The Lady's Maid

My words trailed out as I stuttered, and Thomas took pity on me. He reached forward and brought his arms around me again, pulling me close to him. My breasts met his chest, and his manhood touched my stomach. It was warmer than the rest of him, hard and smooth against my skin. As we touched, I felt the telltale signs of wetness between my legs. It was not possible for me to deny any longer that I wanted Thomas's love.

"I have heard the first time may be difficult for a woman," he said. "Charlotte, I vow to you, I will try to keep you from pain."

He kissed me again, then guided me onto the bed and lay me on my back. Once there, he kissed me once more and resumed touching me. Again, he teased my breasts, his large hands gripping and releasing them, before his hand moved down my stomach and to my mound.

A smile crossed Thomas's lips as he felt the dampness growing there, and his finger traced my folds lightly before nestling between them. His mouth commanded my attention momentarily, distracting me from the finger that dipped further into my crevice.

When his finger breached my entrance, a staggered gasp left my lips. It did not hurt, much like Alice's fingers had never hurt, but it did not feel the same as when Alice's hands were there. Thomas moved his hand slowly, probing me with one finger at first, and then with two. I could not stop myself from writhing slightly beneath him when the second one entered.

"Are you in pain?" he asked, his lips brushing mine as he spoke.

"No," I answered. "No, it just feels... well, I do not know how to describe it. Different, I suppose."

Thomas did me the courtesy of not asking what it was different from. He kissed me softly, still gently moving his fingers inside me.

"It will be easier if you relax," he murmured.

I tried to do as he said, willing every muscle of my body to unclench, but it was much easier to request than to do. Though the feeling of his hand working against me felt nice, the nerves and the sadness and the stress of the entirety of the past month were still heavy on my mind.

When Thomas realized I was as relaxed as possible, given the circumstances, he withdrew his fingers. With a final tender kiss, he pulled away and brought both hands to my thighs, guiding them apart, and moved his body between my legs.

I glanced down at his manhood. It was close to my mound, and from where I lay it appeared even more intimidating than it had when Thomas stood in front of me. I swallowed and attempted to relax, though the tightness in my hips and back would not dissipate, even as Thomas lifted my legs and positioned them on either side of his thighs.

Thomas held himself over me with one arm, bringing the other down to his manhood. Closer and closer he positioned himself, until I felt the tip of his rod at my entrance, ready to breach my hole and commit me as his wife for eternity. In that moment, even Thomas appeared unsteady, and he looked into my eyes with a pleading desperation.

"Yes," I said simply. The buildup was becoming maddening, and I wanted him to continue before I lost my nerve.

Proceed he did. Suddenly, the tip of his rod was pushing past my entrance, and Thomas's sex was entwined in my own. I waited for the pain to begin, but as he delved deeper and deeper inside of me, it never came. Instead, my body began to feel strangely full, and then all at once empty as Thomas pulled back.

I looked down at the joining of our bodies. The tip of Thomas's manhood remained inside me, and he began sinking into me again. The feeling of fullness increased, further that time, and before I knew it, Thomas's pelvis was flush against my own. I breathed deeply, staring at the meeting of our bodies, my lips parted as I took in the sight. Unlike with Alice's fingers or even his fingers, every inch of my tunnel was stuffed, and I could feel myself surrounding his manhood. My lips were stretched open, gripping him as though to keep him there, my body wanting his presence more than I did.

Thomas pulled back again, and burrowed inside me more quickly on the return. A small puff of breath escaped my lips as he plunged back in, the very air from my lungs being pushed out as his arousal took its place inside me. Again, and again, he withdrew and re-entered, more and more quickly each time.

He shifted then, elbows resting on either side of me as his rhythm increased. Not only was his member forcing breath after breath of air out of me, but his torso was now crushing against my ribs. I tried to move my legs so that he could better access my entrance without lying against me, but he outweighed me by too much. Resigning myself to taking shallow breaths as though I was wearing the tightest of corsets, I lay on the bed, feeling the alien sensation of my body being penetrated by him.

It was an overwhelmingly good feeling. The absence of pain and presence of pleasure was surprising to me, after expecting and being told for the entirety of my life that a woman's duty to her husband was at worst, painful, and at best, neutral. No woman was expected to enjoy it. I contemplated the conundrum, wondering if perhaps something was wrong with me.

As his shaft pistoned in and out of me, Thomas's breathing grew heavier. The sounds of his hips meeting mine, skin slapping against skin, filled the room and mixed with his grunts. All at once, his thrusting grew frenzied. This must be it, I mused, the part where he finishes.

I was correct, and moments later Thomas stilled and I felt his manhood spasming. Inside me, a sudden warmth and wetness as his seed spilled into my womb. I closed my eyes briefly as I felt it, yet another foreign sensation inside my body, and wondered if that seed would plant and make me a mother.

Thomas lay on top of me for a time, before sitting up and removing himself from inside me. He brushed the hair off his forehead and looked at me, lying naked beneath him.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"Did it... was it acceptable?"

I had no inclination of what he was asking, so I simply nodded.

Concern crossed Thomas's face, but he did not ask anything further. He kissed my forehead lightly and moved off the bed, passing me my chemise as he pulled his clothing on haphazardly.

I was unsure if Thomas would wish to spend the night in my room, but it did not seem he expected to. Neither of us seem inclined to talk or continue on with further lovemaking, and I felt a pang of gratitude towards him for his consideration that I would want to be alone. Once he was dressed, he took my hand and kissed it before bidding me good night.

Once he had left, I got out of the bed. I had started the day a virgin and ended it a woman. It had not felt the same as my lovemaking with Alice. The place of bliss was gone, that place I had found with her the very first time we were in each other's arms. Perhaps it was because I did not love Thomas the same way I loved her. My body was frustrated, expecting the powerful ending it was used to, but did not receive. Looking at myself in the mirror, I did not notice any change, but I felt an entirely different person.

Turning back to my bed, I made to lay down again, but stopped quite suddenly.

The blankets were pushed back and the sheets were exposed. Where I had lain with Thomas, a small spot of moisture showed on them, but it was what was not present that concerned me.

Mrs. Clayton had told me I would bleed. Every virgin does, she said. But the sheets were white, aside from that spot of wetness.

I began to panic. The maids would see the sheets the next day, and gossip would follow as they told whoever would listen that I did not bleed on my wedding night. People would question whether the marriage was legitimate, and my father would be furious at the thought that we did not consummate. Worse, they would say that I was not a virgin, that Thomas had married a sullied woman.

I could imagine Henry Lawrence hearing the news and twisting it, construing a story that he had me before my husband. Thomas had defended me to him; would he do the same again, if my virginity was suspect? I had been truthful when answering his questions. Perhaps he would trust if I denied such charges against me.

But it was not just Thomas that I had to worry for. What about Mrs. Digby, my brothers, my father? What about Alice?

None of it was true. I was a virgin, and we had consummated the marriage. What was I to do?

I contemplated calling for Alice to ask her help, but that would only lead to questions. Instead, I closed my eyes and tried to think of what she would tell me.

She would be sensible. "Perhaps you did not bleed because of our lovemaking. Perhaps that is why it did not hurt."

Yes, that was possible. But what to do?

"Thomas did not look at the sheets. The maids would not know if the blood came from something else."

Oh, Alice. Even in my mind, she was the most intelligent person I knew.

I searched my dressing table for a sewing needle and found one with ease. Rushing back to the bed, I pricked my finger and let the blood drip onto the sheets. Then, putting the needle back where I found it, I lay back down and tried to sleep, but succeeded only in staring at the ceiling until light began breaking through the window.

**

"Charlotte, you must wake up."

I was awake, and had been since Alice had entered the room. At some point during the long night, I had dozed off, but it must have only been a short while before she arrived. I remembered the stretches of light as dawn broke, shadows on the ceiling lengthening and withdrawing as my mind raced unforgivingly.

My eyes were still closed, however, and I did not open them as Alice moved quietly around the room. Once upon a time, she would have crawled onto the bed, nuzzling me awake as I pretended to sleep, and I would only react when her hands found the slick eagerness waiting for her between my legs.

I did not expect Alice to play that game, and was not pretending to sleep in the hope that she would. Rather, it was the yearning to speak with her, to tell her of the previous night, to express my fears that I was strange for feeling no pain. I wanted to confess about the blood, ask for her advice, feel her comfort. It was all of those thoughts and emotions that kept me from opening my eyes, because while I wanted nothing more than to share those things with Alice, I felt that I couldn't.

She finally came to the edge of the bed and gently shook my shoulder.

"Charlotte, I know you are not really asleep. You know I cannot wake you as you wish."

Anger flared in my heart. "I do not wish for that," I muttered. "I wish to stay in bed today."

"Are you ill?"

Ill from heartbreak, perhaps.

"No."

"Mrs. Digby has requested to see you this morning. Will you have me tell her you are too tired?"

Clenching my jaw, I opened my eyes.

"No, thank you. I will attend."

Alice looked at me with concern as she helped me out of bed.

"Are you angry with me?"

"No, Alice. I am fine."

"Speak with me. How are you feeling? Was last night—"

"It was fine, thank you. I am feeling well today."

She looked stricken at my response as I walked to the dressing area, a black cloud hanging over my head. After a moment, she followed, her head bowed.

"Very well. What dress would you like to wear today?"

The following days were painfully lonely. I could not bring myself to speak with Alice about anything, and the further I withdrew from her, the lonelier I felt. But it would not be fair to confide in Alice. It was easier to isolate myself, to lick the wounds of my broken heart on my own, than it was to open them all over again.

To Alice's credit, she treated me kindly. She did not share her own pain with me, or direct her anger towards me. I knew she was frustrated—one does not have a friendship such as ours without sensing the other's emotions—but she kept it to herself.

Thomas came to my room once more before we left my home forever, with much the same results as his first visit. He did not ask again if I would like Alice to come to the room, though his brow still furrowed in concern when he finished. Again, I was confused by his question of if our joining had been acceptable. It was pleasant, I had said, but still, he seemed confused.

It would be a three-day journey back to the Digbys' estate. The night before we left, my father held a large feast. It was merry, and lively, and as sincere as a pageant wagon show. I wept after Alice had left my room, my belongings already packed and ready to be loaded into a wagon. Philip and Edmund had put on brave faces, but even my brothers could not hide their sadness. I was being torn from my family, displaced from my home, and entering a world where I knew no one and nothing.

We were to leave before the first light of day. Once the wagons were packed and our final farewells said, Alice and I climbed into the carriage with Mrs. Digby as Thomas and Mr. Digby mounted their horses to ride alongside.

"It must be so difficult, dear," said Mrs. Digby as we rattled along the road. "I do not blame you for being somber."

I tried to smile politely. "Thank you, Mrs. Digby. Endings and beginnings are bittersweet. I am sure I will feel better shortly."

That evening, Thomas and I shared a bed for the first time.

He was in good spirits after the day's journey, and as he joined me in the bed, I expected he would pull me to him. I was tired, still saddened by our departure, but knew it was my duty to him and so was prepared.

When he came into the room, I was already in the bed. It was chilly in the room and I had left my shift own, drawing the blankets up as I waited. I watched as he undressed, the small spark of excitement overtaking the sadness and tiredness.

He crawled into the bed next to me, a serious look on his face. I blinked at him expectantly, waiting for him to reach for me, embrace me, undress me.

Thomas did reach for me, but only to draw me close and kiss my forehead.

"Sleep well, Charlotte." Moments later, his eyes were closed and he drew breath deeply.

Tired though I was, I stared a long time at Thomas's sleeping form. I did not know how to interpret his behaviour, nor my reaction to it. I was not relieved or happy that he did not want to make love to me. I was concerned, wondering if I had done or said something wrong. How was I to find love and happiness in my marriage if Thomas did not want what every man wanted?

Thomas did not try to make love to me even once during our journey. I did not know what to think of it. Mrs. Clayton had said he would probably want it every night, perhaps even more than once a night. On top of all my despair at leaving home and having to act as a proper lady, I was certain I had done something wrong and that Thomas did not want me. I was torn between wanting Thomas's attention and wanting to be left alone, unhappy with either outcome and yet craving both.

I was certain he still wanted me. He must, I thought. It felt like every time I saw him, I caught him looking at me with that yearning expression. I could almost see him imagining me naked, his eyes tracing the curves of my breasts. Yet he did not reach for me, aside to kiss my forehead. I was frustrated, confused, and guilt-ridden. Lonely and dejected, and so homesick that I could cry.

After breakfast on the final day of travel, I determined that perhaps I needed air. Thomas had been kind and understanding thus far, so I thought he may allow me more freedoms than I had thought.

"Thomas, may I ask you for a favour?"

Mrs. Digby was just ahead of me, almost ready to enter the carriage, when I stopped in front of Thomas. He was just about to mount the horse, but turned to me eagerly. His face betrayed his delight at my approach.

"Of course, Charlotte. What would you like?"

"I was wondering, perhaps, if I could ride alongside the carriage with you today."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mrs. Digby's mouth drop. It was not unheard of for a lady to ride a horse, but it was also certainly not the most proper of behaviours. I hoped she would not judge me too harshly.

Thomas's expression was frozen in a half-smile for just a moment before a full grin broke out on his face.

"Darling, I would sincerely enjoy that. Father?" He turned to Mr. Digby, who had just approached his horse. "May we make a change today? My wife would like to ride. Perhaps she could borrow your horse."

Mrs. Digby was certainly questioning my sanity, but declared it was a lovely idea. Mr. Digby tried not to show his relief at being able to ride in the carriage, but it was certainly there. I panicked for a moment about Alice, as without me in the carriage she would need to sit in the wagon with the other staff, but she grinned joyfully as she settled beside Jack the valet.

The sadness and frustration disappeared as soon as Thomas finished helping me onto the horse and I was able to trot alongside the party. The air was fresh, a relief from the stuffiness of the carriage, and the quiet of the countryside was a relief from Mrs. Digby's chatter.

It was the quiet that I needed most, as it turned out. With only the noise of the carriage and wagons creaking along the road, and the soft murmur of the staff chatting idly, I was able to calm my thoughts for the first time in days. My heart still ached and the sense of isolation did not disappear, but I felt at peace for the first time since that evening in my father's study. I knew it would be short-lived, but it was a relief.

Thomas did not say much as we rode. I do not think he knew what to say. His horse gave him some difficulties, I think sensing the same nervousness in him that I sensed. It was not that I didn't care about what Thomas may have been feeling, but I was so engrossed in my own emotional turmoil that I could not think of how to offer comfort to him. We rode in silence, and I watched the countryside go by.

After a while, I grew bored of the steady pace. We came upon a wide field bordered by trees, not unlike the woods near my home. I gazed longingly at the field, wishing to run through it and explore the distant woods.

It popped into my head suddenly. Why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I take this horse and run, disappear into the trees and live amongst the wilderness? I could hunt. I could fight, protect myself. I could go, run, disappear and never return.

Thomas was just ahead of me, and I hurried to catch up to him. He looked at me when I trotted alongside him.

"Thomas, I am going to run the horse."

"What? Charlotte, wait—"

His response did not reach my ears as I directed the horse towards the fields alongside the road and began galloping.

The beast had been mild-mannered throughout, but as soon as we began running, its spirit broke free. Wind whipped my hair back from my head and the scent of the grass filled my nose as we raced forward. For a few moments, I felt untethered, unworried, and unbreakable.

I did not intend to disappear. The thought may have popped into my head, and as wildly invigorating as it would be to survive on my own, I knew I was giving myself more credit than was due. But the taste of it, the very taste and feel of a moment's freedom as we broke through the tall grass and the world flew by, was what my spirit needed.

Leaving Thomas was not an option, just as leaving Alice was not an option. Neither of them deserved my desertion, no matter my own unhappiness, but I needed that moment. I needed that wind, and that thought, that option of running and running until I could not be found. It was enough to lift me, to comfort me, to replace the need to seek comfort from those around me.

As we reached the edge of the woods, I had the horse slow until we were nearly stopped. From behind me, I heard hooves slowing, and Thomas's horse came up beside us.

He looked over at me and I smiled, truly smiled at him, for what may have been the first time in our marriage. Thomas's mouth was open, and his indignation turned to astonishment, before finally turning to laughter.