The Bartered Virgin (4 page)

“Buck up, Davy. Get dressed and I’ll take you around town. Then we’ll find a nice dark tavern to hide in until supper. I don’t want another day of Father’s tantrums about school. Are you game?”

David brightened at the prospect of seeing the city. “You can give me the tour but make sure I’m back here—and sober—to dress for supper. Then we’ll be off to your place and we can both face our futures.”

Winn sat in her dressing room while Margaret, her mother’s lady’s maid, readied her hair for the evening. She stared at her reflection, feeling more like a lamb being led to slaughter than a woman about to be introduced to her betrothed for the first time. Her mother insisted she wear her coming out gown of white silk covered with tiny crystals and seed pearls. She tried to get away without wearing her corset but Margaret would have none of it.

“You want Lord David to see you with poor posture an’ bosoms poppin’ out all over?” she admonished in her Bowery brogue.

Winn felt like yelling out
yes
but she kept silent, except for the occasional wince while Margaret styled her hair. She hated her corset with a vengeance and the damned bustle she had to wear under her gown. However, it did seem to help her sashay the way Kitty described. She didn’t have to push her hips out so far for effect.

“Pearls, Miss Winn.”

“Hmm…”

“Wake up, child. Lift your head. I want to hook up this strand of pearls. There, now aren’t you a lovely piece.”

Piece of chattel,
Winn thought. “Thank you, Margaret. You may go now. I’d like to be alone for a while before dinner.”

After Margaret withdrew, she dug the pillow book out from under her mattress and silently read some more. The more she read, Winn thought, the more she’d appear to be loose and brazen.

My nipples burned for his touch. Each time he suckled them a joyous sensation ran down to play at my cunt…
There was that word again. She read on.
At last he placed his hand between my thighs. His fingers played a wonderful tune of sweetness. My cunt was dripping wet with the tears of love…

So that’s what it was! The cunt was the private place between her legs. Suddenly Winn felt very warm and uncomfortable, and not from the heavy gown and underclothes. She squeezed her legs together, but the tingly feeling only got worse. She wanted to rub herself but a girl
never
touched herself down
there.
Or did they? If bad girls did then perhaps…But the layers of clothes and the corset made it next to impossible, so Winn settled for wiggling her bottom against the chair, wondering at her body’s reaction.

Like most girls her age, she was ignorant of what was expected from her in terms of marriage. She knew very little about the workings of her own body except that once a month her mother made her stay in bed for three or four days and plied her liberally with hot toddies and handfuls of Lydia Pinkham’s Pills whether she needed them or not. She was punctual with her cycle and Margaret always appreciated that “Miss Winn didn’t bleed through the bed sheets.”

Once she tried to approach Mother about the subject of babies. Winn watched her eyes grow wide as she stuttered and reached for the smelling salts. She was abruptly informed never to mention the subject again and was told, rather hesitantly, “Your darling husband will teach you all you need to know on your wedding night. Just remember to do your duty.”

Winn learned through snippets of gossip from Margaret and the other maids that men were scoundrels at best and never to be trusted, and that a girl’s virtue was to be prized above all else. Although Winn wasn’t quite sure how a man could steal a virtue. She did manage to equate virginity and virtue, but that didn’t solve the bedroom riddle. She also knew a man had a penis. She’d seen her brother’s once, years ago when he was abed with the grippe. It was a short, pale pink, floppy appendage, which rested on a small, round sac of flesh. How this strange organ inside a man’s trousers stole the prized virtue was a mystery. But she did hear that penises came in various sizes; some large, some not-so-large and some worth giggling about.

Winn thought further about her dilemma. Perhaps the best way to get rid of David was to let him take her virtue, after all. Then he couldn’t possibly marry her. No man wanted a woman who wasn’t a virgin.

While she was at it, she’d better plant the pillow book in the drawing room where they would retire after supper. It was there that Winn would be called upon to display her talents at the piano and read to her guests. If she hadn’t got rid of him after her recitation then it would be up to her to enact the rest of her plan in the garden.

Winn wrapped the book in a lace shawl and went downstairs. On the main floor, the servants were busy laying the dining room table for supper. Father was in his study and Mama was still in her room getting ready. Tip had arrived earlier, somewhat the worse for wear, begging her to loan him her mouth gargle of peppermint and myrrh. He was currently napping.

She strolled into the drawing room and placed the book on the shelf next to the Shakespeare sonnets. All she could do now was wait.

The family gathered in the drawing room at seven-thirty. Tip claimed his usual stance by the fireplace, which was not lit due to the warm August evening. Winn and her mother sat at each end of the settee. Father poured everyone a sherry then bided his time by reading the
New York Herald.

“Lord Wolshingham,” announced the Percys’ butler, Burke.

They all rose to greet David.

He bowed slightly. Winnifred eyed him scrupulously from top to bottom. He was in full formal high-collar Prince Albert dinner blacks. A diamond pin winked from the first button on his white silk shirtfront. His patent calfskins were buffed to a shine. At least he knew how to dress. Winn tried not to be too obvious as she glanced at the front of his trousers and silently prayed for the evening to proceed quickly. She wanted to get on with the business of losing her virtue as soon as possible.

“Of course you remember our daughter, your future bride, Winnifred.”

At her father’s introduction she curtsied politely. “How do you do.”

“A pleasure to see you again, Miss Percy,” he replied in a clipped British accent. He kissed her gloved hand without making eye contact. A part of her felt mildly insulted that he didn’t at least look at her.

David took up a position at the fireplace beside Tip. Winn noticed he was a few inches taller than her brother, certainly taller than Father. His gaze seemed to be imperiously trained on the middle of the room, except when engaging in conversation with anyone. He was severely polite to her father, warm to Tip, unfailingly charming to her mother. Yet he seemed very distant toward her. But this was exactly what she wanted, Winn told herself, so she avoided any feelings of annoyance.

He made no move to speak to her directly until Burke announced dinner. Making his way to where she was sitting, he proffered his elbow. “May I escort you to dinner?”

Deadly dull and boring, as Kitty would say. “Of course, Lord Wolshingham.”

“Please, do call me David. I abstain from using my title while I am abroad.”

All evidence to the contrary,
thought Winn. Especially when his “abstained” title was the reason for his being here and ruining her life. But she would fix that after dinner.

The men talked about David’s passage over cream soup and prawns.

“I believe the White Star
Celtic
is the largest ship afloat and makes an average of sixteen knots.”

“You are correct, Mr. Percy.”

“Did you have a pleasant voyage?” her mother asked.

“Pleasant and uneventful, ma’am,” he replied.

“And, of course, you traveled first-class.”

Winn saw him raise a brow in her mother’s direction. “Of course, Mrs. Percy.”

David dabbed the corner of his mouth and allowed Burke to remove his soup cup.
He eats like a cat, all prissy and fussy.
He handled the silverware as if it would break and set his crystal stemware on the table in total silence.

“Winnifred is an avid reader of Mrs. Beeton’s, David. She is sure to set an attractive table in your home, won’t you, dear?”

Winn’s mind set off on an untamed tangent. Endless silent dinners consumed across a massive scarred table in the drafty great hall of a crumbling castle.
“Maid, another serving of pussy for his lordship.”

“Yes, Mother. Lovely.”

“A dollop of love’s wet tears on the side?”

She dabbed the corner of her bottom lip with unfeigned delicacy. She wanted to scream. It was starting already. Her mother would spend the rest of dinner building up Winn’s non-existent domestic skills. Perhaps if they knew how well she drank beer or raced a bicycle…

“Pass the cunt, will you, dear?”

She suddenly found everyone staring at her. “I beg your pardon, David?”

“Miss Percy, does my conversation bore you?”

Yes! I’m bored to tears.

“Indeed not. Please, tell me about Knightsbriar. I’d love to hear all about my h-home.” The word sounded foreign, even to her own ears. She couldn’t go on like this much longer.

“You shall find your days filled with designing the gardens to your taste. It grieves me to think my mother’s prize roses have been neglected in the years since her death. I’m sure a delicate hand will reclaim them from the weeds.”

“Weeds? Surely your gardener attends them.” Her mother’s voice was tinged with alarm. It did nothing to reassure Winn that she was being banished to anything but civilization.

“Unfortunately, our gardener retired some time ago and I have been unable to find someone to match his skills.”

“Yes, good help is so hard to find these days,” Mary said, “even here in New York. Winn will want to choose her own staff once she gets to Knightsbriar. Isn’t that so, dear?”

“Yes, Mama,” she replied automatically. She could feel David’s eyes on her. For the first time that evening she made eye contact with him, and suddenly found it hard to swallow her green salad. He looked at her as though he knew what she was planning. Either that or he plain out didn’t like her, which suited her agenda just fine.

One agonizing hour later, supper was over and Winn’s father called the gentlemen into his study for brandy and cigars where the conversation would inevitably turn to politics.

Mother ushered her into the main floor drawing room and chastised, “Winnifred, I’m surprised at you. You hardly said anything through dinner. David is your betrothed. Remember, your manners reflect on us. We don’t want him returning to England and telling other people of his class that we Americans are gauche. You must set an example. Please remember your station, dear.”

And that station happened to be at the piano, Winn guessed, noticing the dust cloth had been removed and the keyboard cover lifted. Right on cue, David Knightsbridge joined the ladies.

“Your husband sends his regrets, Mrs. Percy, but he and Tip, er, I mean, Woodrow are discussing his education.” David closed the door behind him and Winn guessed the “discussion” was escalating into one of their famous brawls.

Burke brought champagne and glasses to the drawing room and her mother asked David to pour. “And now I’m sure you’d like to hear our Winnifred play some Chopin.”

Winn obediently took her seat at the piano and played her two pieces.

“Excellent.” The compliment came from that immovable face with its emotionless voice. If she had any ideas that David Knightsbridge could be any kind of man of passion, they fled at that moment. What kind of man could seemingly move through the air and not enjoy a meal, a piece of music or a ride on an ocean liner? A man who eats cats, that’s who! It was like he was an empty shell. And that’s what her life would be like, she realized with a sinking feeling. Empty. Emotionless. Unexciting. Now was the time to put her plan into action.

“Mother, perhaps our guest would like to hear a recitation.”

“Winnifred, dear, what a wonderful idea. Do read something in French for David. I’m sure he’d be delighted to hear a refined European tongue.”

Winn rose from the piano bench and curtsied. “Why certainly. I have just the book.” She strode purposely, head high, posture perfect, to retrieve the leather-bound volume. Father and Tip were still in the study and, with the door closed, she didn’t have to worry their ears might pick up what she was reading. Her father’s French was imperfect anyway and Tip only spoke Latin. Her mother neither spoke nor understood a single word of French.

Winn settled herself on a footstool next to David. He looked politely distant and bored.
So far, so good.
She opened the book and began to read.

“I had the greatest fuck last night. A randy Hibernian stud with a huge prick. Indeed a stick to be proud of, it jutted out from the plump sack of his balls. He displayed it by wrapping both meaty fists around it. I was slick and wet and waiting for him to mount me. How I pleasured in its fit. That thick member battering against my womb, I would have died happy if he had split me in two. Again and again he pumped and pummeled my poor cunt. He roared like a bull when he spilled his jism deep inside me.”

She paused and smiled her sweetest smile, turning to look at David. To her dismay, he sat woodenly stiff in his chair. His expression betrayed no sign that he thought her improper. The only indication he might have heard her at all was that he had crossed one long leg over the other during her recitation. He stared straight ahead and remained silent.

Mary spoke at last. “Brava, brava.” She lightly clapped and applauded Winn’s efforts. “You see, Lord Wolshingham, what a fine education our daughter has had? I might even go as far as to say there are few young ladies in New York who could surpass that performance.”

David turned his head slightly. “Indeed, madame, on that count, I believe you are correct. I don’t recall your father extolling such virtues, Miss Percy. I’m sure he has no idea how talented you are.”

His blatant sarcasm was not lost on Winn, who didn’t take the insult well, but considered it a step in the right direction.

“Lord Wolshingham, would you care to accompany me through the garden? We have the loveliest display of Chinese paper lanterns. They are all the rage here.” She couldn’t resist adding her own barb. “Such a change, I’m sure, from the dreary countryside.”

He rose and extended his arm to help her to her feet. “My dear Miss Percy, nothing would give me more pleasure.”

Winn looked into that implacable face. For the first time she saw a glint of some emotion in his eyes. A lump began to form between her breasts, a slight tremor in her hands as she took his elbow. Touching him so close for the first time, she noticed how warm his clothes were, how strong he felt. A pleasant scent of spice radiated from him. She swallowed hard past her dry throat.

He did have a striking profile, his chin jutting confidently—or was it arrogantly? His nose was straight and not too large. His black hair was brushed neatly off his high forehead and not too long at the collar. And, tonight at least, he was lacking the sallow complexion she vaguely remembered. For all his stiff, genteel manners, there was an air of earthiness about David that was absent in most of the city men of her acquaintance. Perhaps life in the English countryside had improved his constitution, if not his personality.

Winn led him to the morning room and through the double doors with their multiple panes of frosted glass. The housemaids had already lit the lanterns and placed them strategically to show off the statues and arbors.

“Mother has the loveliest wisteria at the back of the garden. We can sit on the marble bench and admire it.”

He said nothing, regarding her with a bland smile and a curt nod.

Once seated, Winn tried to compose herself while smiling pleasantly and absently conversing about the weather. David sat across from her and stared hard. It was most disconcerting. Finally, she had run out of things to say. It was time to act improper.

“Hey, fella. How ’bout a cig?”

David scowled, creating neat lines on his forehead. “The game is afoot, Miss Percy. I’ve no time to watch you act like a pretentious, spoiled brat.”

Winn leaned back on her bench. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

“No, you shall not.” He stood and began to pace in front of her. He blocked what little light the lanterns cast, making him appear menacing. “Just what the hell were you trying to do in there?” he demanded.

“You swore at me!”

“I’m quite sure you can come back with a few choice words of your own.”

“Bastard!” she blurted out without thinking.

“Very nearly. Come, my darling bride-to-be, a bit of your true nature, please. Anything else I should know of besides your penchant for erotic literature?”

Winn stood up now, thoroughly riled yet thrilled to finally have the opportunity to show him up. She lifted the hem of her gown and placed her slippered foot on the bench. Raising both gown and slips to her knee she retrieved two cigarettes and a book of matches from her garter. She boldly lit one and paraded in front of him, sashaying from side to side and blowing smoke in his face.

She had forgotten her chewing gum but decided that a chorus or two of a raucous tune she’d heard at the Coney Island beer parlor was a suitable substitute.

“Have you seen Bessie in a Bustle? She’s got a figure like Lillian Russell…”

“Winnifred, stop that and sit down!”

His tone was officious and she ignored it. She puckered her lips and tilted her head back. “How ’bout a kiss, fella? I’m a red-hot tomato ready to be picked.” Winn hoped she’d said it the way Kitty taught her. When no kiss was forthcoming, she tried again.

“Watcha’ say, mac?” she snapped, trying to sound like a streetcar driver. “My virtue is easy, just say the word.”

David planted himself in front of her, barricading her path and effectively cornering her.

“The
word
is that you have a weak voice, a nicely turned ankle and an interestingly dimpled knee. And nothing would please me more than to throw that lovely dress over your head and dine between your legs before shoving my anxious prick where I’m sure every other young buck in Manhattan has been. I’ll give you what you want, Winnifred, and it doesn’t bother me whether I do it before we’re married or after, but you
will
be on a boat with me back to England by the end of the summer.”

Winn sank to the bench, dumbfounded. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. Something else occurred to her, something very unnerving. This was no powder-puff dandy, easily dominated or willingly deterred. This man intended to marry her and to hell with what she wanted. No amount of sashaying, smoking or French pillow talk was going to stop him.

“But…but, why? You don’t love me. You don’t even know me. Can’t you see I’m not a proper bride for a lord?”

He smiled into the darkness. “Any girl with a seven-figure dowry will do, virgin or no. You just happened to be an easy negotiation.”

“What? Explain yourself, sir.” She angrily tossed her cigarette at his feet. He practically sneered at her reaction to the insult then further annoyed her by calmly snubbing out the smoking butt with the toe of his polished shoe.