Asfor patience, it was not a quality she associated with the Marquess. She could but hope he would be gentle with her when it came to the consummation of the wedding night, but a quiet, persistent voice told her that it would not be his way. There was more granite than softness in those silvery gray eyes.
It was hard to imagine how it would be, having one’s husband place a certain part of his body inside the most private part of yours. Not that she was entirely without an inkling. In her dreams of late, she’d spent an unholy amount of time imagining all sorts of things.
Except, hardly ever with Seton.
Rather, those thoughts came far more readily with a certain Jack Balfour.
Wanton!
The sooner she was married, the better. It might cure her of these dreadful impulses. From what she’d been told, conjugation took no more than a few minutes, and was conducive to sleeping afterward, which could be no bad thing.
She read on…
Where deeper feelings are present, the act is a transporting experience, bonding man and wife so that none shall come between them. For those who lack such feelings toward their husband, bedroom sports are more to be endured than enjoyed. However, allow him as many freedoms as you can bear, even where his practices may be against your own inclinations. Only ensure that he does not injure you and, in time, you may take pleasure in what first seemed abhorrent.
To be endured, as much as I might bear? Abhorrent practices? And risk of injury!
Onora knew the first time could be uncomfortable, but it surely wouldn’t pain her once she was used to the process.
Seton wouldn’t intentionally hurt me, would he?
She wasn’t so certain.
As for ‘deeper feelings’ making a difference, she couldn’t see how that worked at all.
On occasion, a headache or other ailment may be professed to avoid the matrimonial act, but wives should beware employing this tactic with regularity. Better that your husband finds his release in your arms than in another’s.
She would have to remember that, if Seton’s attentions were really too much to bear. The latter part of the warning was more disturbing.
Seton was a man of the world, and she’d no doubt his experience of lovemaking extended beyond the realms of his previous marriage, for he’d been a single man well into his thirties.
And since the death of his wife?
Almost seven years had passed.
Was it reasonable to expect that he’d been celibate in all that time?
It pained her to admit, but it seemed inevitable that he’d have sought ‘release’, as the guide put it. There were women who accepted payment for that sort of thing, or else men resorted to mistresses.
A mistress!
Her stomach turned.
Did Seton have one? She’d heard tell that some men kept their mistress, or more than one, long after they were married.
That was something shedidfind abhorrent.
I want a husband who’ll only have eyes for me. I want to be his everything!
Was it an unrealistic notion, born of reading too many romantic novels? Seton was no Mr. Knightley, nor Darcy.
More like an inscrutable blend of Rochester and Heathcliff.
She feared she was drawn more forcibly to the morally dubious elements of those characters than the upright principles of Miss Austen’s heroes. That being the case, she was likely attracting what she deserved.
Snapping the book shut, she tossed it away. Regardless of her ambiguous feelings for Seton, she wanted him to be a steadfast husband, faithful and devoted.
Ready for sleep, she wriggled under the covers, making herself lie still. She refused to spend half the night tossing,regardless of her crowded thoughts.
