Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
Harriet was still in bed when Mrs. Mercer entered the following morning.
She was not asleep. She had been awake for some time, staring at the canopy while she considered the kiss from every possible angle.
There were a great many angles to consider.
The first press of Benedict’s mouth had been tender enough to reassure her.
What followed had been something else entirely.
She had not known a kiss could make her forget where she was. She had forgotten the room, the fire and every sensible reason she had imposed a limit upon him. Had Benedict carried her to the bed, Harriet did not know if she would have stopped him.
That uncertainty ought to have frightened her more than it did. Instead, she found herself more irritated that he had stopped.
“Do you mean to lie there all day?” Mrs. Mercer asked as she crossed to the windows. “His lordship has already inquired if you mean to come down for breakfast.”
Harriet sat up as the curtains opened and daylight poured into the room. “What did you tell him?”
“That I had not yet seen you and could offer no useful answer.” Mrs. Mercer turned from the window and regarded her closely. “It is unlike you to linger in bed so late in the morning! You do not look ill.”
“I am not ill,” Harriet protested.
Mrs. Mercer’s lips firmed, suspicion flaring in her eyes. “Then he has done something wretched and you are avoiding him.”
“He has done nothing wrong,” Harriet stated exasperatedly. “I am merely pondering certain things.”
“Weighty matters indeed if they are so heavy on your mind you cannot rise from your bed.”
Harriet ignored the observation. Benedict would be belowstairs, waiting for her to appear. He might be regretting the kiss. He had not looked regretful when he left, but neither had he looked pleased. He had looked strained, as though remaining with her had required more endurance than departing.
“Mrs. Mercer, I need to tell you something.”
The older woman moved toward the wardrobe. “If it concerns the blue gown, I already know you dislike the trimming. You need not explain it again. Once we’ve selected a suitable ladies maid, her first test will be replace it.”
“It does not concern the gown.” Harriet tightened her grip upon the bedclothes. There was no elegant means of saying it, and elegance had never been her most useful quality. “Benedict and I have not consummated our marriage.”
Mrs. Mercer paused with one hand upon the wardrobe door. “No. I did not suppose you had.”
Harriet frowned. “Why not?”
“Because I have known you since you were in leading strings, and you have not the least notion how to conceal anything from me.” She opened the wardrobe and began examining the gowns within. “His lordship has also looked as if he has not slept since the wedding.”
“Has anyone else noticed?”
“Noticed what? He comes to your chamber each evening and is not seen leaving it. The passage between your rooms permits him to come and go without walking through the house. For all any servant knows, he spends every night in this bed.”
“But you knew.”
“I suspected. That is not the same thing.” Mrs. Mercer selected a morning gown and laid it across the chair. “And if anyone else has formed the same suspicion, they will have the good sense to keep it to themselves. I’ll brook no gossips in this house.”
Harriet thought of Selby watching them in church. Good sense had never prevented him from doing anything that served his purpose. “Selby would not.”
Mrs. Mercer’s expression sharpened. “No. I imagine he would not.”
“If he learned of it, he would use it. Benedict believes he may try to challenge the settlement and perhaps the marriage itself. At the very least he would cause enough trouble that my father would be forced to defend it.”
“Then we will be careful. But you will not take his lordship into your bed simply because Selby has driven you there. That would give the man more power over you than he deserves.”
It was a much more difficult admission, but a vital one. “It is not only because of Selby.”
Mrs. Mercer waited. She had always possessed a particular manner of waiting which suggested that whatever Harriet refused to say would eventually be dragged into the light.
“Benedict kissed me last night.”
“Ah.”
Harriet bristled. “What does that mean?”
“It means several things now make considerably more sense.”
“I do not know why I bothered telling you.”
“Because you wish to ask me something and have spent the last five minutes attempting to work your way toward it.” Mrs. Mercer sat in the chair beside the bed. “Ask.”
Harriet drew a slow breath. “What should I expect if I invite him to stay?”
Mrs. Mercer’s brows rose. “You grew up in the country, child! Surely you have some idea.”
“I would hope that things between two people would be slightly different than rutting beasts in a field!”
Mrs. Mercer smirked a bit. “You might be surprised.”
“What the devil does that mean?” Harriet insisted.
Mrs. Mercer’s mouth twitched, but she had the grace to suppress the smile. “Never you mind. That is for another day.”
“I am serious,” Harriet said. “I know what occurs. I do not know what I am expected to do or how I ought to behave—” She stopped, suddenly uncertain how many humiliating questions she intended to ask before breakfast. “It is different when people are involved, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. People think too much.” Mrs. Mercer reached out and smoothed a crease in the counterpane. “Whether it is painful depends much upon how patient the gentleman in question is. As you’ve been wed for a week, I daresay he’s proven his patience.”
“That is not particularly reassuring.”
“It is not meant to frighten you either. Benedict will know what he is about.”
“You cannot know that.”
Mrs. Mercer gave her a look of profound disbelief. “My dear, his lordship is a handsome, unmarried gentleman of rank who has spent a considerable portion of his adult life away from his mother’s supervision. I can assure you he is not a novice to the process.”
Harriet felt heat rush into her face. The knowledge should not have surprised her. Benedict was not a green youth, and gentlemen were permitted freedoms women were expected not even to understand. Still, she did not enjoy imagining him exercising those freedoms with someone else.
“That hardly recommends him.”
“In most matters, perhaps not. In this one, experience is preferable to confusion on both sides.” Mrs. Mercer’s voice softened.
“He is not a rogue, Harriet. Whatever else you may say of him, he has kept his word to you even when doing so has plainly cost him some comfort. If you trust him enough to ask, then trust him enough to guide you.”
“What does that entail?”
“It entails not stopping him every few moments to demand an explanation.”
“I would not do that.”
Mrs. Mercer said nothing.
Harriet frowned. “I might ask one or two questions.”
“Then ask them before you begin. Afterward, pay attention to what you feel rather than what you think ought to happen next. If you like something, let him know. If you do not, tell him. Men are not mind readers, however often they behave as if women ought to be.”
It was sensible advice. It was also infuriatingly imprecise.
“That is all you intend to tell me?”
“There is no set of instructions that will make the experience entirely predictable. You wished to know how it will feel with Benedict. I cannot tell you that because it is different for every person and with every person.” Mrs. Mercer rose. “You will have to discover the answer for yourself.”
Harriet threw back the covers with more force than necessary and allowed Mrs. Mercer to help her into the morning gown.
She had wanted facts. Instead, she had been advised to trust Benedict, avoid questioning him excessively and allow him to lead her through an experience she did not fully understand.
Yet the idea no longer seemed quite so frightening.
Benedict had stopped the previous night because she had asked for only a kiss. He had wanted more. She could not doubt that now. But wanting had not made him careless of her wishes. If she changed those wishes, she believed he would still be careful with her.
That belief was the only certainty Mrs. Mercer could offer.
Everything else would have to be learned through experience.