Chapter Nineteen
Bessie makes a beautiful bride. In a pale blue embroidered gown and French hood, she’s the perfect fusion of live-action Cinderella and cartoon Cinderella. When I arrive at her wedding feast, I take both her hands and kiss her cheeks.
“Congratulations, Bessie.” I lean back to look at her, and when I do, I notice her nervous smile. “What’s the matter?” I ask. “You look stunning, and Richard is obsessed with you.”
“No, it is nothing like that,” she mumbles. “It’s just . . . I am worried about being a wife.”
“Marriage jitters are completely understandable. But I promise, you are going to be a wonderful wife.” I take a beat. “Unless you’re not telling me something about Richard. If he ever hurts you, just say the word and I’ll have him arrested. I have the power to do that, you know.”
“No!” She grabs at my wrists and pulls us over toward the side of the room. “It has nothing to do with him. I’m just nervous about tonight. The wedding night.”
“Ohhhh,” I answer slowly. “Which part are you nervous about?”
Bessie turns us so that our backs are facing the inside of the room, lowering her voice. “All of it. My mother said the act will hurt terribly, but I must endure it. She said to keep my eyes shut and not to scream or God won’t see fit to give me a baby.”
Loss of virginity, terror, and religious guilt—an infallible trifecta.
“I see. And by any chance, do you know how it physically happens when God gives you a baby? Maybe from a medical standpoint?” Pretty please say yes.
“Not entirely,” Bessie answers, “but a maid at my family’s estate once told me that the motions are similar to a strange bunny hopping in and out of its hole. She also said that the first time it happens, it will feel as if I’m being stabbed in my unmentionables.”
Oh, my sweet sister in Christ.
“Right. So, I think it’s very important that we go at your pace with this conversation. You tell me exactly how much you want to know about what goes on in a sexual relationship and that’s what I’ll tell you.”
Bessie’s eyes bulge. I forgot that queens of England aren’t usually sex-positive psychologists.
“How much am I supposed to know?” she asks, a little panicked. “How much did you know before you . . . married the king?”
It’s safe to say that we’re both aware that my wedding night with Henry wasn’t my first sexual encounter. But I also can’t tell her that I lost my V-card at a prom after-party my senior year of high school.
“I think I knew slightly more than you do now.”
“Please, tell me,” Bessie pleads. “If I know what’s going to happen tonight, at least I can prepare myself.”
Explaining the birds and the bees to Bessie at her wedding venue certainly wasn’t on my bingo card today, but what in my life ever is?
Ten minutes later, we’re in a secluded side room, sitting in two parallel chairs, and my innocent friend is looking at me like she’s just seen a ghost. A horrifying ghost with a very big boner.
“But . . .” she stutters, “but I’m sure that’s not physically possible. It’s mortifying! I can’t let him do that to me!”
I lean forward in my chair, keeping my voice smooth and calm.
“But that’s the thing—it doesn’t have to be him doing that to you.
You should be an active participant. Sex can be an extremely enjoyable act that you and Richard do together to express yourselves.
At some point, you might even want to do it every day. ”
“Every day?” she asks disbelievingly. “You are mad! How could what you described ever be enjoyable? You said he’s going to . . . enter me.”
I move my head from side to side. “That’s part of the logistics, yes, but the entering bit can be a fun process if you both go about it the right way.”
Bessie leans in as well now. “How do you mean?”
I rub my hands together, really hoping that I’m not making things worse. “Before we get into that, has there been anything you’ve liked doing with Richard so far? Has he kissed you yet?”
“Yes,” she answers with a shy smile. “Three times.”
“And how was it?” I ask.
She thinks about it a moment, and I’m beyond relieved that her smile stays in place.
“I liked it. It was a bit wet at first, but then it was nice. The last time he kissed me, he held me close and squeezed against me while he did it, and it made my stomach feel strange, but a nice strange, if that makes sense.”
Good for you, Richard. I knew I liked you.
“It makes perfect sense,” I tell her. “What you were probably feeling then was desire and an attraction for Richard. That’s normal and healthy and a positive sign.”
Bessie nods, seeming grateful for the news.
“Some advice I would give you for tonight,” I go on to tell her.
“You might mention to Richard you want him to kiss you a lot—for a good long time. It will help your body to relax, and it will help get you ready for the next steps.” I watch as her cheeks go red, no doubt remembering the “next steps” that I explained to her just a few minutes ago.
“Of all the things I mentioned when I talked you through the process, was there anything that sounded interesting? Or like something you would like to try?”
Bessie pauses, her cheeks turning closer to maroon. “I suppose what you said about him touching me sounded all right. If he does it softly.”
“Wonderful. So, you should tell him that you would enjoy some soft touching. And as you both explore a bit and you find out what you like, you can tell him to do it more.”
Bessie sits back in her chair at my words. “I’m allowed to do that? My mother specifically told me to keep silent for the duration of it.”
For a second, I start to feel annoyed with Bessie’s mom, but then I remind myself that she was probably just passing on the same information that she was told for her own wedding night.
In a time when nothing was more important than producing heirs, you would think that society would educate women to enjoy and crave sex as much as humanly possible.
Instead, they keep cockblocking their own goal.
“I’m sure your mother did tell you that.
Unfortunately, that might have been what she went through and what she was taught, but I’ve found that open communication is very important in the sexual process.
If you tell Richard what you’re responding to, he’ll most likely continue to do it.
A good husband will want to give you a nice experience, and I think that Richard wants to be a good husband to you. ”
Bessie takes a deep breath as she absorbs all the information. “And am I allowed to touch him, too?” she asks curiously.
Get it, Bess!
“Yes,” I reply. “And just how you’re going to tell Richard what you like, you can also ask him to tell you what he likes.”
Bessie nods. “So . . . if he kisses me and we touch each other, will the entering part still hurt?”
I wait a moment, thinking of the best way to phrase my answer.
“Honestly, it most likely will still hurt tonight, and it might continue to hurt for the first few times you and Richard are intimate. But the more comfortable you and he get with each other, the better it will be. In less than a month, I bet you’ll love it. ”
“Do you love it?” she asks a few seconds later. “The bedding process?”
I let memories of Simon slip into my mind, pushing my legs together under the secrecy of my heavy gown. “Yes,” I tell her with a small smile. “I love the bedding process.”
Bessie looks astonished, but I shake my head and stand, prompting her to do the same. “Okay, this is your wedding day. We need to get out there and celebrate, and then we’re going to the after-party.”
“What’s an after-party?” she asks.
I walk toward the door, smiling at her over my shoulder as I do. “You’re going to find out . . .”
“What do you mean we flip the cup?” Lady Barrow asks from across the table. “The wine will splatter all over us.”
The after-party is in full swing as I’ve assembled two solid teams in my inner receiving room.
It’s a bit overcrowded with Bessie’s wedding guests, even though we only invited the courtiers we trust. We even coerced the guards into dispersing to the very outer doors in exchange for a substantial amount of wine, giving us relative freedom for the night.
“No, you drink the wine, then you flip the cup once it’s empty,” I explain. “It’s a race, and whichever team finishes first wins.”
“Do we all go at once?” Bessie asks.
“No, we go in a line. You go first and the last person is the anchor. Are we ready?”
Half the people say yes, the other half say no.
Bessie, Elizabeth Norworth, and I are co-captains of our team, intermixed with other ladies-in-waiting and male courtiers.
Lady Barrow and Lady Wessex are the co-captains of the opposing team.
Richard is one of their number and is struggling to survive.
“Ready, set, go!” I yell.
Lady Barrow and I start drinking, and the Tudor crew picks up on the basics of flip-cup with surprising ease.
Yelling and cheers erupt as the game progresses.
Richard is the anchor of his team and victoriously flings his arms up in the air when he clinches the win at the very end.
We take turns playing and rooting other players on until everyone in the room has had a chance. Then we’re moving on to the next game.
“My turn,” Bessie says through a laugh a while later. “Never have I ever said I was going to the chapel for confession but really I went swimming naked in the lake while on summer progress through Wiltshire.”
Everyone oohs and aahs, except for Lady Wessex. She continues to pet Theo, who’s in her lap, as she takes a drink from her cup. When she’s done, a knowing smile spreads across her face. “Why, Bessie, you sneaky thing. Enjoy the show, did you?”