She knocked upon Madame de Roubernon’s stateroom door. After a shuffling moment, the knob turned and the Frenchwoman’s face appeared in the opening. When she saw Louisa, she threw open the door and cheerfully welcomed her in.
A curious reception…
“Madame, I must speak with you,” she said, crossing the threshold.
Once inside, Louisa was shocked to find two bunk-style beds. Unlike the Granborough’s parlour suite, these twin berth cabins were the typical accommodations on the ship. Spoiled, sheltered Louisa realized too late how far she stood above her fellow voyagers—of course, Lord Granborough had selected the finest suite for their crossing. Hadn’t he been hurt by her complaints about the size of the rooms and the presence of only one bed?
She faltered, losing her fury. Waistcoats and wardrobe trunks were scattered amid parasols and hatboxes in this cramped space. A gentleman’s freshly-polished dress shoes had been placed by the door.
Did two people occupy this cramped cabin, hardly better than Gladys Waldo’s windowless box?
“You share a stateroom with your husband?” asked Louisa.
Madame de Roubernon looked amused. “Do you not?”
The elegant woman wore a morning gown of soft alpaca trimmed in fur. Her coiffure had been pinned up in a simple style by a shell comb. This was hardly the brazen seductress Louisa had expected to find.
Confused, she powered on, determined to get to the bottom of her husband’s misbehavior. “Lord Granborough wasn’t here last night?” she asked. “You two weren’t…together?”
Madame de Roubernon laughed. “It would’ve been crowded, and my husband would not have approved.”
There could have been no room for a rendezvous here, where Monsieur de Roubernon would’ve lain on the top bunk. It had been far too cold and too rough to enjoy an assignation anywhere else.
Louisa sputtered, shamefaced. “I…am sorry.” Her cheeks flamed and tears scalded the backs of her eyes. “There has been some mistake… He led me to believe…that he…that he…”
She had accused His Lordship of having an affair and he hadn’t bothered to correct her.
Madame de Roubernon went to her in an instant, draping a soft, woolen arm over Louisa’s trembling shoulders. “I am sorry if your marriage is unhappy, Lady Granbrorough. It’s a pity, because you and His Lordship are well-suited.”
“We aren’t suited. I don’t know him at all.”
She led Louisa to the bottom berth and together they perched upon the mattress. This gesture reminded Louisa of the long, girlhood talks she’d shared with Mamma—and of all the practical, wifely knowledge her mother had denied her.
Louisa had so many questions. Why must a young bride be kept in the dark, only to be thrown to the mercy of her husband? Why would these women, who had once known that fear and ignorance, perpetuate the cycle of shame on their daughters?
She’d been cast into matrimony without a chart to guide her, yet no sailor would think of putting out to sea without the skills necessary to see himself safely to shore.
Madame de Roubernon understood all of this, listening as Louisa unburdened herself for the first time since leaving home, and answering her questions as best she could.
The problem with marriage—to her enlightened French mind—was men. “Most are worthless without a woman to guide them.” Louisa’s union, and all of the awkward, unfamiliar, unfulfilling exchanges she’d shared with Lord Granborough could be remedied with a little effort. “Show him what you want.”
“I don’t know what I want.” They’d only been intimate twice.
To Madame de Roubernon, Louisa’s innocence did not seem such a stumbling block. “Learn what you like,” the woman said. “Touch yourself. Give yourself what he cannot.Vous lisez le Français, n’est-ce pas?”
Louisa nodded. “Yes, I can read French.”
Madame went to her portmanteau and searched for something. She retrieved a book, and then offered it for Louisa’s inspection. A quick glance at the first few pages brought a hot flush to her cheeks. The prose was florid. The illustrations were explicit.
She snapped it shut. “This is illegal!”
In the United States, obscene material was forbidden under the Comstock Laws, and to even possess such a novel was an act of defiance. Holding it in her hand felt liberating, illuminating. Maybe this book and the bounty of knowledge it contained about pleasure and agency was another secret shared between married women.
“Keep it, treasure it. No one will dare take it from you. Remember, you are a wealthy woman, and now, you are a powerful one. You needn’t rely on a man for anything—but you may bring him along if you like.” Madame de Roubernon winked.
Louisa blushed. “I do like him. I wouldn’t have married him if I hadn’t. There is greatness in Lord Granborough if one can see through the vain, temperamental, mercenary exterior.” She explained, “I catch glimpses of him now and then. I wish to be a strong, equal partner that he can rely on. I want to be the wife he trusts and the lover he craves.”
“Then show him you can see him, that you recognize the man he can be. But first—always first—remember whatyouare worth and settle for nothing less.”
