Feminine 101

If you have not already done so, or if you are new, I recommend starting with Chapter 1. If you missed it, you can read Chapter 2 here. This is a linear story and will make a lot more sense read as a whole. Please leave a like, comment, or subscribe to my blog to get notifications when a new chapter is published. If you only missed the last post, you can read Chapter 3 here.

The chambers were chilled by the late January frost. Her maid, Milla, had been a little overzealous in tightening her corset and now she was fanning herself in an effort not to swoon while Milla tucked and twirled her hair. The dining room was set downstairs and guests were beginning to arrive. 

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A light knock from just outside drew a curious expression from the young woman who turned toward the door, but her mother slipped inside and she relaxed immediately. Her mother was medium height with broad hips and chest, and sandy hair teased up into a bun. The girl smiled at her mother, then sprung to her feet at her sister’s appearance directly on her mother’s heels. 

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“Henrietta!” The girl was out of her chair even as she squealed her sister’s name. Henrietta had been married last year and moved south with her new husband. It had been a good match–she, a wealthy baron’s daughter and he, the son of an earl–but it had carried her far from her family. The sister’s had not beheld one another since last spring. The younger sister was all delight and Henrietta grinned happily. Their mother stood basking in the affectionate chatter that sprung up between her offspring knowing they would need one another soon. It was why Henrietta was here. Still she dallied allowing their pleasantries a moment longer. 

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After a few minutes, the mistress of the house dismissed Milla and perched on the bed inviting her girls to sit. Fixing her eyes on the golden-haired beauty that was her 18-year-old, she began, “My darling, I have news.”

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The soft timbre of her mother’s voice immediately subdued her exuberance. “Mother?”

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Her mother drew a deep breath, “Anne, your father entered negotiations with the Duke of Hamilton months ago. He is scheduled to arrive this Friday to formally announce your engagement.”

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The girl was thunderstruck, her lips parted softly. Though she had always understood that an arranged marriage would likely be her fate, still she was unprepared for the flurry of emotions that welled within her leaving her frightened and perhaps even a little nauseated. Would he be old or young? Smart or foolish? Kind or cruel? Would he love her? Would she love him? Then and there, she resolved to do her best. Slowly she became aware that her mother was speaking.

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“I know you are frightened. Please know that your father has judged his character to be sound and believes it will be a good match.”

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The young woman looked into her mother’s eyes so brimmed with concern. “I understand, mother. We will meet Friday?” She drew a deep breath, nodding. “I understand,” she repeated.

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Her mother stood, knowing there was nothing more to say. She could sense the nervousness in her younger daughter, but admired the brave face she put forward. With a glance toward Henrietta, she quitted the chamber. 

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Henrietta turned toward her sister. She was slim with curly blonde locks piled neatly on the crown of her head and piercing blue eyes. Even with her high cheekbones and full pink lips blooming into womanly beauty, she looked very much a young girl in that moment. Never before had she felt so keenly the years between them. The coming weeks would see her sister cross the threshold between child and woman. She prayed silently that their father had chosen well. 

“Mother did not say as much, though, I believe the wedding is to take place shortly after he arrives. Did you…have any questions?”

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The younger girl rose silently and glided to the lead-paned window. After a moment she turned and Henrietta saw a tear slide down her cheek. “What if he is indifferent?” She paused as a sob caught in her throat, inhaled deeply to steady herself, “I am determined to handle anything. But if he should be detached, would I wither away?”

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“Oh, Anne, how could anyone resist you?” Henrietta clasped her sister’s hand. “You must remember that ‘love covers a multitude of sins.’ Your love, in all its forms, is the most powerful tool in your marriage, able to overlook any number of faults and able to turn his heart toward you in the process.”

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She glanced down at her hands. “I suppose I must not think that mine is the only heart to be won.” She smiled purposefully resolving to animate his affections if at all possible. She also determined to catch her father alone to interrogate him regarding her betrothed.

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The next morning she rose early, not bothering to wake Milla, knowing her father would be taking tea in his study despite the sun just now cresting the horizon.

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He answered her knock with his soft gentleman’s tone, “Come in.” He looked up inquisitively as his second daughter, still in her nightgown and robe, slipped in the door and stood to greet her. Truly she was a vision. Light freckles danced softly across her cheeks, her eyes like gems that positively glowed when she smiled. Her figure was perfectly desirable to any man with eyes. The thought made him long to protect her. “Good morning, daughter. I believe I may guess the object of your visit.”

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She blushed, “I don’t imagine that I interrupt your morning often enough for there to be any other cause.” She took a deep breath, “Father, please tell me about the Duke.” 

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Her father watched her sink onto a winged chair, though she perched attentively on the edge. He seated himself and leaned back. “His name is James, the Duke of Hamilton. He is barely twenty so you needn’t worry that I have married you off to someone old and infirmed.” 

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At this she laughed, though a very carnal part of her gave silent thanks. But with a glance she bade him continue.

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“I saw no warts or physical disfigurements.”

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She chuckled again and shook her head, eyeing him. “You do me no credit to carry on.”

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He arched an eyebrow at her earnest expression. Then his eyes dropped with something akin to shame. Of course that was not her consideration; she was no frivolous girl giggling over every handsome fop to swagger about. She was his daughter, concerned for the same qualities as he. “But you do your father great credit, Anne. How could any man deserve you?”

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It was her turn to cast her gaze downward, blushing. “Father…”

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“He needs you, my girl. He is a good man, charitable and hard-working. He’s honest and fair. He is impatient as though he searches for something and has met with only disappointment. I am convinced that all I could find wanting in him was that which you are able to supply.” He rose and came to stand before her. Taking her hands in his, he knelt. “My dear girl, you will quiet his soul and he will love you for as long as he lives.” 

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Anne’s eyes stung at this fatherly blessing, but she nodded. “I will do my best, Father.” Then she threw her arms about his neck, a gesture of such tender sweetness that he folded her in his embrace, praying he had done right by her.

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As she left the room, the young woman savored the sensation of her father’s gentleness trying to memorize every detail. The next few days would be a test of her patience, but she was resolved to be grateful that her father loved her deeply and would decide her future with utmost care. She also made up her mind to love her betrothed regardless of him. Her sister was right: love covers a multitude of transgressions. 

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The next morning, Anne and Henrietta cantered across the meadow trailed by a groom. The leafless branches of the eastern wood traced across the sky and a fresh blanket of late snow wrapped the earth in pale muffle. Even the hoof beats seemed muted and distant despite the violent churning that threw snow and earth behind them. The crisp air and stillness of the morning lent a sense of isolation to the pair. They drew up short as they reached the crest of a rolling hilltop overlooking a nearby farm.

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“Oh, how I’ve missed this!” Henrietta closed her eyes and lifted her face to the ever-gray sky. “William does not keep a horse for me since we keep so much to Town.” She patted the arched neck of her delicate bay. 

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“I suppose I could do without, but I hope I shall not have to.” Anne’s gaze slowly swept from east to west, savoring the countryside of her youth. The week was proving challenging. Every moment there seemed a reminder that her life would soon forever change. Would she ever gallop to survey this beloved ground in such a manner again? A pang of sadness stung her eyes. 

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“Anne?” Henrietta turned the bay so she could look into her sister’s face.

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Anne forced a smile. “You worry for nothing.”

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“Anne, you needn’t be frightened.” She looked casually at her gloved hands, “Has mother spoken to you about the wedding night?”

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Anne blushed furiously. “Some,” she replied, remembering the dozens of questions that bloomed in her mind, questions that she had been incapable of putting to voice. 

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Henrietta, now blushing too, flickered a furtive glance at her sister’s wide eyes. Then she burst out a nervous laugh.

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Anne began giggling, too, and soon they were both gasping for breath.

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Finally, mastering herself, Henrietta, reached for her sister’s hand. “You can always speak with me. I will never laugh at you over this.” She turned her head slyly, “Maybe we can compare notes?”

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Anne grinned blushing again and gazed faraway at nothing. Tomorrow she would meet him. The cook, who doted on Anne as with her own grandchildren, was serving roasted lamb and her favorite custard for a special dinner. They would sit across from one another at dinner, and she would listen to him speak, hear his thoughts for the first time. She felt a longing welling up within her to speak to him. James. His name felt right. 

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The shifting of her mount’s feet carried her back to the present. “Come, sister.” She caught the eye of the groom who waited at a discreet distance, then urged the animal forward into a trot before pushing her to a gallop. The leggy grey mare, whom they dubbed Greta, stretched her neck almost relaxing into the great, racing strides of her heritage. The groom and his deep-chested gelding scrambled after them silently praying for sure footing beneath their feet. He felt no ease until they slowed to trot up the final lane to the stables, puffs of steam visible at the horses’ nostrils. Lady Anne was nearly as steady astride a horse as her father and he thanked the Lord that she recalled her father’s training.

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Anne slid nimbly to the ground taking the grey’s bridle and dismissing the stable boy who had come to collect the beast. The groom watched as she went to the task of unsaddling the animal and currying her. She would soon be a duchess, even now was wealthy beyond his comprehension, could afford grooms for her grooms. Instead, here stood the most beautiful and elegant of the Baron’s children, skillfully mellowing the spirited mare with a steady touch and practiced care. 

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“Begging your pardon, Miss,” he gestured toward the horse, “I do believe she will miss you.” The whole household knew well her coming marriage and she would be missed by more than a few. Indeed, the entire staff would be keenly aware of her absence. She knew them all by name, knew their families, their children’s birthdays. She had read stories to his own girls once when his wife was ill. He knew it was impertinent to say much, but could not say nothing. 

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“I will miss her, too, Olrich.” She rubbed the mare’s neck and chest. “I will miss you, all.” She looked at him with eyes that saw. He was accustomed to the wealthy not taking notice, untroubled by it; they had a great many concerns without him. So it was disconcerting, but gratifying to be seen, particularly by such a great lady. 

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“You will be missed by all.” He ducked a bow. He turned away, abruptly, to swallow the sudden catch in his throat. “I’ll leave you to her, then,” he finished gruffly and strode away.

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She buried her face in the mare’s mane. After a very short moment, she forced her head upright. She must not allow self-pity to sully the coming days. She whispered thanks to Greta, then to God, and retired to the house.

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Her honeyed curls were piled luxuriously atop her head, a few strays spilling down to her shoulders and temples. Milla had outdone herself. The azure silks of her gown trailed just behind her as she descended the stairs that Friday evening. Her stomach was aflutter and her cheeks were flushed. The smells of dinner wafted through the house and her stomach growled with hunger.

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Her father stood at the door of the drawing room waiting for her. His face lit up as this beauty that was his own flesh and blood stepped toward him. Self-doubt compelled his heart to beat faster though he permitted only pride in his expression. She took his arm allowing him to lead her into the drawing room. They came up short as she laid eyes on the man with an arm perched on the mantle, drink in hand. It was like a thunderclap, too deep to hear, but the old baron could nearly feel the great house shudder. He looked in dismay from the duke to his daughter. 

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Then she smiled. 

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For her part, she watched the floor carefully, focusing on the sensations, the crackle of fire, the warm strength of her father’s arm, the smell of roast lamb permeating the air. Her eyes raised slowly to take in the buckled shoes of a gentleman, polished to a shine. At last she raised her face to take him in. He was tall and slim with broad shoulders and nearly black hair. He turned and met her gaze.

Continue reading Chapter 5.

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