Chapter Seven
S itting in the slant of afternoon sunlight before the drawing room window, Sophie held out her hand while the local midwife and apothecary examined the long cut across the heel of her thumb. She had only been at Ravenscroft for a sennight, yet she’d already caused an uproar. “I feel like a complete idiot, Miss Danvies.”
“Hannah, please, Your Grace.”
“I’ll call you Hannah if you call me Sophie.” When the young woman began to protest at that informality, Sophie cut her off. “I insist. I won’t be your patient, otherwise.”
“Well, anything for a patient.” The woman smiled, her eyes not moving from the wound. “And no need to feel embarrassed about cutting yourself. We all forget our hands at some point when working with knives.”
“Gardening,” Sophie admitted sheepishly.
The young midwife looked up, surprised. “In winter?”
“The busiest time of the year for gardeners is when nothing is in bloom.” Sophie shrugged. “I was attempting to clean up the old greenhouse so it would be ready for spring.”
In truth, she’d grown bored. She’d learned almost everything there was to know about the house itself and how it was run, and Mr. Enfield, the estate agent, was away in York on business, leaving her unable to learn about the rest of the property. So she’d donned her heavy coat and wandered outside to investigate the gardens, hoping to find some solace there. After all, the estate couldn’t be all bad if it had a garden, even a severely neglected one. The rose garden was a mess of brambles, the kitchen garden tidy but small, and an old greenhouse tucked away at the edge of the gardens was in disrepair but showed signs of having once been magnificent. So she’d made up her mind. This winter, she would focus on refreshing the house, making it bright and cheerful again, but in the spring, she’d fix her attention on the gardens. Spring? La! Unable to wait that long, she’d gone into the greenhouse and begun to work, only to cut her hand a few hours later.
“Doesn’t His Grace employ men to do that sort of thing?” the young woman asked.
“I’d rather do it myself. I love to garden. Usually, it calms me.”
This morning, however, she’d taken out her frustrations with Shay’s prolonged absences during the first week of their marriage on an old tin-covered workbench which she’d attempted to wrangle into a new location, only for the bent metal to slice through her glove. The cut had been too much for Mrs. Sexton and Mrs. Latimer to tend, and the little village of Wolton too small to employ a physician. Not wanting to put herself into the hands of the local farrier—although Sophie had been assured by the groundskeepers that he excelled in extracting teeth from both horses and humans and could handle sewing up a cut—she’d sent for Miss Danvies instead.
The midwife wasn’t at all what Sophie had expected. For one, she was young, most likely only a few years older than Sophie and certainly not yet thirty, and second, she was Miss Danvies. Sophie had thought all midwives were older women who had first-hand experience birthing babies by having half a dozen children of their own.
No, this one wasn’t at all as expected, right down to her curly ginger hair, straight spine, and blunt manner that declared she brooked no patience for nonsense.
Sophie liked her immediately.
“Good thing you were wearing gloves.” Hannah carefully examined her hand. “For a garden wound, this one is especially clean.”
Sophie bit her bottom lip. “Will it need stitches?”
“No, it’s long but shallow. But I would like to put a poultice on it to help remove some of the sting, then wrap it tightly in a bandage. You’ll need to change the dressing every other day, but I expect it to heal quickly.” Her voice softened sympathetically. “I can’t be certain you won’t have a scar, though.”
Sophie exhaled a long breath, relieved the cut wasn’t serious. The possibility of scarring didn’t bother her. Given all the other scars in her marriage, this one wouldn’t even be noticeable.
Hannah stood and moved to the low tea table where she’d set down the leather case she’d brought with her from her apothecary shop in the village. “His Grace must be beside himself with worry.”
Sophie frowned. “Over what?”
“You, of course.” Hannah cast a knowing smile over her shoulder at Sophie as she selected one of the bottles in her case, then spooned out some of the powder into an empty tea cup from the tray Mrs. Sexton had brought up for them. Miss Danvies had asked only for hot water, but surely the housekeeper thought tea could heal anything and put seeping leaves into a second pot. “From the newlywed husbands I’ve seen, I’m surprised he’s not pacing in the hallway right now, wringing his hands as if you’d cut off your entire arm. He must be caught up in something important to be away from you.”
“I don’t know what he’s caught up in,” Sophie answered quietly, dropping her gaze to her hand and fixating on the cut. It wasn’t deep, but it stung with every pulse of her heart. “Or where.”
But why should today be any different from the others since she’d arrived at Ravenscroft Manor?
They’d fallen into a pattern. She spent her mornings learning all she could about the estate and house—which didn’t need her help or oversight and could easily have gone on for another twenty years without a proper mistress. She tried to stay busy in the afternoons by writing letters to friends and family to assure them that her married life was absolutely perfect, followed by a silent dinner by herself, then tossing and turning all night as she barely succeeded in staving off tears.
Shay spent his days anywhere she wasn’t, ate dinner at the tavern, and returned long after midnight to go straight to his room. The only contact she had with him were notes that encouraged her to make Ravenscroft Manor her home and do whatever she’d like with it. She wanted to do just that. Now that her maid Smithson and her luggage had finally arrived, she could settle completely into the house and make it into a true home.
Except for Shay. They’d been married for over a week, and he’d yet to come to her bed.
“What I’d like is to see my husband,” she muttered beneath her breath.
“Pardon?” Hannah looked up as she carefully poured a bit of hot water from the tea pot into the cup with the powder, then stirred it slowly to mix it.
Sophie lied. “I said I’m certain my husband knows I’m in good hands with you.”
“Hmm.” The young midwife spooned the wet mixture into a small pouch of cheesecloth and tied it off. “And I’m certain your husband has been ignoring you.”
Embarrassment sparked through Sophie, yet she couldn’t help but ask, “What makes you think that?”
“Wolton is a small village, Your Grace,” Hannah said. “There isn’t a lot to do there except gossip. So when the local lord has been spending his evenings drinking and playing cards in the pub instead of in the arms of his pretty new wife…well, there’s going to be a lot of gossip.”
Her voice turned rough as she argued, “It isn’t like that.”
Hannah returned to join Sophie by the window where the bright sunlight made it easier to see the wound and settled onto the chair drawn up in front of her. She silently turned her concentration to the cut and gently rubbed a soothing salve into the wound with her fingertip, then placed the little poultice onto the cut and held it there to draw out the pain.
“Malvern was gone to London for a long while,” Sophie struggled to explain, but even to her ears, the words were clearly more excuse than explanation. “A lot now requires his attention, and now he’s working to take care of everything.”
Hannah said nothing but massaged the poultice against Sophie’s thumb. The warm medication might have been soothing, but the woman’s silence was as jarring as if she were screaming.
“My husband is used to living alone,” Sophie continued, desperate to dig herself out of the hole she’d created but only finding herself shoveling deeper. “He doesn’t know how to open his life to me. But he will. We’re old friends, you see.” She gave that a weak smile. “It will take us a little while, but we’ll settle in together just fine.”
Hannah wrapped a long white bandage tightly around her hand to cover the wound and keep the poultice in place. Without a word, she tied it off. She didn’t look up, and together, the two women stared silently at the bandage, even as Sophie pulled her hand slowly back onto her lap.
Then a single tear slipped down Sophie’s cheek. “He doesn’t…want me,” she whispered in shame, barely above a breath, as the words ripped from her.
Hannah snorted. “Nonsense!”
Sophie’s watery eyes flew up to meet Hannah’s. That wasn’t at all the sympathetic reaction she’d expected.
“Any man who loses that much in cards just to keep playing and buys that many drinks every night certainly isn’t doing it because he has no interest in you.” She reached forward and squeezed Sophie’s good hand. “I’d say he wants you very much. The question is…why isn’t he letting himself have you?”
“I don’t know.” Sophie studied her folded hands again. The bandage felt so much bigger than it looked. Then she confessed, “And I don’t know what to do about it.”
Hannah sat back, her gaze firmly fixed on Sophie. “I might be overstepping, Your Grace, but I think—”
“Sophie, please.” A pained sigh of capitulation left her, and her shoulders sagged in defeat. “Go ahead and overstep. What have I to lose by gaining your advice?”
“You need to be a good wife to the duke, in every way…including the bedroom.” Hannah paused, a world of meaning in that small silence. “Did anyone have a talk with you the night before you married?”
“I have no close female relatives,” she whispered, embarrassed, “so it fell to Smithson, my maid.”
“I see. And what, exactly, did she tell you?”
Sophie’s cheeks heated as much as the throbbing cut on her thumb. “Mostly, that I would be expected to do nothing but lie still and do as my husband told me.” She rolled her tear-blurred eyes. “But how can I do that when he’s never come to my room?”
“I see,” Hannah repeated slowly, her lips pressed into a hard line as if to keep from smiling, but there was nothing at all amusing about this. “If you’d like, I can share my own experiences with you.” She lowered her voice and said carefully, “I know what happens between husbands and wives—that is, I know what should happen, and when two people care about each other, it’s wonderful.” She directly met Sophie’s gaze. “Shall I tell you?”
Swallowing hard, Sophie nodded.
“Very well.” With a smile, Hannah stood and moved to the tea table again, this time to pour two cups of tea. “It usually starts with kissing, then touching, and sometimes leads to babies.” Her eyes filled with friendly concern as she held out the cup of tea to Sophie. “And the very last thing you should do is simply lie there.”
As the two women sat, properly sipping their tea and occasionally rising to refill their cups, Hannah confided everything to Sophie about what happened in the marriage bed, from the way a man’s body grew aroused to how that arousal was satisfied. But she didn’t stop there. She gave Sophie advice on what to expect, how joining bodies with her husband would feel the first time and then other times after that, and how to be prepared for the emotion of being so exposed and vulnerable, even to a man she loved. They talked so long that the tea in the pot grew cold, with Hannah patiently answering all her questions, and Sophie realized what a cake she’d been to believe what Smithson had told her.
“I don’t think she meant to mislead you, but I don’t think she has any experience with men in that regard,” Hannah explained. “She’s most likely never been married, if she’s a lady’s maid.”
“Neither are you, Miss Danvies,” Sophie emphasized, feeling embarrassed about how ignorant she’d been. Thank goodness Shay hadn’t come to her room yet! He would have laughed all the way out and never returned.
“But I’m also not na?ve when it comes to the true nature of men and what happens when they come to a woman’s bed.” She smiled into her cold tea. “Making love can be the most wonderful experience in the world. To be that close to the man you love, to have him hold you safely in his arms, to feel the weight of his solid body pushing down on yours—well, I think it must be as close to heaven as we can come on this earth.”
Slowly, Sophie rose and carried the two cups and saucers back to the tray. She felt better now, so much more prepared, and she knew she could trust Shay not to hurt her, physically or emotionally, when they finally came together. And yet… “I’ll never experience any of that if he’s never here.”
“Then you need to find a way to make him stay home.” Hannah rose to her feet, took Sophie’s hands, and squeezed them with the affection of a newly formed friendship. “I have every faith in you as a wife.” Then her eyes narrowed as they slanted down to Sophie’s bandaged hand. “I have less faith in your ability to change the bandage, so I’ll return in two days and check the wound again.”
Sophie almost laughed, but her heart hadn’t yet found the relief it needed to put her worry behind her. “I look forward to it.”
“I’ll show myself out.” Hannah packed up her things, closed her case, and walked toward the door. With a quick glance into the hallway to make certain no one was there who might overhear, she warned quietly, “Whatever you do, though, you need to consummate your marriage soon. If you don’t, it might never happen.”
Then the young midwife slipped out of the room and into the hall to make her way back to her shop in the village.
Sophie stared after her. How was she supposed to do something as monumental as that when Shay never arrived home in time for dinner and then was gone the next morning by dawn? She wasn’t obtuse. The servants were already beginning to talk, based on their pitying expressions whenever they saw her. They knew something was wrong in her marriage.
Her gaze fell to that week’s menu, waiting on the desk for her to make changes or approve it. A menu she would be forced to eat alone. Her lips curled as she formed a devilish plan.
It was time she had dinner with her husband.