“I thought that was already arranged, Aunt Henrietta. Madame Corvette is only coming to check that my size has not changed since Mother and I called in London to finalize my clothing for the Season. You said that my dress order wouldn’t change even though my Season was cancelled.”
“Oh, my child, you are so very young in the ways of the world… Now that this is your trousseau, there are some attentions needed to reflect the fact that the dresses will be for a married woman rather than a young girl. I promised your dear mother that I would see to this on her behalf.”
Diana steeled herself for disappointment, expecting to be told that even this last vestige of her dream was to be snatched from her.
“What kind of attentions?” she asked reluctantly, half looking over her aunt’s shoulder to where Edmund had now opened one of his letters and was at least pretending to read it.
“Well, the necklines of your evening dresses may be slightly lower once you’re married and wearing some of the Arnold necklaces. Your night attire may also need some, ahem… consideration,” Lady Birks’s voice dropped as she mentioned night attire, with a significant glance at Edmund. “And we should make sure that your choice of day dresses can accommodate any… changes in shape,” she finished in a whisper.
“Oh,” Diana mumbled, her skin already crawling once more with the idea of marrying Andrew. Her revulsion against him had intensified even further after the unpleasant encounter in the gardens the previous afternoon.
“No need to be so shy, my dear,” her aunt assured her, then she swept her along towards the drawing room. “It’s an endearing trait, and very proper in a young woman, but we do need to make sure that you’re ready for marriage in every way…”
Glancing back helplessly at Edmund as she was dragged away, Diana was struck by the depth of yearning on his face. It was close to the expression he had held when she began to undress him the previous evening. She restrained the urge to push Lady Birks and all her kindnesses away and run back to him.
* * *
After a long, over-involved and confusing discussion of Diana’s trousseau, Henrietta seemed determined to remain at her side for the rest of the day. Diana was left wondering whether Lady Birks knew of her son’s behavior the previous day and was somehow trying to make it up to her in her own overly sympathetic and exhausting way.
She accompanied Diana during her hours in the sick room with her father while Lady Templeton bathed and ate. She was at Diana’s side throughout dinner, walking her in and out of the dining room and dominating all conversation in between. She could not be dissuaded from helping Diana select and arrange flowers from the garden around the rooms at Fernside.
Worst of all, Henrietta insisted on joining Diana for an after-dinner walk in the gardens to talk about “the most important subject of all.”
“Now then, my dear, be perfectly frank with me. Did your mother ever speak to you about your wedding night, what will happen and what will be expected of you by your husband?”
Crimson under the cover of darkness, Diana made an awkward croaking noise, horrified at having to speak of this with her aunt.
“I mean, no… I’ve never had such a conversation with Mother,” she managed to say awkwardly after finding her voice. “Shall we go back inside? It’s getting cold.”
“Diana, my dear, there can be no running away from your duties,” Lady Birks said, her arm firmly linked through Diana’s to keep her in step. “You know that your whole family is relying on you, don’t you?”
“I know,” Diana admitted dejectedly, feeling like a sacrificial animal being led to a different kind of altar.
“Good girl. Do trust that what I tell you is for your own good. Now, Andrew knows that you’re still a little naive and unworldly, but I promised him that I would make sure you wouldn’t get too much of a shock the first time. It will be his wedding night too, and he’d like to enjoy himself.”
Glad that the darkness hid her expression from her aunt, Diana said nothing, choosing only to tell herself repeatedly that whatever her aunt was about to say would never happen. Her mind still wasn’t clear on how she intended to stop this sequence of events, but somehow, she must make sure that she was never alone, naked and vulnerable with Andrew.
“What do you know about the physical union of a husband and wife, Diana? We’ll start with that.”
“It happens in bed,” Diana replied, horribly uncomfortable and feeling like each word was being extracted from her under torture.
“Yes, that’s usually true but not always. Your husband will always have access to your bedchamber or can summon you to his, and you may not refuse him.”
Diana ground her teeth, willing both the walk and the awful conversation to be quickly done with.
“What else do you know?” Henrietta pressed with forced patience.
“They can be naked,” Diana whispered. “They touch each other and kiss.”
“Then what happens, Diana?”
“I… don’t know…” Diana admitted, realizing that she largely spoke the truth. She had no young married friends of her acquaintance, and this subject was certainly not covered in any of the books she had read.
Still, it was not the whole truth. From her experiences with Edmund, Diana suspected that whatever happened next was something that would feel wonderful, bringing more of the same pleasure he had given her with his hands and mouth. She refused to share even a hint of that private joy with her aunt, the mother of her unwanted fiancé.
“You really don't know, do you? Oh, my dear girl…”
Lady Birks laughed gently and stopped walking to turn and embrace Diana, who tolerated her affection with stiffness and embarrassment.