Lady Lovett's Little Dilemma

Miss Mariah leaned across the small space between them and asked with clear enthusiasm, “Now, where shall we begin? I do admire a young woman who sets out to help herself. You have been an inspiration to me, for I was a lustreless creature last week, I’ll admit it.” She raised her own glass. “You helped me see that, regardless of our trials, we must embrace the future.”

Cressida took a nervous gulp of the amber-coloured liquid and looked down at her gloved hand, clenched in her lap. “My husband—” she began, feeling a surge of longing for the man she’d hurt, neglected and lied to over the past week and whose arms she could not wait to feel around her. A week had heightened her desire for the simple comfort of his company.

“Your husband is a capital place to start. I’ve no idea what kind of man he is but, as it is clear you are deeply in love with him, I cannot imagine he’d not be completely amenable to doing his part to lessen the risk of increasing your already large brood when it comes to lovemaking.”

Heat seared Cressida’s face and throat as she spluttered on her sherry.

Her friend laughed. “How many years did you say you’d been married? Eight? Nearly as long as myself. My dear, the way we entertain our husbands is at the very core of how they regard us and if you are too afraid even to mention what is at the root of your fear then I see you have a very great problem indeed.”

Cressida forced down her embarrassment. If this woman spoke the truth her world was about to begin anew. She’d grown up with maiden aunts who’d taught her nothing about the business and a domineering mother-in-law who’d made it clear that a reluctant wife was undutiful and unnatural. A knowledgeable stranger was as good as anyone to dispense the kind of advice she needed right now.

She put down her empty glass and laced her fingers, directing a level glance at Miss Mariah. “After I left you last week I chanced upon my husband unexpectedly in this house,” she said, quietly. “Yes, I was shocked but we were both in masquerade,” she said, then began to explain what had transpired.

“Good Lord, my dear girl, how have you managed this past week if your husband was so full of expectation upon meeting you last Wednesday?”

Cressida felt her mouth tremble. “I went to my great-aunt’s. I couldn’t face him. I didn’t know what to do.” She raised hopeful eyes towards Miss Mariah.

“Oh, my dear, what a terrible time you’ve had of it. If I’d known I’d have got down to business straight away. As it is, we’ve not a moment to lose. So, you ask me if it’s so easy to have marital relations without begetting a child nearly every time?”

Cressida leant even further forward. The urge to learn filled her with hope. She wanted to know everything Justin knew. Those women who’d borne her along with them in that haze-filled room obviously indulged in sensual pleasures with scant regard for the cares that beset Cressida. Knowledge was power. Cressida could use it to conduct her life and use her body as she wished. She didn’t have to be like those women but she could feel in control of her life in a way she certainly didn’t now.

Fascinated, Cressida watched Miss Mariah reach into a crimson velvet drawstring bag. Upon the inlaid table in front of them she laid out a small sponge and a brown bottle labelled vinegar. Beside it she placed a strange oblong object made of, if Cressida didn’t know better, some animal membrane.

“Men have been using French letters for centuries, but we women have our little secrets, too. Now, my dear”—she patted Cressida’s hand, “I am going to give you the kind of advice and information I’d have given my own daughter—” her voice hitched, “had I been able.”

Cressida didn’t miss the lapse of composure. She sympathised. A woman’s chief purpose was to beget and rear her children. Wasn’t she blessed to have had five, and all so robust, for at last Thomas appeared to be growing out of his childish maladies. He’d run about Great-Aunt Jane’s country garden like a little colt. But this woman had had to forgo the joy of a family in order to support herself through the pleasures of the flesh. Or the need to make money in perhaps the only way she was able.

Cressida felt the excitement building. If what Miss Mariah was telling her was true, Cressida could enjoy both.

Tending to Great-Aunt Jane had been a trial. While Cressida had nursed her fractious relative, she’d also nursed her own confusion, her lacklustre spirits bolstered by the daily, loving letters her husband had sent her. Wonderful Justin deserved far better than simple, fearful Cressida. However, as Cressida had wrinkled her nose at the foul-smelling ointment she’d used to rub her ungrateful great-aunt’s arthritic legs, she’d also found herself blushing as she’d channelled her mental energies into concocting a thrilling scenario that would set Justin on fire. Thanks to the now dream-like experience of Mrs Plumb’s back chamber and Miss Mariah’s instruction on lovemaking without consequences, Cressida’s marriage, she now felt with increasing conviction, was about to take off in a whole new thrilling direction.

* * * *

Justin couldn’t remember when he’d been at such pains to ensure his turnout was immaculate. Finally, Wednesday evening had come around again, signalling a week since the dreadful confusion with Cressida in Mrs Plumb’s sitting room and here he was, back in his friend’s modestly furnished abode, making another attempt at getting his necktie just right.

After Cressida’s abrupt departure last week for Bath he’d been at a loss. A complete and utter loss. For the first four days their communication had consisted of one brittle letter informing him of her health—a poor response to the reams of loving good wishes he’d poured on to the page. Then, extraordinarily, yesterday, after a long description of the children’s activities, she’d written that she’d missed him and that she looked forward to meeting him…

He took another breath to calm himself as he reflected on those uncharacteristic words so full of promise.

“…perhaps in unexpected circumstances tomorrow evening when all shall be revealed.”

All shall be revealed? Images of her literal disrobing competed with a frank explanation of her torments. Justin was fully prepared to offer a very loving reception in both instances.

Then, out of the blue this afternoon, Mariah had mentioned seeing again the ‘poor woman with so many children’, obliquely alluding to the ‘instruction’ she’d offered and that she hoped would benefit her.

Was Cressida really returning this evening, armed with new knowledge, to finish what they’d started the week before? On the one hand he felt deeply remiss and neglectful that she’d had to resort to a stranger like Mariah for instruction—on exactly what, he could only imagine. But he had to let that go. What husband could speak to his gently reared wife in such terms unless she broached the subject with him?

Hope that Cressida was coming tonight had turned to conviction, mutating into the most extraordinary maelstrom of emotions he’d ever experienced, as he’d envisaged the variety of scenarios that might ensue once they were together again.

Still, he could not push aside the responsibility and guilt he felt at Cressida’s apparent torment, and his attempts at communicating this on paper littered his study.

He’d not revealed to Mariah that Cressida was in fact the woman who had bared her heart to her. Mariah’s earlier criticism of his wife had stung. It might even be possible—though he doubted it—that Mariah was jealous of the wife who’d usurped her place in Justin’s heart eight years ago.

In the intervening week, Justin had tried to focus his attention on Mariah’s business and, to that end, at least, he’d been largely successful. Confirmation had been received discounting the second girl who might have been Mariah’s daughter. Now, his report was finished and his work for Mariah concluded.

With a grunt of irritation, he gave up any further attempts at fashioning the snowy linen at his throat into something of which a Corinthian would be proud and was pouring himself a fortifying brandy when there was a tap at the door.

Mariah had promised him privacy in her small sitting room for the evening while he finished his report, saying she’d join him at about midnight after she finished performing in the salon.