“It was better than more ginger and the hair brush.”
His smile tickled her cheek. “Perhaps we’ll save this sort of congress for your most rebellious moments. It seems to have calmed you considerably, as any good buggering should.”
She wiggled her bottom as he pressed within her. He growled and clapped his hands over her hips.
“Don’t tempt me to begin again. Be still.” After a moment he withdrew from her slowly, leaving her empty inside. He tossed her up onto the bed and curled around her, cradling her in his embrace. “I’m not sure we can truly call that punishment, although I am feeling better. In fact, I’m feeling quite happy. I barely remember your wrongs from this afternoon.”
Josephine remembered them, but they probably seemed more appalling to her. She was tormented by all her mistakes, big and small. She wanted to make him happy, she truly did, because she didn’t want to lose him. She was glad he punished her for poor behavior, because it gave her the incentive to behave correctly in future situations. It reminded her that he cared.
“Thank you,” she said. “I do feel calmer.”
He rubbed a palm across her bottom and gave her a light, brisk spank. “I’m always happy to help.”
How light he could be, after reducing her to such depths of emotional darkness. She hardly understood him, except that he loved her and always seemed to know the best things to do. “You’re a very good help to me.” Her voice trembled a little, until she strengthened it. “I know that you care, and that you’re trying to make me better.”
“Not better. Happier.” He leaned over her, capturing her gaze. “I want you to be happy with yourself. I want you to become that fine, esteemed lady you’ve always wished to be.”
“Yes, I know. I…I love you.”
He’d said it to her before, many times, and she’d dutifully said it back, but she’d never really meant the words in her heart and in her soul, not until now.
He gazed at her with his deep blue eyes. “I love you more than words can say. You know that, don’t you? You’re my beautiful, brave girl.”
She lay beside him and vowed to live up to that praise, to keep improving herself for his sake, even if the only thing she improved was her self-control. Self-control would help her do and say all the things she had to for propriety’s sake, and that would be enough to help him retain the necessary standing among his peers. He would be happy, and if she was with him, she’d be happy too.
They roused themselves to wash up and then tumbled back into bed together. The storm had blustered out, leaving behind faint, faraway rumbles. She snuggled into his chest, feeling very safe and very warm.
“I never knew marriage could be this way,” he said as he held her close. “I never knew I could feel this way about another person.”
I hope you’ll always feel this way about me, she thought. I’m not sure I could survive it if you stopped loving me.
The storm outside had gone, but the storm within her raged as violently as ever. That night, she dreamed of dozens of stalking tigers surrounding her, and knew she mustn’t fail her husband—or herself.
Chapter Sixteen: Self-Control
By pure force of will, Josephine managed to keep herself out of trouble for the next few weeks. Any spankings she received were of the more playful variety, to keep her focused, and she didn’t mind those very much. Her love for her husband grew, along with a novel sense of contentment in her situation. The season’s whirl became more bearable with Warren’s encouragement, and by mid-summer, the hustle-bustle of parties and merriment tapered off. Soon, the gentry would begin their yearly exodus from London as the season drew to a close.
In the meantime, society’s families cemented betrothals, threw final balls and dinners, and made their plans for fall and winter visits. Some would attend house parties with friends, while others would retreat to their sprawling manors to hunt, drink, and play cards.
A few men sought Warren’s permission to offer for Minette, but she would have none of them, and Josephine was secretly glad, because she had come to depend on her vivacious friend’s company, especially as the great Parliament dinner loomed. The most powerful and influential members of the House of Lords closed the season every year with a private dinner party. Invitations were exclusive and hard to come by.
Of course Warren received one, the insufferable man.
The day of the dinner dawned sunny and bright. Josephine was obliged to report to her rooms in the afternoon, to dress in her most elegant ivory-and-pearl ensemble, and let the maid do all sorts of decorative curling and arranging of her hair.
Minette stayed with her as she fretted, and patted her hand. “Don’t be nervous, all right? Yes, it’s a big dinner, and yes, all of Warren’s colleagues will be there with their wives, and yes, everyone will be watching you especially, since you and Warren have recently married—”
“Minette, you’re not helping.”
“You didn’t let me finish. I was going to say that in the end it doesn’t matter, because they all think Warren is the most proper and estimable fellow, and they’ve come to think the same of you. You’ve become so much better at conversation and dancing, and you’re so graceful when you walk, and you have the prettiest figure for gowns, everybody notes it. You know all the different titles and how to address people, and how to ply your fan, and how to toss your head just the right way when you talk.” As she said this, Minette demonstrated with impish detail, perfectly imitating the ton’s most lofty ladies. “So you see, it shall all be fine, and you mustn’t worry about anything. My brother is so proud to have married such a highly regarded woman. He’s been in a tizzy for weeks, just waiting for this dinner to arrive.”
Josephine rested her head in her hands. She knew her sister-in-law meant to be helpful, but every word made her more anxious about the evening to come.
Self-control. You’ll only need to use self-control, and be the perfect wife. This would be her chance to win everyone over and fix her place in society as his worthy partner. She only needed to be…perfect.
“Oh, my word,” she sighed, raising her head. “I think I need more tea.”
“No, my dear. You’ll bloat beneath your stays.”
Josephine frowned and sent the tray away with the maid. Her stays already felt tight, perhaps because of nerves, or the extra cakes she ate to forget her woes.
“There, sister, you look absolutely beautiful,” said Minette, tugging one of Josephine’s curls. “You mustn’t worry. Warren will tell you what to do and who is most important to talk to. They’ll mostly be stuffy old men and haughty ladies, but keep your conversation to homemaking and weather and none of them will take offense. Just smile a lot.” She pinched her cheeks. “Smile. Smile!”
Josephine smiled into the mirror. She looked rather ill.
“I wish you would go in my place,” she said. “Everyone loves you. You’ve such a gift at conversation.”
“Of course I can’t go,” laughed Minette. “Warren wouldn’t take his sister when he has a wife. What gossip it would cause, and Josephine, everyone loves you, too. Don’t you understand that? Everyone finds you fascinating and beautiful.”
Beautiful? Josephine touched the delicate diamond and pearl necklace Warren had
given her for her birthday the week before. The pale gold filigree was worked to look like ivy, and it caught the light just so whenever she moved. It suited the dress perfectly, and it was beautiful, but she felt like a fake. She had never worn jewelry or fine gowns until she came to England. As much as Warren hoped to improve her, her uncivilized past would never go away. It would always be a secret shame inside her that no jeweled necklace or fancy gown could disguise. She was shoddy and second-rate, like her laughable, run-down “holdings” in Oxfordshire.
She rubbed her temples and shook her head. She ought not to be in such a mindset, not before this important gathering. Of all the fetes she’d attended at Warren’s behest, this evening’s would have the most direct effect on his political career and aspirations. When she went down the grand staircase to meet him, she rallied her courage and pasted on a smile. It became a genuine smile as her husband pretended to falter in a swoon.
“You’re too ravishing to be borne,” he said. “You look like a goddess. You’ll outshine the queen.”
She halted on the last step. “Will the queen be in attendance?”
“Probably not, but if she was, we’d have to drape a cloth over you or something.”
“Warren, you’re as silly as Minette sometimes.”
He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She breathed in the scent of him, masculine and crisp, with a hint of shaving soap. His ornately tied cravat was high and starched, glaringly white against his formal black coat and waistcoat. His blond curls shone in the light, so pretty on Minette, but fully masculine and handsome on him. He looked incredibly dashing.
From above, Minette clapped her hands. “The two of you are a sight. You must sit for a portrait in those clothes. Promise me! How stunning you both look.”
They said their goodbyes and climbed into the coach waiting outside the door. All too soon they arrived at the Duke of Lansing’s sprawling mansion a few streets over, where the dinner was to be held. “Every year a different fellow hosts the festivities,” said Warren. “I suppose one year it shall be our turn. No, don’t blanch, my love. It won’t be anytime soon.”