Cressida's Dilemma

Justin, who had been scanning his report once more while preparing to leave, looked up.

“She was here to reclaim her husband, did you say?”

Mariah nodded, chewing her thumbnail as she continued to stare into the street. “If we women were only given rudimentary knowledge of the facts when it came to the realities of marriage, this poor woman would not be so desperate and I”—her shoulders slumped— “might still be happily married.”

He could barely attend to her reflections and hoped his voice did not betray him. Trying to assimilate the multitude of questions jostling for precedence, he asked carefully, “How did you and this woman meet?”

“She was near fainting in the corridor, so great was her fear of discovery. She’d been told her husband was here, though she seemed to have scant notion as to what she would do when she found him.”

“She ventured to this place, alone, to find her husband?” Justin balled his fists and forced himself to breathe evenly. Mariah could be describing no one else but his wife. “Because someone told her this is where she’d find him?”

“I think she just wanted to know if he was here. She said she was terrified of more children. Apparently, her mother died giving birth to her sixth.”

“What!” Justin gave no thought to the force of his exclamation. Afraid of more children? Cressida doted on their offspring. Increasingly, she chose to spend her time with them, rather than her husband.

Mariah was speaking once more. He tried to concentrate on her words while the implications of her assertion filtered through to his brain. He’d begun to think his wife’s earlier enthusiasm for the marriage act was purely for procreation, not recreation. That while she sought a cessation of marital relations with the nursery full, she’d also lost interest in the shared intimacy he still so greatly craved. Not once had she ever suggested he take precautions to protect against further pregnancies.

Shock was swept away by the most intense dismay as he acknowledged they’d never properly had the conversation. Such talk was lewd, sinful… Good Lord, he thought with a start, perhaps Cressida did not even know such prevention was possible. It was not a conversation one had with one’s wife, though he had tried…

The realization of Cressida’s real and terrible fears swamped him, and the words of his report, upon which his eyes were unconsciously trained, blurred. Uncurling his fingers, he raked his hand through his hair.

He straightened in his chair, breathing carefully as he acknowledged how gravely he had failed his innocent, lovely wife. It was his duty to comfort and protect Cressida, to make her happy. He was ten years older, with experience beyond anything she could ever know. Just as Cressida had no knowledge of sexual relations outside their own bedroom, she’d have no idea how to translate her fear into words. Lord almighty, she’d known nothing on her wedding night, and when her first pregnancy had been confirmed, she’d asked from where the baby would emerge!

Now, instead of broaching a topic that Justin suspected was not discussed even among women, she’d practiced the only thing she knew would protect against conception.

Abstinence.Resistance.A surge of protectiveness sent the blood roaring through his veins and moisture stung his eyes.How long had his precious, darling Cressida been caught in this dark, terrible place, unable to translate her feelings for him into anything physical for fear of the consequences? Last night she had come so far, taken such bold, brave steps, faltering only at the last when he had failed, yet again, to understand her terrors.

The chair nearly toppled in Justin’s sudden haste to return home and take Cressida in his arms and counter every fear

of hers in the most loving, practical way of which he was capable.

“Apologies for my abrupt departure, Mariah,” he said, “but I have just recalled an urgent appointment. Tomorrow I shall return with, I hope, confirmation to set both our minds at rest.” In three quick strides he was at the door. In less than ten minutes, he’d be home. He’d thought Cressida was playing games with him. No, he’d had no idea what Cressida was doing, but now he knew the truth. Surely, if he acted quickly, he could rekindle their precious love before she had drifted too far from him?

“That’s unlike you, Justin.”

He could barely answer, for his thoughts were concentrated entirely on the task at hand. “Sounds like your poor new friend’s husband is an ignorant boor,” he muttered, his hand upon the doorknob, “who deserves to sleep alone.”

Great was his disappointment to learn upon arriving in Bruton Street that Cressida had apparently responded to an urgent summons from her great-aunt Jane who lived in Bath and who claimed to be upon her deathbed. Brimble, the butler, said he was uncertain when Lady Lovett would return.

Chapter Seven

Fumbling in her reticule for her handkerchief as she stood uncertainly in a dim passage at Mrs. Plumb’s the following Wednesday, Cressida mopped her eyes. These tears! Where did they come from? Soon she would be confined to the asylum if she did not find a remedy for the nervous anxiety that afflicted her. She’d spent the previous five days with her great-aunt before returning this afternoon to find Justin not at home. She had to admit she’d been rather relieved.

If only she could control this infernal shaking. Tonight… What might it bring? It all depended so much on whether Miss Mariah was telling her the truth or not. Could she really have a remedy for Cressida’s woes? Was there really something so simple as a means of adequate protection each time she accepted her husband into her bed? Even something to lessen the risks was better than nothing. In all their years together, there’d been no talk of that, though she remembered broaching the difficult subject with Catherine after she’d discovered she was with child for the fourth time.

“My, my but you’ll bankrupt poor Justin if you insist on producing a daughter for him every year,” her cousin had said, pretending jocularity. “I’ve given James his two sons, which suits him very nicely.”

Feeling overwhelmed, Cressida had struggled not to break down in tears as she asked, “Is there some secret I’m not aware of, Catherine, that you speak like that? Of course I want to give Justin a son. It’s my duty. But you? You may well start producing daughters, too.”

“Not likely,” Catherine had answered wryly, and Cressida had longed to quiz her more. She had, in fact, obliquely charged Catherine with knowing of some practice to ensure that she didn’t produce girls, but Catherine had simply patted Cressida’s knee in that maddeningly superior way of hers and said as she always did, “Don’t ask me, Cressy, ask Justin. You stopped confiding in me long ago when you learned that your darling husband was the font of all knowledge.”

But of course Cressida could not ask Justin when she was growing bigger with the child they hoped would be the longed-for heir and which, when born, turned out to be their darling Emily. Cressida had sobbed with dismay at the time, though she’d loved Emily like the rest of their girls, and so had Justin. Ah, but then Thomas had finally arrived, and Cressida thought that finally she’d somehow find the words she needed now that Justin had his son.

Instead, she simply reverted back to the tongue-tied, country dormouse Catherine had teased since they were children, smiling and pliant on the outside, tormented by her ignorance on the inside.

“My dear girl!” Her friend greeted her warmly and led her into a small conservatory at the back of the house.

“It is such a lovely evening we can sit here, as my own sitting room is currently occupied.” Miss Mariah patted the seat beside her on the cane sofa. “I’m glad you came…and dressed for action, too, I see,” she added, referring to Cressida’s revealing black evening gown. With its deep neckline and figure-hugging cut, it was very different to her widow’s weeds. “I promise you, a few minutes are all it will take for me to explain what would advance society’s happiness and end so much suffering.”