Chapter 6
Deliverance
My first few weeks as a wife were not what I had expected.
Perhaps I was expecting too much, thinking we would be like my dear Mama and Papa, who always entered into each other’s concerns
But Gideon seemed to have very little time beyond his work and Grayspires. And unfortunately, the less attention he gave me, the more I craved him.
At meals I scrambled about for some topic to converse on. But he had not read the same books, and after he sneered at the titles of a few of my favorite novels, I quaked at the idea of mentioning them again.
Instead, I sat in silence as he and Ada discussed household matters I knew nothing about. Nor did Gideon do watercolors, draw, or have any interest in the embroidery I loved. Back home, Papa much enjoyed hearing me play pianoforte in the evenings, but I did not even know if there was one here.
Perhaps I would find an instrument in the house on one of my solitary rambles through it. I had not ventured far, but Gideon said I could explore as long as I stayed out of the west wing.
I tried to avoid the strange painting with the torn-out head, but I was growing increasingly curious about finding the distant connection between us.
The family Bible had not been much help, but perhaps no one kept it up, as Gideon’s name was not even in there.
It seemed to end with one Hezekiah Nightshade. Was that his father?
But when I asked about the name, Gideon told me harshly that I should focus on my sewing instead.
I wondered that he did not want to show me around himself, but he seemed disinclined to spend much time together.
Perhaps that is all gentlemen really want—these hasty late night visits, the loud wet slaps of our bodies connecting.
Gideon seemed to take little pleasure in the act, flipping up my nightclothes without preamble and gripping my thighs and sensitive portions very roughly.
It lasted a few minutes or he would thrust into me over and over for what felt like hours.
Sometimes it would end in that strange explosive sensation, and sometimes it would leave me feeling empty and unsatisfied, and he’d leave without another word, as sticky seed spilled from inside me onto my thighs.
But when I haltingly asked the next day if that was usual, Ada smiled at me and said it was, that was just how gentlemen behaved and what they liked and not to worry about it.
Thank all the saints for Ada, she was my one true friend here! She gave me a soft poultice to put on my cunny and said it would feel better soon.
She was right, of course. The next night I was less sore, and still less the night after that.
And still I craved my husband. I did not understand what explained the change in his behavior. When I first met him, it seemed like we had an instant connection, that there was something of an understanding between us.
Soon I could recognize the scent of Gideon’s tobacco, the sound of his footsteps outside my door. Despite my attempts, he didn’t usually speak beyond a grunt or two. Maybe I was wrong to think gentlemen were gentle.
So why did I crave him so badly?
I asked him once about his work, to see if that might bridge the gap between us, but he only said very harshly not to go to his workshop.
One day I might work up the courage to ask about the poor little creatures I found sometimes on the property, and how far was it safe to go onto the moors.
Often I wondered if he regretted having to marry me. But why had he done it if only to not speak to me at dinner or spend our evenings together? He could easily have cast me aside. Mostly he suggested that I go up to my little room early and read quietly in my bed.
But one night I was so bored in my own quarters that I snuck down the staircase a bit to see what was happening.
Were they both enjoying tea and conversation in the sitting-room? And if so, why wasn’t I invited?
I was only halfway down when I was surprised by a knock at the door.
A visitor, at this hour?
Hugging the shadows, I watched with bated breath as Ada's tall, elegant figure swept down the hall, her soft emerald-green skirts swishing gently.
To my surprise, it was a woman at the door, heavily veiled in soft gray gauze. This woman was very beautiful too, with golden curls just barely visible, and a very pink mouth and rosy cheeks.
"Gideon?" Ada called and in horror I had to press myself flat against the wall and into the shadows as my husband came by, the sickly-sweet rot of the wood strong in my nostrils, the remnants of his last release still sticky on my thighs.
Thankfully he did not notice me, but I was so close that I could have put out my hand and touched the sleeve of his dark coat.
It was strange to see his harsh face in the light and know what he did to me in the dark.
At the base of the stairs, he took the woman's arm, and moved off with her to the parlor.
Who was she?
Jealousy tore at me as the minutes ticked onward.
Why would a strange woman be here? What should I do? Looking both ways, I crept down to the door and pressed my ear to it.
I could hear nothing whatsoever, no matter how hard I strained.
Indecisively, I hovered there, unsure what to do.
Should I confront my husband? Should I try to go back to bed?
Before I had a chance to decide, the door opened, and I barely had time to dive into the shadows, before I saw Gideon, accompanied by the beautiful blonde woman.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her soft voice echoing throughout the entryway.
“Remember,” Gideon said, and his voice was even colder than usual. “Don’t be a fool. Be careful. Be cautious. Tell no one about this.”
I peeped out from behind the vase. That sounded very suspicious, and there was a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. What would necessitate such secrecy?
The door shut behind her, sending a wave of cool night air inside.
Now once my husband turned out the light I could creep back into my room and hope he didn’t want to visit me twice in one night.
But the heavy, hard tread of his boots did not go in the direction of the stairs.
It came toward me.
And then, as I tried to scramble backwards, his boot landed right on my nightgown with a rending tear.
“Deliverance.”
Instead of being embarrassed, I decided to confront him. After all, was I not his wife? Why was he keeping secrets from me? Why was he entertaining strange women in his office at night?
“Who is she?” I squeaked.
His fingers were very hard, pressing down on the soft skin of my back as he drew me up by the collar of my nightgown.
“None of your concern, is it?”
“Put me down this instant!” I demanded, desperately trying to pull the fabric over my wriggling naked legs.
Gideon twisted me around so we were face to face, his hair so dark he seemed to melt into the shadows.
“I give the orders at Grayspires. Not you. In this house, you will learn to keep your nose out of my business or you will be punished.”
Then he carried me very firmly up the stairs as my toes strained desperately for the ground.
When I struggled, his big hand came down on my naked behind, one shamefully painful thwack that reverberated through my body, and then another, and now my face was as red as my cheeks must be at being treated like a nuisance.
“Don’t bother covering up,” Gideon said, and how could his voice sound so expressionless when my own emotions were scurrying out of control? “I will see what I want, when I want.”
And I didn’t know what kind of man was in my bed, one hand tight in my hair, thrusting his prick inside me as his rough beard rasped all over my soft skin. . .