She had Dawson undress her and put her in a nightdress and dressing gown. The tray came up with beef tea and dry toast. She felt her appetite return as she sat and ate. She consumed everything. Dawson took the tray away and left her for the night.
She got into bed and waited. She waited for the door between her and George’s bedchambers to open and for him to come to her.
But the door didn’t open. He didn’t come. She got out of bed and crept to the door. There was light coming through a crack at the bottom. She put her ear to the door and heard nothing.
She went back to her bed, suddenly afraid of being caught out of it, like she was a child with a bedtime instead of a grown woman in what was now her own house.
She had made it clear to him today she was willing, hadn’t she?
And she needed him to show he needed her. He had said he needed her the day he came to speak to her brother about their marriage. But maybe he hadn’t meant this way.
Or he was punishing her. For crying again in the carriage. For telling her mother the marriage was a mistake. For not eating supper with him.
He was teaching her a lesson.
After her long sleep yesterday and the day of idleness in the carriage, she couldn’t find slumber. She still had not closed her eyes when she started vomiting at four in the morning.
A tap came on the door between their two rooms, but she couldn’t answer as she heaved.
The door opened, and George entered holding a lamp, wearing a shirt and trousers. He didn’t say anything but came and sat on the bed and held her hair back as she spat into the chamber pot.
When she finished and lay back on the pillows, he said, “I’ll have the doctor come see you today.”
“No,” she rasped, suddenly exhausted. “No. This is normal.”
“Is it?”
“My sisters all had this with their first pregnancies. And Judith all four times. It gets better. At least, I hope it gets better.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“No. Thank you.”
“Let me get you a fresh chamber pot.” He took the one she had vomited into and went to his room and came back with another. He hovered. “Shall I go?”
“I don’t want to cause you any bother.”
He sat down heavily on the bed. “I never imagined I would have such a polite marriage. My mother screamed a lot. At my father.”
“Would you rather I screamed at you?”
“No.” He turned to her, his face grave in the lamplight. “But do you want to? You can.”
“No, I don’t want to.”
“Well, let me tell you what I want. I want you to bother me. Because otherwise, I feel like I’m pushing at you. And you’ve made me realize I’ve pushed you enough the last twenty-two years. But I’m wild to do things for you. Please bother me.”
“Is that why you didn’t come see me after your supper? You didn’t want to push?”
“You wanted to eat alone. I thought you must want to be alone.”
He hadn’t been punishing her. Why had she jumped to that conclusion? He had been trying to give her what he thought she wanted.
She yawned. And now, strangely, she wanted what he had given her before.
“Will you—will you rub my back like you did last night? Until I fall asleep. But I promise not to cry this time.”
“I would love to rub your back. And you can cry.”
