rest of us somehow.
I once thought he was an angel... but I don’t think an angel would do what he did last night—or what he’s doing now.
“Do men and women celebrate being allowed to touch one another?” He reaches for my hand and fondles the circle of gold, wriggling it back and forth.
My stomach clenches and leaps. Warm wetness starts to flow almost instantly—but in all honesty, it’s been like a stew left over the fire all day, simmering off and on. “I imagine they do,” I whisper.
“May I touch you?” His voice is ragged as his hand drops mine and his arms wait to circle me and pull me close.
Part of me cries out no, but the part that has been raised with rules and hidden hopes is stronger. “Yes, please.”
It’s instant and all-consuming, the fire that burns through me as soon as Jack wraps me in his arms. His nose buries in my hair, then my neck, grunts and growls that sound affectionate coming from his lips.
I feel wanted. Not like Bunson wanted. To use and toss away.
To keep. Even to love?
“I’m hungry,” he hisses, biting down hard on the shoulder of my dress.
“It’s tea time. Do you want tea, instead of supper?” I whisper, eyes closed and head thrown back.
“Yes!” he snarls, hoisting me in his arms and striding down the narrow hall until we reach my room.
He tosses me on the bed and kneels beside it.
“Jack, no...” I protest faintly when his hands clamber under my skirts almost at once.
“Why? Do you want a bath first?” he asks, fingers still scrabbling, connecting with my new underthings.
“Maybe. Only it seems... I’ve not heard of men wanting to lick women there. I’ve heard of men wanting to— Well, they want women to do something similar.”
“Later, if you want. I don’t care what other men want. Other men are selfish. They don’t get a cockstand from bringing their women pleasure, but I do. Do you understand? I want to bury my face in your quim and drink your juices.”
“But—”
“Ah! Wait.” Jack holds up a warning hand. “You said something earlier about meeting a husband’s needs. Be a good little wife and let me eat you up, my dear.”
“I’m not your wife yet,” I squeak as he suddenly lifts my skirts, petticoats and all, and flings them up. They half cover my face, and I bat them down to find Jack licking his lips over me.
“Then let me show you what I shall want once you are. Every day, I will want this little pink honeypot to dine from.”
His hand yanks at my new knickers, grabbing them hard around the leg hole.
“Stop. You’ll rip them and that’s just wasteful. We just bought them! And I don’t want to go back to that shop anytime soon.” I wince.
“Tonight, I have business in town. I’ll bring you back as many knickers and petticoats as I can carry,” he laughs, hands working together now, leaving me bare by inches.
“That’s still wasteful! I don’t need so many clothes. You could take them to Bunson’s home and give them to the poor little things there. Liza is clever with a needle. She could make three dresses out of one,” I pant, still battling my skirts.
“Hang the clothes.”
“Says a rich man who was never so cold his fingers cracked and bled,” I snap, sitting up. “Says a rich man who never had to tuck four children into one bed with one blanket and pray none of them would die of cold in the night! I’m not a lady, Jack, I’m a workhouse orphan, and I’ll always be one, even if you dress me up ever so fine and put a ring on my finger!”
I’m sure he’ll be angry. The mood is ruined, and I’ve seen first-hand how a thwarted man rages. I swallow and wait for the explosion.
It doesn’t come. “Couldn’t Bunson afford blankets? Or wood and coal?” he murmurs with a frown. “I’m sure he could. He was a portly fiend. People who can afford to run to fat while children freeze are selfish and deserve to die.”
“True.” I know it might be a sinful attitude to take, but I don’t care.
Jack eases next to me on the bed. “I’ll be more careful of your clothes, . Where I come from... Where I come from clothing isn’t any indication of status or wealth.”
“I’d like to see a place like that,” I laugh.
“No, you wouldn’t. It’s a horrible place for humans.” His lips clamp shut.
There it is again.
“You are human, Jack.”
“No, love. I look human. Somewhat.”
My heart flutters when the word love slips out and he doesn’t even realize it. “You mustn’t say such unkind things about yourself. You have a generous heart. A good, kind heart.”
You would have thought I slapped him across the face. He rocks back, eyes wide. “Have I?”
“Oh, yes! Oh, yes, you do, and it’s... It’s one of the things that makes me want...” It’s my turn to seal my lips, face aflame. Is it wrong to say that I want his fingers in me again, that I want him to suck on the parts of me that throb?
“You want what I give you?” he asks, voice a sudden rasp as he slides down to the floor again.
I nod. “But help me off with my dress first,” I whisper. “And make sure the drapes are closed.”