The reception was over. Our wedding was several hours in the past. Tomorrow was the official beginning of our honeymoon. In the meantime, we still had to make it through tonight, here in our hotel room in Southsea.
Mary had removed her hat and the jacket of her light grey traveling suit, the eggshell blue of her blouse complimenting her eyes. Now she sat stiffly on the arm chair and looked at me expectantly, hands crossed and demeanour suppressed. For all our jovial small talk earlier, we were both terribly ill at ease with the awkwardness of the situation.
"What have you been told?" My question was sudden and unexpected but I needed to know how much she knew. Above all, I did not want her frightened or hurt. The last thing I wished to do was begin our marriage with my wife (and oh, how odd it felt to think I had one!) coming to despise me.
Mary was startled, entirely expected, but she answered quietly and swiftly, for which I gave her great credit. "We were told at boarding school that it is a husband's right and it is a wife's duty to submit. Women must learn to tolerate it, and that it is less painful after the first time." She glanced at me to gauge my reaction, seeking affirmation or rejection of the dominating act she had described to me.
For my part, I was unsurprised but still dismayed at the fatalistic resignation young women were expected to take on. I had known from the moment I loved the intelligent, strong woman in the eggshell blue blouse before me that our marriage would never be one of suppression and I was about to tell her so. Then Mary smiled slightly and a faint blush bloomed in her cheeks.
"But before I left for England my ayah told me that there is no greater earthly delight than mutual desire between a man and a woman, and that there is pleasure for both, if they love each other. She told me I would understand when I was grown." Her blush deepened but she met my eyes frankly, another credit to her unwavering spirit. "I do love you."
"And I you."
Her gaze grew more intense, practically searching my own spirit, perhaps for cracks but I liked to believe it was for affirmation of my words. "And do you desire me? As a man desires a woman?"
"Yes," I said, simply. I would not have chosen to volunteer this information on my own but she had asked. I could not lie to her nor could I deny the desires that had been burnt into the minds of men (and women, despite what many believed) since the beginning of time.
Mary nodded, as though she had reached a decision firm and unshakeable as a stone foundation. "Well, then."
There was a long, painfully awkward silence, which at last she broke to my great relief. "Now what do we do?" Such a directing question and yet so numbingly vague.
I realized, belatedly, that she still waited to follow my lead. "I'm so sorry," I stammered. "I've never been married before." Then the absurdity of my statement struck us both and we laughed helplessly. It may have been from nerves but it was still a welcome release. I collapsed into the chair next to Mary's, while she wiped away tears of laughter.
"Well, it's true," I protested feebly, trying to contain my mirth with limited success.
"I've never been married either," Mary giggled, a beautiful sound that was beginning to relax my taut nerves. "And anyway, you have more experience with such things than I."
"I beg your pardon!"
"I mean no offence," she offered, still smiling broadly, "but really, John. You are older than I, and a doctor, and a former soldier. You cannot convince me you have no experience with women, not after you have traveled over many nations and three separate continents."
"That depends on what you mean by 'experience,'" I replied, still mildly stung by her unintentional insinuations. "I like to think I am hardly the callous Lothario you imply."
Her smile grew more tender. "I didn't mean to imply that at all. When I say 'experience' I meant also any observations or beliefs you picked up along the way."
"There is still not much to tell," I admitted, wondering if she had expected a grand romantic tale full of pirates and treasure and such, peppered with women who always wore their hair down both literally and figuratively. "Half my world travels I accumulated before the age of twelve. My father was an international cartographer; he brought my brother and me along on his journeys until our early teens."
Mary gave me a knowing look that reminded me a bit of a schoolteacher or a nanny who knew her charge was telling but half the truth. "Do you mean to say there were no shy, schoolboy kisses stolen from some native maid?" she teased.
I found myself blushing despite my resolve. "I had not thought I would spend my wedding night discussing former loves."
"So there was a girl or two!" she laughed triumphantly.
"There may have been," I admitted, but could not resist adding, "but what of you? There are no schoolgirl crushes in your past?"
She blushed again, and I was glad I was not alone with my blood-rushed cheeks. "There may have been," she replied, throwing my words back at me but in jest.
"Who was he?"
"Who was she?"
"I asked you first."
"John, you sound worse than my former charges!" Mary exclaimed. I grinned at that and eventually she smiled back, amiable and more than game. "Oh, very well. I will tell you who gave me my first kiss if you tell me who gave you yours."
"Agreed."