“Then I’ll use one of my favorite styles.”
Emma glanced at Bessie’s reflection in the mirror. At most times, she had a tendency to forget Bessie was there, but today, she was glad to have her there. Bessie was a familiar presence in her new, and very scary, world.
She turned her attention to her hands which were folded on her lap and wondered if she dared to talk about anything personal with her. Up to now, she hadn’t. Most of the topics they’d shared had to do with what she might wear or what she might do for the day.
Bessie had been married, until her husband’s death, so she knew about intimate matters. Bessie slipped some pins into her hair.
“Your Grace, in some ways you are like the daughter I never had, and I don’t like seeing you this miserable. Is there anything I can do to make things better for you?”
Touched by her concern, Emma made eye contact with her. Perhaps she could trust her in personal matters.
Clearing her throat, she managed a weak, “How long does it last?”
When Bessie’s eyebrows furrowed, she pointed to the bed, her cheeks flushed from being so bold.
Understanding lit up Bessie's eyes. “Oh! Of course. I should have known that’s been troubling you.”
She offered a kind smile and patted her shoulder affectionately.
“I can’t say for sure. Some gentlemen last longer than others, but I’d say no more than a couple minutes once he’s…involved…in the process. You shouldn’t worry so much about it. I know you can’t help but feel uncertain about the whole thing, but it’s a very natural process and one that brings pleasure.”
Bessie finished pinning her hair back and motioned to the mirror. “What do you think, Your Grace?”
I think I’m going to throw up, she thought as she glanced one more time at the bed. Swallowing the nervous lump in her throat, she turned her attention to the mirror and studied her reflection. She looked like a virgin all dolled up so she could be sacrificed on an altar.
“You don’t seem pleased,” Bessie softly commented, a worried tone in her voice.
Emma sighed and turned away from the mirror. “You did a wonderful job. I don’t feel up to seeing him, that’s all.”
“It’s just nerves, Your Grace. Truly, there’s nothing to it. All married ladies go through it.”
Emma knew Bessie meant well, but nothing she could say would ease the sickening knot that tightened in her gut. This just might be the worst night of her life.
Bessie smiled and helped her up from the chair. Whether or not Emma wanted to be in this marriage wasn’t up for debate. Now it was a matter of fulfilling her duty and giving her husband an heir.
***
While Bessie helped her choose appropriate accessories, Bessie gave her a quick rundown of who would be at the ball. By the end of her overview, Emma’s head swam. She could not remember all those names and titles. How was she to get along?
When she finally descended the grand marble staircase leading down to the entrance hall, Emma felt her every inch of her tremble, afraid she’d lose her footing and land head-first at her husband’s feet.
Standing by the front doors, he looked up as her footsteps echoed down the stairs ahead of her. Dressed in a simple, yet elegant suit, his black hair combed back, her husband looked the picture of a gentleman. Taking a deep breath, Emma approached him, eyes cast down and to
ok his offered arm.
She was breath-taking! Alexander thought. The crimson red dress perfectly complemented her auburn hair, accentuating her pale skin and slim figure. The stark contrasts made her glow, vibrant with colour.
A rosy shine on her cheeks spoke of excitement or jittery nerves; he could not tell. Her eyes glistened in the dark, hidden under thick cast-down lashes.
Nervously, she bit her lower lip, brushing a hand down the soft fabric of her dress. He could see the concern about her appearance plainly on her face. Then she looked up and for a moment met his gaze, before returning it to the stairs under her feet.
Alexander barely managed to get his own features back in check before they’d give him away. He noticed his pulse had sped up, and although it returned to a more normal rhythm, he could still feel it pulsate against the tight fit of his collar.
For a moment his eyes turned inward. Bridget had been beautiful in a more obvious way. Her golden hair and glowing blue eyes had enchanted anyone who ever lay eyes on her. She had been like the sun, drawing everyone near, necessary to everyone’s survival.
Emma was different. Again he cast a careful glance in her direction as she approached and hesitantly slipped her arm through his.
As he led her out the door and to the waiting carriage, their feet crunching in the snow, he felt her tremble by his side. Again he wondered if it was the cold or her nerves.