Her mother had donned her dressing gown and slippers and wore a mop cap over her silvery blond curls. “Oh, dear me, yes, darling. Good, the hearth is still warm. Let’s sit over here and chat.” Her mama led her closer to the dying embers and curled up on the small settee there. Sophia joined her, their toes touching. She would humor her mama in this.
“Your husband, your future husband,” Mama clarified, “Lord Harold.”
“Yes,” Sophia said.
“Tomorrow evening, he is going to come to you.”
Sophia nodded. Yes, she understood this.
“You will have the services of your new maid, Penny. You must allow her to assist you in bathing, braiding your hair, and dabbing perfume in a few delicate places. Such as behind your ears and on your wrists. You will want to be an oasis to your husband, darling. A fragrant, soft oasis.”
Well, perhaps, it seemed, she might learn something from her mama after all.
“Instruct Penny to braid your hair loosely, only after brushing it one hundred times. Tell her to tie the end with a loose bow. We do not want for your husband to struggle with it, when the time comes. We want him to feel manly and powerful. He will pull the bow off easily, and your hair will flow freely in his hands.”
Her mama smiled conspiratorially and added, “Men love hair, darling, especially long, flowing, shiny hair such as yours.”
Sophia raised her brows. Her mother had thought this through quite thoroughly.
“Relieve yourself before he arrives.”
“Relieve my— Oh! Yes, well, yes, of course.” Sophia was slightly shocked. How much detail was her mother going to go into? This might come to be more embarrassing than she’d originally presumed.
“And well, the perfume. Always remember the perfume.” Waving her hand through the air, her mother then dismissed this aspect of the conversation. “You might wish to climb into the bed before he arrives. It saves for some embarrassment on your part. Anyhow, your role is to simply lie back and look beautiful. Smile as though you have a mysterious secret. Close your eyes, as though his touch gives you ecstasy. And contrary to what many women say, I believe you ought to move with him. Do not lie still like a plank of wood. Do not keep your eyes pressed firmly shut as though you are tasting something bitter… even if it is bitter, for darling, it will be, most likely, quite painful in the beginning. Although I cannot imagine Lord Harold to be so large as to— No matter. You are a maiden, and your body is not used to such… well, such a visitor as it shall welcome tomorrow evening.”
Oh, this was mortifying, hearing her mother speak of such things! Perhaps, more existed to her mother than she’d imagined. And as for Mr. Scofield… At which thought, Sophia brought her musings to a screeching halt.
She would not allow herself to speculate on such things! Good heavens!
“Move with him, Mother?” Sophia had not thought of any of this. When she’d been near Captain Brookes, she’d had inclinations. She’d felt an overwhelming impulse to open herself to him in a most indefinable way, but she’d not considered actually doing so. She’d rather denied such things existed ever since… well, ever since.
Her mother nodded sagely. “Yes, yes, rather like rowing a boat, dear. There is a rhythm to it all. You will know. Your body will know.”
Sophia sat up straight. “What if I get it wrong?”
Her mama laughed. Patting her hand, she smiled at her daughter warmly. “That, my dear, is the beauty of marriage. You shall have years and years to practice. And unlike the pianoforte or learning a new dance, it is an assignment you both shall enjoy.”
Sophia looked at her mother again and felt she’d learned more about her in the past ten minutes than she’d known these past twenty years.
Her mama kissed her cheek and then rose to her feet. “Now, off to bed with you, my darling. You’ve a big day ahead of you!”
* * *
If Sophia had beena real bride…
If Lord Harold had been a real groom…
If they had been in love with each other, rather than other people…
If, if, if… So many ifs. Doubts and thoughts flew about her mind in a frantic but taunting manner.
For if all of the above were true, or even slightly true, her wedding would have been a dream.
The sky was a beautiful blue, and the sun provided the perfect amount of warmth. Birds sang as she climbed out of the barouche upon reaching the church. Her mama glowed, Mr. Scofield smiled at her proudly, and Dudley— Well, dearest Dudley was nowhere to be seen!
Sophia’s dress could not have been one iota more fashionable, nor even the tiniest bit more suited to her figure and coloring. Periwinkle blues trimmed with yellow and gold emphasized all of her best attributes. The flowers everywhere were newly in blossom. How had the Prescotts arranged for such an occurrence as that? They were powerful indeed.
When Sophia entered the church, the scent of candles and beeswax brought decades of childhood memories to mind.
