Finagled (5 page)

"Tirinia would think there is still. She finds nothing more romantic than heartache. She gets rather excited talking of her own heartaches, her eyes alight... She herself seems very happy, though her own marriage did not produce offspring, perhaps I can cultivate a similar pleasure..."

"Do you need more time, Miss Havishamble, to consider your options.? If you call off the engagement, I will do my best to take the blame for it."

"I will be injured none the less." Ramona said, "It would be pointless."

"Then please, be my wife, if only in name. My companion... perhaps something like you had planned on being for your misguided aunt."

"Companion to the Duke of Blusterfuss." she said aloud. "Yes. Yes, I will consent to be that, and I will do my best to make your life happy in whatever ways that I can."

Still on his knees at her side, he felt the urge to kiss her, again, just once more, but he feared where such a kiss may someday lead. To have her as his own but still keep this damnable distance, his very loins ached at the idea. He patted her on the hand, saw the disappointment keen in her clear blue eyes. He must remain strong, for her very looks would aim to seduce him.

Ramona tried to appear the cheery young bride she wished so much to be. She was marrying, a Duke no less, and her life should but for a promise be complete. She did not ask to whom he had promised, why he would not kiss her again as he had in the arbor, he became solicitous but distant. She tried to smile doubly for the both of them.

In her wedding gown, extravagant beaded silver over a blue white like new milk, with blue lace over her flaxen curls, down to her fingertips, she was all lace and beads and beautiful satin. Little blue roses made of silk sat on the toes of her slippers, her mother’s diamond necklace, lay heavy around her slender neck. She tried to feel as beautiful as she looked.
Just to pretend today that it is exactly what it seems, you are marrying a man who you have strong feelings for, Ramona
, she said to herself,
and he is rich, titled, and kind to you. Why would you ask for something more? It is a foolish game you are playing, in your head, just pretending for a moment that tonight he will love you, a foolish game indeed.

A sudden loud sound, an organ starting to play, in tandem with her heavy beating heart. She was really doing this. Tomorrow at this time, she would be a Duchess. How was this possible? So many mistakes and pain and suddenly she was going to have both more than she had hoped for and so much less.

The actual wedding, strange and sharp light through the stained glass windows, golden yellow and autumnal. Her cheeks ached from smiling. So many faces she knew well, the jealous ones, her female friends, still unmarried, wondering what Ramona had that had won her this man, this Duke, why was she more deserving of happiness than they were, pouts and wet lips and eyelashes, disgruntled curls.

She looked down as she walked towards the altar. Seeing every detail in the tapestry that her little feet padded across, gold lines, red weft, flowers, leaves, gilt and beautiful but old, so old. So many women before her had trod this carpet. How many found happiness standing at the end of it in a trim suit, a big white smile? How many avoided the eyes of their groom, as she did now? Her breath rattled in her lungs like a bird, small, helpless, in a cage. Her fingers were damp and cold as she clutched her bouquet. She studied it. White and yellow roses crushed together, sprigs of green and baby's breath, a pale blue ribbon, it suddenly looked old to her, like rotting linens, like the silk flowers in the attic that had belonged to her great-grandmother that she had tied in her hair as a child, playing dress-up in old gowns, dragging the long skirts behind her across the dusty floorboards.

She was no longer playing dress-up.

This dress was made specially for her, it fit like a glove around her tightly corseted waist, flowed out in a perfect line from her hips. The sleeves, sewn up at the last minute, were tight at the elbows, she could hardly bend her arms, everything was chosen to compliment her exactly, and no one else.

She saw his eyes. They were brown, glinting gold in the light, had she ever really noticed before? And now she would see them everyday of her life. His face was serious. Lips tight, he bowed slightly as she stood before him. She looked at the very pores of the cloth of his lapels rather than stare too long into his eyes. She could be happy with him if she determined.

Hadn't she considered life as the wife of a laborer? She felt so stupid. Suddenly inane. Facing up to silly poodles and their giddy mistress and not losing one whit of herself, here she was losing it all. Every ounce of herself.

Vows. Spoken in a deadpan. Cold lips on hers, stiff, not warm as she had remembered or hoped them to be. He gripped her hand so tight her fingers felt crushed, as they left the church, husband and wife, they both wore huge grins, and no one suspected an iota of regret.

The men admired Ramona, a fine little lady. Some thought it best to marry down a bit every now and then, mix up the gene pool a bit. The women were jealous. Ramona Havishamble! Clearly he had married her for her beauty and nothing more! A horrible mistake, she would lose it as soon as the babies came, and then what would he be left with? And the Havishamble family, respected, yes, but was there some secret debt eating away at them, or had they simply jumped at the chance for this progressive marriage for their only child? They certainly seemed well off, but would they soon be asking their wealthy son in-law for a loan? Oh, then he would regret this union, with a fat insipid wife, screaming children who are no better than their mother and in-laws beating down the door to pay off debts. These women smiled for the first time at this wedding. Oh, he would regret it. It was a pity he had to remove himself from the marriage market to learn this dreadful lesson, but let him be an example to others! Oh just let him!

Alone in the carriage. Sitting across from one another. Ramona both dreaded and hoped for the sound of his voice. She shifted slightly, sat her pretty little lace purse, with handkerchief and smelling salts inside, on the velvet seat beside her and folded her hands, with not a little tremble, she looked straight into his eyes.

"Well, we have done it." she said, simply.

"Yes." he avoided her gaze. It was all he could do not to throw her down on the floor of the carriage there, make her his wife again and again. He grimaced.

"You will be happy. I will be happy. We have to make a game try of it. Grimacing will get us nowhere." she said, observing his countenance.

"You’re right. I will..." he smiled, "I will be delighted to have your reaction to the estate. I have made a few changes with your arrival in mind. I asked your mother for advice on your suite. I hope it will be satisfactory."

"I'm sure it will be," she said, thinking then of her beautiful underthings, the finest she had ever owned, made specifically for him, for his eyes and no one else’s. She felt the pinch of her corsets as she took a deep, therapeutic breath. She was alone with her husband now. He was the one person with whom she should be able to share everything, laughter, love, the satin and lace that she wore against her skin, games of whist, fireside conversations, children, goats, a piece of strawberried crumpet in the morning after they had spent a night engaged in marital congress. She longed to reach across and hold his hand in her own. To ask him to be gentle with her tonight. She could not ask, even if she had expected a consummation, she could not have asked, to be so forward! What would he think of her? But still she played it over in her mind until her skin felt hot. He must see her blushing. What does he think of it?

She blushed as if she could read his thoughts. He had the right to lean over her in the carriage. It was expected, take her in his arms and wrinkle that flawless satin, feel it in his hot hands moving roughly across her skirts. He had never truly this right before, with anyone, and he was forfeiting it.

He coughed roughly.

Their wedding night was going to be spent at a hotel, so that they could rest after the long day. Afterward they would take the 3 day journey to Loathewood.

The hotel was beautiful. Ramona had grown up in a beautiful house, rich tapestries, fabrics, well made furniture, but it was not gilt, gaudy or ostentatious like the Wallyballoo Hotel. After the awkwardness in the carriage, Ramona had been silent, and George had joined her. George, she had not even said his name aloud yet! She shook her head, buzzing with so many thoughts. The hotel was white on the outside, tall and stately, pillars and straight lines. Entering the lobby she gasped. Golds and cream were the thing, gilt table limbs and thick cream brocade upholstery, tan and brown marbled floors, slick beneath her satin slippers. George offered her his arm and she took it.

They must have been something beautiful, entering the hotel, a newlywed couple, her still in her wedding gown, petite, blonde, a compliment to the Duke of Blusterfuss's stature and coloring, the rich clothes they wore, the silk flowers on her gown, they fit into their surroundings exceptionally, too extravagant for real life. Their traveling things had preceded them. While many trunks were making their way to Loathewood, they each had a carpet bag of toiletries and a small trunk of traveling clothes awaiting them in the lush bridal suite. A large room, with a cream-colored bath behind a curtain, romantic scenes on tapestries and a suggestively tasteful painting hanging above a white marble fireplace. Blues and greens, a natural scene, with a lovely nude nymph hesitating before a clear creek, her skin peachy and smooth. In the bushes behind her a faun watched and waited expectantly. A small table set for two was not far off, the dinner would be brought up within an hour, it had all been arranged. A large and tidy room. Her eyes continued to avoid the bed, huge and luxurious, though it was clearly the feature of the room.

Through a side door, there was a dressing room, with a vanity table and couch, their luggage already attended to, clothes set out and brushed for the following morning, which would start early. They intended to set off at five in the morning.

There had been some chuckling among George's fellows.
Five o'clock the morning after their wedding night!
George had been suave, unaffected, he was anxious to get his bride into his own home, with no distractions or interruptions. He intended no honeymoon, why waste time exhausted from sightseeing the first few weeks of marriage when you could be exhausted from something much more entertaining at home? There were more chuckles and George felt a little sick inside.

Ramona stood near the doorway. She was anxious to change out of her gown, it was twice as wide as anything else she owned and she felt like a giant cake, now, here, alone with her husband.

"I feel like a giant cake." she said, aloud.

"Yes," he smiled, "I imagine you do. I will go down to the restaurant while you change."

"Yes... of course," she started to remove her gloves.

There was something intimate about this act. He had seen hundreds of women remove their gloves for as long as he could remember, but he had always felt a bit like he was watching them undress. He had watched a woman undress before, starting with the gloves, the jewelry, and then the things she needed help with, hooks and buttons, ties and laces.

"I..." she paused, "I suppose if I ring someone will come to assist me?" she asked, blushing.

"Of course..." he saw her pained expression.

"I..." she turned away from him, "They will know... I think you’re supposed to do this." her voice was barely a whisper.

"Would that hurt you?" he asked, moving toward her, slightly annoyed with himself, of course it would, but how could he stand to... to touch her in such an intimate way and then walk away, it was unfair. But it was unfair to her to stand for the humiliation.

"I... I might try to do it myself." she said, shortly. "I am sure I can manage."

"Yes... I... Please, go in the dressing room. I will wait for you and if you have difficulty..."

Ramona blushed. "Thank you." she said.

The smaller dressing room, she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she was  flushed pink, her brow slightly shiny with sweat. The buttons on her wrists were easy enough. She reached up to her neck, the first two cloth covered buttons there gave way with ease. She strained and reached around her back, the tightness of the fabric across her arms and rib cage cut into her flesh, she was laced in as tightly as she could be and taking deep breaths seemed to worsen the situation. She tried to breath out, become as small and empty as she felt. There was a loud sound as the satin of her sleeves tore. It sounded even louder in her hot, flushed ears. Had George heard? She stood still for a moment, looking at the loose fabric on her arm, feeling tears well up in her eyes, she choked on a sob.

"Miss. Havi... Ramona?" she heard George's voice. She could not make herself reply. She found herself sitting on the floor trying to will her buttons open. She heard the door crack.

She did not look. Face turned downward, fingers clasping on lap. "I don't know if I can do this." she said, simply.

"I can help you," he said. She heard his soft step on the rug. She still did not look up.

"No," she said. "That's not what I mean. This. I would be... I would be
nervous
, if you were my husband, and this was my wedding night, but I could do it. I feel like a fool."

He knelt beside her, and started to unbutton her gown. The husky sound of her congested breathing, and the soft slither of the fabric covered buttons being pulled through their loops, he saw the line of her shoulder blades, peculiarly lovely, a small dark mole on her back, pure white satin laced tightly across her body, the buttons went to her waist, he slipped the dress down over her shoulders.