Weddings of the Century: A Pair of Wedding Novellas(35)
Lie there and think of England, in other words. Sunny’s stomach turned. Had her tall, athletic father actually done such things to her delicate mother? Was this what Paul Curzon had wanted when he was kissing her? And dear God, must she really allow Thornborough such liberties? Her thighs squeezed together as her body rejected the thought of such an appalling violation.
Seeing her expression, Augusta said reassuringly, “A gentleman will not visit your bed more than once or twice a week. You also have the right to refuse your husband once you are with child, and for at least three months after you deliver.” She glanced down at the pile of crumbs she had created. “Last night, after the settlements were signed, I took the duke aside and reminded him that you are gently bred, and that I would not permit him to misuse you.”
“You spoke to Thornborough about this?” Sunny gasped, so humiliated that she wanted to crawl under the table and never come out “How did he reply?”
“He gave me the oddest look, but said that he understood my concern for your welfare, and assured me that he would be mindful of your innocence.” Augusta gave a wintry smile. “It was very properly said. He is, after all, a gentleman.”
Sunny’s mind was a jumble of chaotic thoughts. The marriage bed sounded revolting—yet she had enjoyed Paul Curzon’s kisses, and kissing was supposed to be a prelude to doing it. Surely the women who carried on flagrant affairs wouldn’t do so if they found the whole business distasteful. Timidly she asked, “Do all women dislike the marital act?”
“I wish I could say that was so, but there is no denying that there are some women of our order who are a disgrace to their sex. Low-bred creatures who revel in their animal nature like barmaids! I know that you are not like that, but you will meet women who are.” Leaning forward, Augusta said earnestly, “I cannot emphasize enough that it is fatal to seem to take pleasure in a gentleman’s embrace. If you do, he will instantly lose all respect for you. A woman who acts like a prostitute will be treated like one. Always strive to maintain your dignity, Sarah. Ultimately it is all that a lady has.”
With horror, Sunny remembered that when Paul had taken liberties, she had responded eagerly. Was that why he had made his degrading suggestion that she marry Thornborough, then have an affair with him? She still thought his behavior despicable—but perhaps she had brought it on by her wantonness. Paul had seen her acting like a slut, so he had treated her like one. It was exactly what her mother was warning her about.
Apparently a woman who gave in to her animal nature also risked unleashing a man’s worst traits. That had been bad enough in the case of Paul Curzon, but Thornborough was going to be her husband! If he didn’t respect her, the marriage would be hellish.
Feeling ill, Sunny said, “I shall remember all you have said and I will strive to behave in a manner that you would approve.”
“I’m sure you will not disgrace your upbringing.” Augusta bit her lip, her usual confidence gone. “Oh, Sarah, I’m going to miss you dreadfully. You’ll be so far away.”
Sunny resisted the temptation to point out that her mother should have thought of that before accepting the proposal of a foreigner. “I’ll miss you, too. You must visit us at Swindon soon.”
Augusta shook her head. “Eventually, but not right away. I know that I’m a strong-minded woman, and I don’t want to cause trouble between you and your husband. Marriage is a difficult business, and you and he must have time together with as little interference as possible.”
At moments like this, Sunny loved her mother with painful intensity. It was true that Augusta was often domineering, yet her love for her children was very real. She was a woman of formidable energy. If she had a railroad or a bank to run, she might have been less absorbed in her daughter’s life.
“I’ll be fine,” Sunny said with determined optimism. “Thornborough is a gentleman, and I am a lady. I’m sure that we can contrive a civilized marriage between us.”
She wished that she was certain that was true.
Chapter 5
Tears flowing down her face, Sunny stood patiently while her maid laced up her white brocade bridal corset. Then Antoinette dropped the wedding gown over her head. It was magnificent, with foaming layers of Brussels lace and billows of white satin spangled with seed pearls and silver thread. Augusta had been so confident of her daughter’s future triumph that she had ordered the gown from Worth when they visited Paris in March, before Sunny had ever set foot in London.
When the gown was fastened, Antoinette lifted the tulle veil and carefully draped it over the intricate coils of Sunny’s hair. As the gauzy fabric floated down to her knees, the bride bleakly wondered if it was dense enough to conceal her tears.
Antoinette secured the veil with a coronet of orange blossoms, saying soothingly, “Don’t fret, mademoiselle. Every girl is nervous on her wedding day. Monsieur le Due is a fine gentleman, and he will make you very happy.”
Sunny’s shoulders began shaking with the force of her sobs. Antoinette frowned and gave her a handkerchief, muttering, “Madame Vangelder should not have gone ahead to the church. A girl needs her mother at a time like this!”
As Sunny wept into the crumpled muslin square, a knock sounded at the door. Antoinette answered and returned with a large white flower box. “For you, mademoiselle.”