“Husband, are you ill?” she asked softly.
“No, no, I’m perfectly well, perfectly well,” he slurred his way through his words.
Vivien waited with bated breath; Reginald hadn’t come to visit her because he missed her embrace, that much she knew.
“Do you know,” he began, hiccuping slightly, “That I was once the most desired bachelor of them all?”
“Yes, Lord,” Vivien nodded.
“And do you know I was a prolific lover? Everyone knew. I had every widow from London to Leeds knocking on my door, all begging to be held in my embrace, even if it was just for one night.”He glared at Vivien. It would have been slightly more intimidating if he hadn’t been slurring and hiccuping his way through it, Vivien thought.
“Of course, my Lord, you were much sought after,” she agreed.
“But then you came along –” he hiccuped again, “and now look. Married a year, and we haven’t even consummated our union.”
Vivien hung her head in shame; this was a topic she had been broken over from the day they had gotten married. She was an utter failure, and she had no idea what to do about it.
Reginald reached out, running her hair through his fingers, marveling at it as if it was the first time he had seen her hair loose. Vivien had always thought that if she had one redeeming feature, it was her hair – long, thick, and wavy, it was as dark as the raven’s wing and settled across her shoulders, reaching her mid-back.
But if there was one thing her husband had made clear to her, it was that he found her unattractive in every way imaginable. She was too short for him, far from curvy enough, and her company was sorely lacking. He always told her to stop being such a fool when she tried to engage in conversation with him. No matter what the topic was, it wasn’t good enough – she was nothing more than a total bore with no knowledge of any worth. He blamed her entirely for the lack of consummation of their marriage, always reminding her that she was less than average-looking; he hated everything about her except for her very large dowry and estate.
She was a mistake to him from start to finish, she thought to herself.
Vivien nodded mutely, preferring not to say anything.
“Broken,” Reginald muttered under his breath. He looked back at her, scrunching his eyes up as he tried to focus on her face. “You’re broken,” he sneered.
“I’m sorry, Lord,” she murmured.
“Sorry helps nothing when a wife can’t please her husband,” he ranted. Vivien flinched; she had been called broken more times than she could count in the last year. She was starting to believe he was right.
“I can’t believe I got saddled with a pathetic pony. If it weren’t for the wealth you bring me, I swear I’d kick you to the curb given half a second,” Reginald continued, hiccuping his way through his outburst, eyes struggling to focus on anything for longer than a few seconds at a time.
Vivien closed her eyes for a brief second; she’d heard it all before. All the different ways Reginald could call her broken had been used already; all the ways he could make her feel small had been abused frequently; all the ways he could strip her down to nothing had shredded her spirit a long time ago.
She feared she’d never be with child – never bring an heir to her husband, her family, her name. Reginald had control over her wealth, but it would never be his if he didn’t father a son on her; instead, it would pass to her closest male relative upon her death. Being unable to consummate their marriage was weighing heavily on him; that much Vivien knew. It was wrong of her, Vivien thought, but she truly hoped they never did consummate their marriage. The thought of raising a child with Reginald made her sick to her stomach.
“Maybe covering your head with a sack would help? Then I wouldn’t have to look at your face, and we could get this thing done,” he sighed, wobbling slightly where he stood. He placed his hand out against the bedpost, keeping himself as upright as he possibly could in the state he was in. Vivien couldn’t tell if he was joking or being serious; regardless, he would do what he wanted to, he always did.
Vivien kept her eyes on him, refusing to feel fear or dread. He was her husband; she was supposed to love him and welcome his touch. The very thought had goosebumps flashing across her skin, but she knew it was inevitable as a married couple.
“Right, well, move, damn you. Make room. Let’s try this thing again, though I swear it’s a waste of time and effort. Looking at you makes me sick. But maybe you’ll get it right this time. Hah!” Reginald’s laughter was as sarcastic as Vivien had ever heard it.
Vivien felt her heart drop to her stomach; the only thing she despised more than Reginald was a drunk Reginald groping at her in the middle of the night. She moved over and held her breath as Reginald took his position above her. The stench of alcohol was so overpowering she had to keep herself from gagging. She barely managed it, trying her best to breathe through her mouth.
This became a problem when Reginald attempted to kiss her – leaving wet, sloppy attempts in his wake. He gave up on that idea quickly; Vivien didn’t even try to respond in kind. She was merely thankful he wasn’t pushing the matter of kissing her; she really would be sick if he had.
There was some fumbling around as Reginald fiddled with his nightgown, breathing heavily in Vivien’s ear. She tried again to breathe through her mouth, closing her eyes tightly as if that alone could turn this nightmare into nothing more than that.
She wished, not for the first time in her life, that she had an older brother, a younger brother, any form of brother. As an only child, with a vast estate left to her, she had had no choice in who she married.
When she had come of age, she had avoided entering society for as long as she could. But with her father’s ailing health, she was forced to endure the torture of London society by the time she turned twenty. Reginald’s third wife had recently passed away, leaving him heirless yet again. Vivien had prayed, night after night, that she would not have to marry the bachelor nearly twice her age.
Her prayers and hopes had been in vain.
Instead of being allowed to marry a decent lord closer to her own age, who might possibly have loved her, been good to her, or even just tolerated her, she was foisted off on the antique that was Reginald Stone.
Her father felt she was safest in the hands of a well-to-do Lord who had been around long enough to know better than the young wolves, whose arrogance often led them astray. Vivien surmised that some sort of deal had been struck between the old men – something that had forced her into this loveless, pitiful excuse for a marriage.
