Chapter Eight
“Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind; therefore, is winged cupid painted blind.” – A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Shakespeare
It seemed utterly absurd that she was entering matrimony on the following day.
Ursula stared at her reflection in her bedroom mirror, the pallid girl she saw there bore no resemblance to herself and as she had allowed herself to be manipulated like a mannequin.
She continued to look at herself and saw that she had lost so much weight that her matrimonial gown had to be altered yet again.
Mama was thrilled, of course, but Ursula did not like her new thinness. She could count her own ribs, and while she often did not have an appetite, at times hunger pangs and weakness would come upon her so rapidly and viciously that she doubled over, and found herself unable to breathe.
“Nearly done, your ladyship,” one of the maids said, flashing a nervous smile upwards.
Ursula made no effort to smile back. The girl accidentally prodded her with a pin, and Ursula didn’t even yelp. The pain gave her something to focus on, oddly enough.
It isn’t all bad, she thought. He’s handsome and seems pleasant enough. You could be entering into matrimony with a much worse man. Miss Staithwaite came into mind as she was barely nineteen and is the wife of Lord Ruddington, a proud seventy year old!
All of Society had exclaimed of the greatness of that match last Season. Yes, Lord Ruddington was seventy, with hair in his ears and nose, a squint, and was generally a rather unpleasant man who had buried four wives, but he was rich and titled, and Miss Staithwaite was a pretty little nobody.
Mama had sniffed when she read about the match in the gossip columns.
“Lucky girl.”
“Lucky?” Ursula had responded, agog. “He’s seventy! She can’t be in love with him.”
“Well, of course not, but is wealthy, my dear. She’ll be Lady Ruddington, and will likely be a widow soon enough. It’ll all be worth it.”
Ursula disagreed. The Ruddington men lived well into their nineties, from what she had heard, and most of the fortune was entailed away on Lord Ruddington’s adult sons who were mostly older than poor Miss Staithwaite.
At this rate, she would remain wedded for twenty years, at which point she would be nine and thirty a Dowager, instead of a Dashing Widow.
Ursula shuddered. Yes, things could be worse indeed.
They all flinched when the door was thrust open, and Mama came striding in. The maids leaped to their feet and made nervous curtsies, and Ursula turned hesitantly to face her mother.
“The alterations aren’t finished yet, Mama.”
“Yes, I can see that. I need to speak with you, Ursula. Out, all of you.”
Mama made a brief, dismissive gesture, and the maids scurried to obey, leaving their sewing utensils scattered all over the floor.
Ursula remained where she was, balanced on a pedestal to make it easier to adjust the hem.
Her dress rustled loudly when she moved, and the fabric was stiffer and tighter than she was used to.
It’s only for one day. I only have to wear it for one day.
Mama waited until the door had closed behind the maids, then offered a stiff smile at her daughter.
“How are you feeling, my dear? Excited?”
Ursula swallowed, plucking at her skirts. “Nervous, more like.”
This was the part, she assumed, where her mother would assure her that all was well, that she would safe and happy once she wedded Graham, and that her worries were unfounded.
Instead, Mama gave a tight smile and glanced away.
“I remember how I felt before I entered into matrimony with your Papa,” she murmured.
“I was so afraid I didn’t sleep the night before and looked like a ghost on my wedding day.
Now, my mother never bothered to tell me much at all about…
about what to expect from a matrimony. She merely counselled me to be a good, obedient, and dutiful wife, and to follow my husband’s lead in all things. ”
Ursula swallowed thickly. She’d heard a good deal, of course, about how wives were meant to be behave. None of it sounded particularly enjoyable. She assumed that in reality, men and women were able to come to some compromise regarding their daily lives.
Perhaps she was wrong.
“What do you mean, Mama?”
Mama heaved a sigh, passing a hand over her face. “Come, sit down, my dear.”
She led the way over to Ursula’s bed, perching on the edge, and patted the space next to her.
Ursula stepped carefully down from the pedestal, walking carefully across to the bed. Her dress, not quite hemmed properly yet, trailed loosely behind her.
She sat uncomfortably beside her mother and waited.
For a moment it felt like an eternity and there was only silence. Then Mama heaved another sigh and took Ursula’s hand.
“I was ill-prepared for matrimony,” she said at last. “I cannot imagine this is a surprise to you. My mother ought to have prepared me, but she did not. My introduction to matrimonial life was a great shock to me, and that shock was difficult to recover from. You, at least, will be more prepared.”
“Prepared for what, Mama?”
The hairs on the back of Ursula’s neck began to bristle. Was there something horrifying about connubial that she ought to know? Or was there something terrible about her husband-to-be in particular?
“I am talking,” Mama said, with an effort, “of intimate relations between men and women. That is, between a husband and a wife.”
Ursula felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. “Oh.”
“Yes. Oh, indeed,” Mama responded grimly.
“I know that young girls might giggle about such things, but I can assure you the reality is no laughing matter. Your husband will consider it his right in engage in such… such relations. For you, it is a matter of duty. Once you have produced a few children, your husband will likely turn his attentions elsewhere, and you may repose for a while.”
Ursula tensed. “Elsewhere? Where would he be turning his attentions?”
“I should not have said that,” Mama muttered. “Goodness, I am not doing well at this, am I? I am only trying to make sure you know what to expect, my dear.”
“I… I have heard things. From other women, you know. I overheard Lady Smythe talking with some of her friends after she returned from her honeymoon. I know how… how the mechanics of it all work.”
A shadow crossed Mama’s face, followed by relief.
“Well,” she sighed. “I suppose I should be upset that you have gleaned such shocking information, but I find myself relieved to hear that I won’t have to explain it all to you. Do you fully grasp what is required of you?”
Before Ursula could answer, Mama pressed on, seizing her hand a little too tightly.
“You will do best to stay quiet and simply do your duty,” she said, her voice tight. “It’s what Lord Sinclair will expect of you.”
“That sounds… that sounds rather horrid, Mama.”
Mama shrugged. “Men will have their way. Good wives do not complain.”
Ursula bit her lower lip, hard. “Lord Sinclair isn’t like that.”
“He is, I assure you,” Mama shot back grimly. “They all are, I’m afraid. Men, I mean. I’m sorry to disappoint you, my dear.”
Ursula paused for a moment, trying to work up the courage to ask her next question. Mama seemed to be uncomfortable, shifting and glancing at the door as if eager to leave.
“I heard that it can be rather pleasant, too,” Ursula burst out, face reddening.
Mama shot her a sharp look. “If you have dabbled in things which you ought to have left alone, Ursula…”
“No, Mama, no! As I said, this is what I overheard from Lady Smythe.”
Mama sniffed. “Well, that silly girl made a love match. Her parents let her do whatever she wished, more fool them.”
“So, I should expect…”
“No,” Mama interrupted sharply, rising suddenly to her feet.
“No, Ursula. Expect nothing, do you hear me? You are here to do your duty, which is all. You may think that Lord Sinclair is a good man, and I do hope that he is, but the plain fact is that a man is not to be trusted behind closed doors. Do you understand me?”
Ursula knew, without looking in the mirror, that the blood had drained from her face. She swallowed, nodding wordlessly at her mother.
Mama gave a brief nod, turning away.
“I’m pleased. Matrimony is not a good thing for a woman, my dear. However, it is a necessary thing. You do like Lord Sinclair, do you not?”
“Yes, I believe so,” Ursula managed, squeezing her fingers into fists. “I find him… I find him handsome.”
Mama threw a quick, surprised glance over her shoulder.
“Is that so? Well, perhaps you will not have such a miserable time, then. But remember your duty, Ursula. Now, let us speak no more of this horrid topic.”
Without waiting for a reply, Mama turned on her heel and strode out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Ursula sat still for a moment, expecting the maids to be sent back in. After a moment, it was clear that Mama had forgotten to send them in. Letting out a long, ragged sigh, Ursula sank backwards onto the bed, staring up at the canopy above her.
Marital duties. Who would have thought that Mama, of all people, would have such a conversation with me? She looked so relieved to have been spared explaining the details.
Pressing her hands over her face, Ursula found herself recalling the eager, whispered words of Lady Smythe, surrounded by a trio of her closest friends, all agog.
“You will never believe where he touched me next,” Lady Smythe whispered, her pale face reddening. “Oh, girls, it was the most marvellous sensation, I cannot even begin to describe it to you.”
“Do try,” one of her friends urged eagerly.
Lady Smythe giggled, pressing a hand against her mouth.
“I am starting to believe, girls, that there is a reason why so many women are happy to have endless children.”
Ursula found herself imagining Graham, smiling down at her with those cool grey eyes, a sort of knowing look behind them. His hands, she recalled, were slender and elegant but not thin and delicate. She placed a hand across her collarbone, palm to bare flesh, and imagined that it was his hand.
What will it feel like? Will I be transported, like Lady Smythe, or will I live a life of dogged despair, like Mama?
Is there any way of controlling which outcome I receive?
No answer presented itself. Her blood pounded under her skin, and she began to feel almost breathless.
And then, quite without warning, she heard shuffling and muffled voices outside her room, and the doorknob began to turn.
Red-faced and sweating just a little, Ursula hauled herself upright and onto her feet, seconds before the door opened and the maids came scurrying back in.