We’re collected outside of the church, a buggy waiting to take us to a home I won’t return to again after today, not unless I’m a guest. Arthur helps me to board the buggy, and then he follows, both of us seated on the plush bench facing forward. With a whip of the reins, our coachman sets us into motion.
“How do you fare, my love?” Arthur’s voice is quiet but carries over the clomp of hooves.
“I can’t breathe,” I tell him truthfully.
He lets out a gentle laugh, his hand clasping mine tight. “I’ll see if I can help with that once we’re inside.”
“Will you really?”
Those clever brown eyes smile at me in that way I’m so used to. “Really, truly. No wife of mine shall be forced to lose her breath for the enjoyment of others.”
My throat feels tight, and I bring my hand to our joined ones, squeezing Arthur with both. It’s not the easiest position to manage considering the bulk of my dress, but Arthur looks pleased at the gesture. And like he very much would like to kiss me again.
Arthur keeps his voice low, mindful of our company, even as his thumb strokes over my gloved palm. “You look lovely,my dear Charlotte. I’ve never in my life been graced by a more beautiful sight.”
“I look like a powder puff.”
Arthur laughs, a loud boom that causes the coachman to clear his throat. My husband quiets quickly, but my lips twitch as his shoulders continue to shake.
He leans close to whisper at my ear. “The loveliest powder puff.”
I hold my tongue, knowing the extravagance of my wedding gown is a luxury I should be grateful for. Not only is it bleached starkly white, a fortune in and of itself, but the fabric is hand-stitched with light blue flowers along the hemlines and veil. Even my pristine white gloves have a blue flower each near my elbows. No expense was spared, and I’m honored by that.
But it doesn’t change the fact that all I want is to get out of this corset and to throw the stiff crinoline under my skirts into the river so that I never have to wear the uncomfortable garment again.
A woman—especially a bride—is supposed to want to look beautiful. Delicate and proper.
All I want is to breathe.
Arthur holds my hand all the way to my parents’ manor. We’re the first to arrive, of course, everyone else following us from the church. The butler opens the door before we’ve even departed the buggy, his arm held behind his back, the epitome of poise. Arthur assists me to the ground, and I wobble on my heel before righting myself and walking with him to the door.
“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Kane,” the butler says, bowing low.
My heart stutters.Kane. No longer Valentine.
“How do you do, Clarence.” Arthur’s greeting is casual. He’s never been one to stick to formalities, not even those expected from one of his station.
“More than fine, sir,” Clarence answers, waving us inside. “Please. The drawing room is ready for you.”
Arthur thanks the butler as we pass, his arm held aloft as a guide. Instead of leading me into the drawing room, Arthur walks down the hall into the downstairs bath not generally used by guests of the house. He closes the door, the two of us barely fitting inside, my skirts pressed to both the wall and the small sink.
“Arthur?”
“Turn around. We don’t have much time before our reception guests are to arrive.”
With a skip in my chest, I spin, wondering if it’s possible to fall more in love with this man with every passing day. I knew early in our courtship that Arthur was special. That I could have a marriage based on what my heart desired, the kind you only hear about in romantic tales. It’s rare to find that, I know. I’m lucky Arthur met my father when he did.
And yet, no matter how many hours we share, no matter how many days, my affection for Arthur Kane only seems to flourish more wildly. Will that ever come to an end? I can’t bear to think of a time where I might not love him so.
Arthur’s fingers slide lightly over my shoulder blades before he begins unbuttoning the top of my gown. It takes time, but his movements are deft and practiced. It’s certainly not the first occasion in which he’s undressed me, not that my parents are aware of such.
Once through the fabric of my dress, he tackles my corset. At the first loosen of the laces holding it tight, I draw in a breath, my lungs stinging in both relief and aching pain.
“Better?”
“So much,” I say, sucking in gentle breaths as Arthur reties the laces, ensuring my corset is looser than before. He begins the arduous task of relooping the small fabric hooks over the delicate buttons on my bodice next, not once complaining. If anything, he seems happy simply because I am.
He tugs me back around once done, eyes roaming over me from top to bottom. “If we had time for it, my love, I would gladly climb under your skirts.”
