Chapter Five
The invitation had arrived yesterday—elegant cream cardstock with Farah’s flowing script inviting Ashley to an intimate luncheon at her townhouse today. Just the married ladies, the note had said. Courtney and Tiffany are coming too. We’ve missed you!
Ashley stood before her wardrobe, pulling out and discarding dress after dress. She wanted to look happy, content—the picture of marital bliss. Anything less and her perceptive friends would know something was wrong.
Finally settling on a pale rose day dress with delicate lace at the collar and cuffs, she allowed her maid to arrange her hair in soft curls that framed her face.
As she studied her reflection, she practiced her smile.
Bright but not too bright. Relaxed but not smug.
The smile of a woman perfectly satisfied with her lot in life.
If only it were true.
The short stroll to Farah and Rockwell’s elegant townhouse passed too quickly.
Ashley’s stomach fluttered with nerves as she ascended the stairs with Petra in tow.
She’d become quite skilled at deception these past three months—maintaining the facade of a perfectly adequate marriage while her bed remained cold and empty.
But lying to her closest friends felt different somehow. More difficult. More wrong.
“Ashley!” Farah appeared at the door before the butler could even announce her, pulling her into an enthusiastic embrace. “I’m so glad you could come. We’re all in the drawing room.”
Ashley allowed herself to be swept inside, noting how Farah’s home radiated warmth and happiness. Fresh flowers adorned every surface, and through an open doorway she glimpsed a riding crop carelessly tossed over a chair—evidence of the active, adventurous life Farah and Rockwell shared.
The drawing room was already filled with feminine laughter. Tiffany sat on the settee, one hand resting protectively on the slight swell of her belly, while Courtney occupied the chair nearest the fire. Both women looked up with genuine delight when Ashley entered.
“There she is!” Courtney rose to embrace her. “The Duchess of Blackstone herself. How does it feel to outrank all of us now?”
“Insufferable, I imagine,” Tiffany added with a grin, extending her hand for Ashley to squeeze rather than attempt an awkward embrace around her pregnancy. “Though you’re handling it with considerably more grace than I would.”
Ashley laughed, settling into the remaining chair as a servant appeared with tea and an impressive array of cakes and sandwiches.
For a moment, surrounded by her friends’ warmth and easy affection, she could almost forget the hollow ache that had taken up permanent residence in her chest. “Courtney, how long are you and Lucien in town?”
“Not long, hence this lunch. We prefer the country. But I’m so happy. Marriage to your heart’s desire is wonderful…” Her words petered off as she looked at Ashley. They all knew her marriage was one of necessity.
“Speaking of marriage. How is everything?” Farah said, pouring tea with practiced ease. “How is married life treating you? Is Blackstone proving to be a tolerable husband?”
She glared at Farah. What was her friend thinking asking this?
Farah knew damn well what the situation was.
“More than tolerable,” Ashley said, accepting her cup and forcing brightness into her tone.
“He’s been very generous. I have complete authority over the household, and he’s given me a substantial budget for renovations. ”
“Renovations?” Courtney’s eyes lit with interest. “What are you planning?”
Ashley launched into a detailed description of her plans for the east wing—new draperies, updated furniture, perhaps a music room if Raven approved. It was easy to talk about these material things, safe territory that required no examination of the more intimate aspects of her marriage.
“But what about Blackstone himself?” Tiffany interrupted, her sharp eyes studying Ashley over the rim of her teacup. “Surely the renovations aren’t the most exciting part of being newly married?”
Had Farah blabbed? Heat crept into Ashley’s cheeks—not from pleasure, but from shame she desperately tried to hide. “He’s been quite attentive,” she said carefully. “Very proper and considerate.”
“Proper and considerate?” Farah’s nose wrinkled. “Good heavens, that sounds dreadfully dull. Rockwell is many things, but proper is not one of them.” She fanned herself dramatically. “Thank goodness for that.”
Courtney laughed, a knowing look passing between her and Farah. “Lucien has his moments of impropriety as well. Though I confess, I rather enjoy them.”
“As do I,” Tiffany added, her hand moving unconsciously to her belly. “Wolf is wonderfully inventive when it comes to—” She paused, glancing at Ashley. “Well, let’s just say married life has been full of pleasant surprises.”
The conversation had taken a decidedly risqué turn, and Ashley felt her practiced smile beginning to strain. She took a sip of tea, trying to compose herself as her friends exchanged knowing glances and barely suppressed giggles.
“You’re blushing, Tiffany!” Farah accused with delight. “What has Wolf been up to that’s made you so pink?”
“I couldn’t possibly say,” Tiffany replied, though her grin suggested otherwise. “A lady must maintain some mysteries, even among friends.”
“Oh, please,” Courtney scoffed. “We’re all married women here. Surely, we can speak frankly. I, for one, have questions about certain matters that no one ever properly explained before my wedding night.”
“What sort of questions?” Farah leaned forward with interest.
Courtney’s cheeks flushed, but she pressed on. “Well, for instance, Lucien has recently expressed interest in…that is, he suggested we might try…” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Blindfolds.”
“Blindfolds?” Tiffany’s eyebrows rose. “During…?”
“Yes, during.” Courtney’s blush deepened. “He says it heightens other sensations, makes everything more intense. I was skeptical at first, but…”
“But?” Farah prompted eagerly.
“But he was absolutely right,” Courtney admitted with a shy smile. “It’s rather thrilling, actually. Not being able to see, having to trust him completely. And the anticipation…” She trailed off, fanning herself.
Ashley’s teacup rattled against its saucer.
Heat invaded her body at the idea of Raven blindfolding her and …
. And what exactly? Her friends were discussing such matters so casually, as if they were perfectly normal aspects of married life.
Meanwhile, she had no intimate experiences to share, no blushes born of remembered pleasures.
“Are you quite well, Ashley?” Farah’s concerned voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “You look rather pale.”
“I’m fine,” Ashley said quickly. “Just a bit warm. Perhaps I should move away from the fire?”
“You’re not with child, are you?” Tiffany asked gaily and Ashley turned away to hide welling tears.
But Tiffany was already studying her with those disconcertingly perceptive eyes. “You know, you haven’t actually told us anything specific about your marriage. Just vague pleasantries about Blackstone being considerate and generous.”
“What more is there to tell?” Ashley tried to keep her tone light. “We’re adjusting well to married life. These things take time.”
“Time?” Courtney set down her teacup with a decisive clink. “Ashley, you’ve been married three months. Surely by now you’ve…that is, your husband has…” She glanced at the others for support. “Has he come to your bed?” Courtney asked bluntly.
The question hung in the air like smoke. Ashley opened her mouth to lie, to maintain the fiction that everything was perfectly fine. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, to her absolute horror, tears began welling in her eyes.
“Oh, Ashley.” Tiffany was beside her in an instant, taking the trembling teacup from her hands. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” Ashley managed, pressing her hands to her face. “Nothing has happened. That’s rather the problem.”
“That’s not quite true, is it? Farah said softly. “You can talk here. It’s a safe place.”
A weighted silence fell over the room. When Ashley finally lowered her hands, she found three pairs of eyes fixed on her with varying expressions of shock and concern.
“He hasn’t touched you?” Tiffany asked quietly. “Not once in three months?”
Ashley shook her head, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.
“But why?” Courtney moved to perch on the arm of Ashley’s chair. “Is he ill? Injured in some way?”
“No, nothing like that.” Ashley accepted the handkerchief Farah pressed into her hands. “He’s in perfect health. He just…he doesn’t want me.”
“That’s impossible,” Farah declared. “You’re beautiful, charming, everything a man could want. There must be some explanation.”
And so, haltingly, Ashley told them everything.
About Raven’s continued grief for Kitty, about his distance and polite indifference, about her growing desperation for a child.
She told them about her visit to Madam Chloé’s establishment like Farah had suggested; about the advice she’d received and—her voice dropping to barely a whisper—about the scandalous offer to return at night and observe how the courtesans conducted themselves with their clients.
When she finished, her friends sat in stunned silence.
“You went to a brothel,” Tiffany said finally, her tone more impressed than scandalized. “Alone. In disguise.”
“Gentlemen’s club,” Farah insisted.
“I should have known you’d suggest some hair-brained scheme,” Tiffany scolded Farah. “What if she’d been seen?”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” Ashley said miserably. “I can’t spend the rest of my life like this—married but not married, a reputation saved, but not a real wife. I want children. I want…” She swallowed hard. “I want my husband to desire me.”
“Of course you do,” Courtney said gently. “Any woman would.”