Chapter 10: Unfathomable

The music played and Miss Platt stepped into the chapel. As expected, she was exquisite.

When she took her first step towards me everything else faded into the background. Even given the capacities my nature offered me, it was like my being was incapable of digesting the reality of the situation. I, Carlisle Cullen, vampire and doctor to humans was becoming a husband to a human with all the responsibilities that entailed. For the first time in my life, as a human or as a vampire, I was voluntarily taking on being responsible for someone else's welfare and happiness. In a few more steps Miss Platt would reach me and my responsibility for her would increase greatly from benefactor or even a patient in my temporary medical care. Even though my husbandry responsibilities did not include carnal acts and I had carefully calculated how to appear human while we entered this new arrangement, there was a tangible and powerful upheaval within me. She was trusting me with her life: her present, her future, her emotions, her basic needs, all of it. It was overwhelming. For centuries I had been a bachelor. It was a role that I was comfortable with.

The feeling of trepidation regarding the unknown caused my mind to start from the first moment we had met. Rationally, us becoming wed was supposed to be impossible. No logic could have gotten me to this reality. If my rational mind could not conceive of what was right in front of my face, how much more would I face without preparation? Regrettably, it seemed like my staying in the moment all these months had not prepared me for the weight of what we were about to do. As she continued to step towards me, it began to dawn on me that irrelevant of how much preparation made, there were things that I could not make provisions for. Suddenly I was fearful on how the future could even be managed. How can arrangements be made for things that were inconceivable? I could have never known to expect the temendous weight of duty, as the experience was new and there was no older wiser vampire to counsel me. Never had I missed Aro and his years of experience more. At the same, I could only imagine him shaking his head, explaining the folly of my decision, and how unnatural I was behaving.

As if lacking the capacity to feel and internalize the moments, I said my 'I do's when requested with a odd mix of exultation and shocked detachment. We exchanged rings, as expected, and I was immensely impressed with what she had created. It was masculine, strong, and yet seemed full of love. When she placed it on my finger it was as if everything within me became bent to her happiness and well-being. It was a powerful experience, as if my very cells were euphoric in being bound to her. Without doubt the feelings she had conjured within me would not have happened without her, once more, creating a third way.

The faith that priest had spoken about seemed to be more and more how I lived my life. He should have warned me, though, of the fear that would be present. Vir Fidem had been my father's call. Was I answering it? Chasing and removing true evil, not just acquiring accusations, had been my first attempt to reaching his standards, while also keeping to my own conscience. In a way, marrying Miss Platt was my second attempt. It could be fairly assured that in the history of vampires, I was the first to take a human wife with the intention for us to live a human life together. At the same time, I was the first human doctor. Those first decades of becoming a doctor had been filled with trepidation and unknown. True there had been close calls related to my bloodlust and errors in treatment, but I had learned from those experiences and figured it out. Perhaps, then, becoming a doctor had been my second attempt and this was my third. That detail was irrelevant in light of the assurance it gave me. If I could become a doctor, then with trust in Miss Platt and faith in the Almighty I would have to rest assured that it would work out. Time would only tell if this choice would truly offer me the title of Vir Fidem that my father refused to bestow upon me.

I would replay what the priest said to us at a later time, as my emotional reactions had overshadowed my ability to hear his words properly. Going to kiss her cheek to seal our union as husband and wife, the resounding insistent thought was that I was blessed beyond measure. The verse that Our Heavenly Father gave good gifts had never felt truer. After the ceremony, we signed the wedding book, and stood around conversing before the wedding planner encouraged us towards the reception.

As planned we all went to the parish hall that had been transformed into a beautiful evening restaurant with white lights and candles. As the wedding attendees had been so small, it had been arranged so that we all sat at a long rectangular table. The food was served seamlessly and everyone made noises of appreciation. Few seemed to notice what little I consumed and those that did said nothing. Hopefully they chalked it up to my excitement and anticipation, although swallowing some food had been necessary.

After the meal a small band played live music. Our first dance as man and wife was a formal waltz. Afterwards, there were group dances and everyone took at least one turn on the dance floor. Upon the next couple number I requested Mrs. Platt to danced with me.

Near the beginning of the dance she practically begged me, "Take care of my little girl."

"I will guard and keep her to the utmost of my ability," I swore to her.

"How will you protect her from the rumours and scorn your limitations will bring?" she asked quietly her tone grieved.

"By giving her everything else she might need or want," I replied knowing this would not be enough, but having no other answer.

She clucked and frowning told me, "It is dreadfully unfair, but true or not, they always blame the woman for these things."

Saddened by this truth I agreed and then added, "Perhaps we will adopt and then move."

"You have spoken about this?" Mrs. Platt asked sounding relieved.

"It was your daughter's idea." Even if I could not conceive of how we would make it work, Miss Platt conjured things, so I offered to Mrs. Platt, "We have yet to properly discuss it, but it is something to consider."

She was quiet then until the dance was almost halfway through when she whispered, "Esme was not my first child. Shortly after her father and I were wed we had a son. After him I lost a few before they came into the world and a few more in the first months of their lives. We were certain we would never have children again, but then there was Esme. The doctor told me I was really too old to be pregnant once more. There were warnings that I might not survive at my age, but after so much loss we had to believe the pregnancy was meant to be. Then when she was born she seemed to be going the same way as her siblings. However, Esme has always been a fighter. It had been that fight that has kept her here on earth when she was small and sickly. Each time we were certain she would suffer the same fate she would prove us wrong. It has also made her headstrong, stubborn, and determined to live life her way."

Unsure of how to console her or if it would even be welcomed, I told her, "Well, that certainly explains a lot. Fortunately, those qualities are some of the parts of her that I adore."

She smiled slightly while telling me, "Yes, I can see that. You are good for her. A lesser man would want to beat submission into her. You gain her agreement through reason. You will offer her a good future. And hopefully her nature will protect her from any ridicule she is bound to encounter." Her tone was contemplative and sad like she was expressing a desire to save Miss Platt from the pain she had suffered. Then she tensed some before speaking, "But I am afraid that these qualities you admire in her might cause you moments of embarrassment." I went to refute, but she continued on, "It is a husband's right to tame his wife as he sees fit, but I would ask you to use your reason on her, even in those moments."

Frowning at her implication, I could find nothing to say as her entire implication of how I would treat her daughter bothered me. Eventually, needing to respond, I stated, "Of course."

Sighing like she was greatly relieved, much of the tension her body had been holding released.

Wanting to change the subject and curious, I asked, "And your son?"

"Was killed by savages who had attacked our lands," she stated coldly her hatred and anger clear.

"Before Esme was born?" I wondered.

"No," she answered softly. "But she was very little. He had a girl to whom he gained the father's permission to court and had been working to show himself capable of taking care of her. Mr. Platt regretted a great many things in how he handled his son, but none more than how Geoffrey died. My husband was a proud man, but knew how to learn from his mistakes. Esme's wilfulness might be in part from that as well."

"That is a good quality," I stated lost at how to handle this news.

When the music ended she curtsied slightly and acted like the conversation had never happened. It seemed like her words were meant to be a warning and a request, but they had been so full of the reality of human life–it was regularly brief. Her words created a dread within me of how limited my time with my new wife might be. There were simply a plethora of things that could easily shorten the limited time we already had. But as I did not want to risk killing her, my only option was to hope we had many years together and enjoy the moments they contained.

Much like at the hospital events, I managed to limit my time on the dance floor. However, unlike the past I used Miss Platt as my excuse to not dance with anyone during the remaining couple's dances. Interestingly, Mrs. Platt declined every offer after our one dance irrelevant of who asked claiming being too old. Nevertheless, having Miss Platt as my reason for limiting myself in dancing saved me tremendously. It was a small, but appreciated benefit. It had yet to occur to me how Miss Platt's presence as my wife might be an aid in hiding my secret from the world at large. Simultaneously, even though keeping it from her was still something yet to be completely sorted, I chose to believe that any unknowns could be handled.

A few friends from Miss Platt's school who had managed to attend at times lingered at her side wishing to enjoy her company. Knowing her time with them was fleeting, I made myself scarce, most often taking myself outside and sharing a cigar with the men as they congratulated me. Those who had known Miss Platt when she had been at college asked about our plans while they boasted about their exploits, hopes, and dreams.

"You're a lucky sod," Mr. Bradly commented his tone impressed with a touch of petulance.

"I am," I agreed feeling on edge with how he spoke.

"She never did have eyes for much else other than her studies," Mr. Swift added, as if attempting to temper Mr. Bradly.

"True," Mr. Bradly agreed. After a moment's pause he asked, "How did you meet again?"

It seemed like he was trying to call me out or something, which seemed ridiculous, as this was the wedding day.

Searching for what to say, I eventually told him, "I was her doctor when she was sixteen."

"Maybe it wasn't her studies she was holding out for," Mr. Lewis teased jutting his elbow into Mr. Bradly.

Mr. Bradly let it go, and then began boasting about his work on building railroads.

Fortunately, the topic was never touched again, but it was easy to see that my suspicion that others had pursued Miss Platt was confirmed. How she had chosen me over these men was incomprehensible to me, but today had proven in little and large ways how little I knew and understood when it came to her.

Many of the conversations Miss Platt had with her friends were similar to the men's. They were simply catching up with one another's lives. The exception was Mrs. Baker nee Griffin.

"How are you really?" Mrs. Baker asked Miss Platt in soft tones that would have likely not carried to others.

"Turbulent," was her answer. There must have been some nonverbal communication, because the next thing was Miss Platt sighing. "I'm sad about losing my Dad and my mother's failing health. There are moments when I wish for my parents' sake that I had been born a boy or that they had had more children than me. They always said I was their miracle baby after two decades of trying, but it was a lot of pressure. Being their daughter was different as a child, then a teenager, and even at college, but living there trying to help my mother run the business of a farm while doing my job and assisting her with her responsibilities was a heavy burden. And yet I'd have it back to take my father out of the grave."

"He wasn't a young man, Esme," Mrs. Baker reminded Miss Platt.

"I keep having to remind myself that," Miss Platt seemed to agree.

Doing the math, he would have been in his late fifties. To me that time seemed like a little more than a blink. That was what I would get with Miss Platt. Even though that had been clear from the outset, the reality of it was startling. We were just starting out. She had about twenty to thirty years left if she died at the average age. Suddenly a chill ran through me.

"You alright?" Mr. Swift asked.

"Yeah," I assured him, "just a chill."

"Nervous about tonight?" he whispered, as the other lads were engaged in their own discussion.

"Weren't you?" I replied trying to deflect the question.

"Of course," he agreed. "No matter how many times you go at it with a whore, it is different with your wife, especially since whores easily accommodate and virgins bleed." He paused frowning and then smiling conspiratorially, "but no matter how many whores you have or broads that open their legs, there's something powerful about taking your wife for the first time and then watching her belly fill with your seed. Whores and broads might be fun, but nothing beats a wife."

Without my noticing my hands had clenched. The only indication was what had once been my cigar had become merely crushed leaves. The coarseness in which they spoke about women enraged me. Doctors were no different, really. And too many times had a nurse carried the scent of a married doctor only to disappear once the indications of pregnancy appeared or for her to remain carrying the scents of an ended pregnancy. These were the truths about humans, especially the men in the last century or so. Every mated vampires I had met were possessive and defensive, as the death of one was the end of them both, and even sometimes a few non-mated individuals behaved similarly with their partners. With our keen sense of smell no couple, irrelevant of type, could get away with the types of things humans did. At least in Voltura there seemed to be the atmosphere of what I imagined to be the Roman Empire. Gender seemed to be rarely considered and, apart from mates, random intimacy seemed regular.

Opening my hands, I tried to remind myself that I was not of their world and these attitudes like all else would pass. For a fleeting instant, though, I could not help but wonder if this difference between them and myself was one of things that attracted Miss Platt to my offer. My thoughts turning to Miss Platt caused my ears to tune back into her and Mrs. Baker's conversation once more, although I made sure to keep myself at least somewhat attuned to the men and going ons around me.

"What is it like?" Miss Platt asked.

"Challenging," Mrs. Baker answered. After a moment she added, "George is gone a lot. The maids and governances help, but it is lonely. Honestly, your description of running a farm does not sound very different. There are a lot of people and a lot of tasks and a lot of things that must be put into place. It is a lot of responsibility. I miss my husband when he is not there, but there is more work to be done when he is there. Then there are the little things that indicate that he has taken a mistress. I do not know how to feel about that."

"Is he discreet at least?" Miss Platt asked her tone sad.

"Yes," Mrs. Baker answered. "It is the way of men. I expected no different."

"I am concerned Dorothy that although he promises me faithfulness that he will be unable to keep his word," she confessed.

"Doctors are just as bad as businessmen, Esme, you know this as much as I do," Mrs. Baker said in an admonishing tone.

"I know," Miss Platt agreed sounding disheartened. Then almost as if she were defending my honour, she stated, "He has assisted me in keeping employment, even with the delays due to my father."

"Truly?" Mrs. Baker asked astonished.

"Yes," Miss Platt replied. "He is a doctor, but he is different than any man I have ever met."

"He is an odd one," Mrs. Baker agreed. "Are you ready for tonight?"

"As much as I can be," Miss Platt said.

"I hope he is a good match for you," Mrs. Baker offered warmly.

"Me too," Miss Platt agreed before they began discussing events in the lives of other classmates.

The men's conversations along with Mrs. Baker's admissions were a brutal reminder of the world Miss Platt came from and what she expected. Worse yet I did not know how I might assuage her concerns. My pretence of being human limited my ability to defend and explain myself. It was exasperating, even if the alternative was worse.

Eventually the band stopped playing and her friends wished us well with promises to keep in correspondence before heading back to wherever they had travelled from. Most of them were in need of returning home, which had made their appearance all the more sweet.

Miss Platt bade farewell to her mother, and I paid a coach to take Mrs. Platt back to the hotel where she would lodge for one more night. After everyone had said their goodbyes, the coach that I had hired to transport Miss Platt and Mrs. Platt to the church and be on standby for anyone else to use took us home.

"Was everything to your liking?" I hoped after a few blocks had been travelled.

"Yes," she insisted smiling brightly. "The wedding planner did a magnificent job creating what I had requested."

"Good," I affirmed pleased to hear it. "And the dress?" I questioned and she had complained about it off and on.

"A bit too much," she admitted. "Nevertheless, it was appropriate for Hartford and tasteful."

"Will you be able to wear it again as you hoped?" I wondered curiously.

"Yes," she agreed after a moment. "I will alter it slightly so it is less of a wedding dress, but I do think it is reusable."

"Good," I told her, as she had emphasised the importance of that more than once.

"And the rings?" she asked appearing nervous.

"Have I not said at least three times how enchanted I am with them?" I queried.

"You did," she agreed. "I am merely checking that your opinion on this matter has not changed."

"Rather, the more I look at it the more fitting I think it is," I told her effusively. Turning towards her and taking her gloved hands in mine, I told her, "Truly, Mrs. Cullen, you are a magical creature, just as I suspected from the beginning. You have taken a source of irritation and resistance and transformed it into something of which I am proud. I have never been a husband before, thus have no clue how to ensure the vows uttered today. But with certainty I will do by best to fulfil them everyday. I am honoured to be bound to you and even more so to carry my vows proudly in the clothes you made for me, but even more in the band you designed. You are a masterpiece of which there is no equal."

By the end of my speech she appeared flustered and a little embarrassed.

"Please don't be," I told her softly. "Everything you do, especially when you do it well, only increases my admiration for you and my astonishment that a creature such as you agreed to be my wife."

Smiling bashfully she looked up to me. "A girl could never grow tired of your words, Dr. Cullen. As I stated previously, the heart wants what the heart wants. Nevertheless, I am glad the rings please you."

"Greater than words could ever express," I stated adamantly. Gazing into her eyes, while ensuring not to hypnotise her, I told her, "I cannot promise perfection. Without doubt I will hurt you or frighten you or embarrass you. But please know these things are never my intention. My desire as your husband is to create the space for you to live your life happy and free. Please promise me that at any time I fail to do so that you will tell me."

Smiling at me she uttered softly, "I promise only if you agree to the same. I have no wish to cage you."

The idea was preposterous causing me to smile broadly. Fortunately, I was confident that smiling in this way wouldn't frighten her. Then, I proclaimed, "You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Cullen, but it is agreed."

Matching my smile she squeezed my hand.

When the coach driver stopped in front of our home, I picked Miss Platt up into my arms keeping some distance between us, as so she would not lay her head on my body and discover my lack of heartbeat, and carried her through the doors. Once we were passed the threshold, I placed her on her feet.

"Come Mrs. Cullen and take a look at the place you have chosen," I instructed. "I hope it suits your fancy."

She looked over at me nervously. "Esme, please, Carlisle. Here in private, in our home, I implore you to call me Esme."

Smiling I told her, "I might wish to call you Mrs. Cullen now and then."

She smiled shyly at me and then nodded.

"Let me take your outer garments," I requested.

Without responding she turned her back to me in the manner expected. After the jacket was hung, she gently turned her towards me. Paying careful attention, I removed her hat and then gloves, which were both white, placing them down gently on the armoire. In our home, I felt more comfortable analyzing her. My conclusion was that the dress added to her beauty. It was slightly fancier than say a ball gown, but not terribly more. It showed her throat and some of her shoulders as well as her collarbones. It seemed to flow and glide with her. In fact it made me think of her as some form of angle or fairy. The boots I saw at brief instances gave her height and added to the whimsical nature of the attire.

"And you?" she asked her words seeming to get caught in her throat.

"If you wish," I replied unsure of the etiquette between a husband and wife. Men assisted in women's attire without a shadow of a doubt. It was simply gentlemanly in this era. But I had never seen a woman assist with a man's coat in public. At the same time, I did not want to deny her this, if it was important to her.

Taking off my own hat, I handed it to her, to which she placed it on the hat rack next to her own. Then I took off my gloves and we repeated the process.

"May I remove your coat?" she asked as I went to undo the first button.

Looking at her curiously, she appeared bashful but earnest.

"You don't have to," I told her in case she felt some sense of obligation.

The capillaries in her cheeks filled slightly giving her a plush pink colour, but she held my gaze solidly. "I would like to do this for you," she explained.

"All right, then," I agreed confused at her resolute tone, but unwilling to press her more.

She stepped in closer to me and one by one undid my buttons. She kept her eyes on her fingers while I watched her carefully uncertain of what her request was supposed to indicate. Certainly she would not have forgotten my requirement of our marriage being chaste.

"Turn around, please," she requested once the last button was undone.

Without question or comment I did as she had solicited.

Even through the dress jacket, I could feel her heat caressing my skin as her hands slid down my vest along my shoulders and onto my back. It was an exquisite, if not foreign feeling. While I was revelling and evaluating, she brought the jacket down my back entirely and then placed it on the coat rack. Without saying anything else she moved out of the foyer and towards the sitting room, which was to the left and practically empty. Moving slowly around the room, she began to explore the home I had purchased for her appearing lost in her thoughts.

"Has the furniture not come yet?" she asked suddenly turning towards the doorframe from where I had been watching her.

"No, it has not arrived," I answered.

She nodded as she walked slowly around the room once more taking extra time to admire the window space.

"Would now be a good time for you to tell me about your reaction to the furniture?" I asked unsure of how to broach the subject or even to interpret her behaviour.

The awareness that had been present throughout the day of how little we knew each other seemed to become an entity between us. Yet, at the same time, I realized that would be true of most newly married couples. So much in my life had become monotonous before her. So, even though the unknown her presence brought unnerved me, it also delighted me. She was a mystery that I would solve. We had until her death for me to do so, after all.

She inhaled sharply and then appeared to calm herself before speaking. "My mother insisted that I take practically everything. I do not think she plans on living much longer. I set up things there for her to be taken care of when she is to pass. I believe she wanted to be here for the wedding, but beyond that there is little holding her to earth."

"I am sorry to hear that," I uttered softly certain in her assessment, especially after Mrs. Platt's confessions, yet unaware of how to soothe this clear hurt in Miss Platt. After a few moments had passed, I asked curious and apprehensive, "Will the furniture sadden you?"

"No," she stated swiftly and assuredly like she was swatting at a fly. After a moment she spoke again this time her voice softer, "I will try to remember that it is an expression of how much my mother loves me."

It was the best answer I could have asked for, which, given the situation, relieved my concerns.

Appearing like she was not truly present, she moved out of the sitting room, into the hallway, and then walked down the hall into the kitchen.

As soon as we entered the room, I told her as a way to explain its barrenness, "I did not know what you would want. Also, I do not use the kitchen. We shall go when you are ready and purchase what you need."

"You have no food?" she asked surprised as she opened the cupboards and icebox.

"None," I replied. "Of course, if you desire, we could always hire a cook."

She stopped a moment and stared at me like my words were from another language. Finally she seemed to come back into herself and uttered, "Thank you for the offer, but given your need for privacy would that not add complications?"

"I would simply leave her for you to manage," I explained to her. "Many of the doctor's households have one, but I have never had the need prior, as I have always taken my meals out of the home."

"Something to consider," she said contemplatively like she had actually begun to digest my words. "Is there a company that delivers ice here?"

"Most likely, but we shall have to enquire," I told her.

"Let us do that and I will cook," she stated gently and firmly closing the matter.

The words 'You should not plan on feeding me. I will eat outside of the home,' were lined up and ready to be said, but the way she stated her intention of cooking stopped me for fear I might begin our first argument. Instead, my tone was firm, as I wanted to make sure she was clear on this matter, and told her, "You should only plan on feeding yourself."

She did not reply, acting as if she did not hear me. Instead she simply moved out of the kitchen and walked up the stairs, entering the first door on the left.

Letting the topic of food go, I explained to her hoping my decisions about the room's use was agreeable to her, "I made this into my study as it was the smallest room."

"It is fine, Carlisle," she told me as her eyes scanned the shelves. She moved towards them her eyes looking questioningly at me.

"What is mine is yours," I reminded her, "please."

She ran her hand along the spines. "You have quite the collection."

"I am a lover of books, as you already know," I reminded her.

"And you have read everyone?" she asked reverently.

"At least once," I confessed.

She moved around the room. When arriving behind my desk she placed her hand on my father's cross. Stroking it gently in admiration she asked, "What is this?"

A strange feeling entered me as the realisation that her scent was being soaked into this artefact. "It is the cross that hung in my father's church," I told her stoically trying to hide the torrent of emotions that simple act had conjured.

"It is beautiful," she told me in hushed tones, as if the item had quieted her.

"He made it himself," I explained.

"A nobleman and a carver of wood. What an interesting combination."

I smiled at her observation. "Yes, he was an interesting man."

"Do you miss him?" she asked her back still towards me.

"No," I answered honestly, and then expounded, "but I do wish he would have been here to welcome you to our family. I would like to imagine that he would have been endeared to you."

She turned smiling softly at me.

"Sit, Esme," I instructed her as she appeared even more lost than when we had entered the house.

Mindlessly she did as I had requested.

Sitting in the other chair, I observed her carefully. She appeared withdrawn, almost like she was grieving, but on edge. It reminded me somewhat of the men I have stitched up on a battlefield.

"Please, Esme, speak," I implored her. "You are clearly bothered."

The whole time her eyes had been on the books directly in her line of sight, but she did not appear to be seeing them.

Slowly moving closer to her, I squatted down so that my head was in her field of vision. "What is it?"

She shook her head slightly and when her eyes focused on me she was smiling.

As she seemed more herself, I settled myself back into the chair.

Muttering softly as if speaking to herself, she uttered, "It seems unreal."

"Pardon?" I asked her my tone imploring.

She looked over in my direction, but her eyes seemed to be viewing my knees. Taking in a deep breath as if preparing herself she spoke, "I have begged God since meeting in the hospital to be your wife, and being here seems impossible."

"Impossible?" I repeated confused and shocked at her admission.

"I graduated college," she voiced sounding distant.

"You did," I agreed trying to keep the concern out of my tone.

"My father died," she stated with her grief still clear.

"He did," I concurred.

"And my mother escorted me out East to become your wife. I stood in front of God and my friends and a priest and vowed to be your wife," she offered with awe in her tone.

"All true," I agreed still befuddled.

"I keep waiting to wake up, to find out that this is just another one of my silly dreams and not reality," she confessed.

Sitting in my office with her across from me felt as unreal to me as she was describing. Since she had walked down the aisle, I had been trying to adjust myself to the fact that I had married Miss Platt. For reasons unknown us sharing this sentiment caused my mind to retrieve the letter she had sent me about two weeks after I had placed the engagement ring on her finger.

Dear My Betrothed,

Once more your generosity floors me. Although we have had lessons in the most basic elements of economics, I suspect that they have left large holes in my education if I am to meet your desire in this regard. To this end, I hope you are willing to be a patient teacher, as arithmetic is not my strongest subject.

Your belief in us expressing our opinions regarding matrimony seems wise. Few are afforded such an opportunity and I would guess even less see the value in it. Yet as a member of the fairer sex, I often have witnessed unhappy wives. Your words made me consider if perhaps husbands are also unhappy. My parents seemed to get along fine enough. They rarely fought and had seemed, by all appearances, to have found a way to make a life together. At the same time, I would not wish them to be my model for marriage.

You asked for me to speak on my ideas of being a wife and you as a husband. When I go to do so, I find myself hesitant to speak. Certainly, I could easily tell you what I have learned is the role of a wife through my education: be pretty, please your husband, and arrange the social events necessary to further his career. Yet, I know that you loathe even half truths and over the years have challenged me to consider my own opinion, even if it might differ from my instructors or yours.

Certainly, my mother did not bother with her appearance when at home, although would do so on say a Sunday for church. My father was a farmer and so there were no social events to arrange for him. My mother's roles were to ensure there was food for the winter, cook meals, clean the clothes and the house, and mind the children. As such, I have no frame of reference in which to place my college lessons or how my life will look with you.

You have claimed more than once that what you seek more than anything is for me to be happy. Yet, what more could a person ask for than freedom, which you not only give, but insist I claim? Therefore, it is with sincerity that I say that I have little to no idea what being your wife will look like, what sharing your finances entails, nor what expectations I have of myself let alone you.

What I hope for above all else is that you meant your words, and our marriage will give me the freedom I crave. I know that it will be important to me to do little things to make your life easier. What that entails, I assume, you will have to teach me.

That is to say that ultimately I enter this union with little assumptions and few images, but with the fortitude that comes in knowing that we will learn together. You give me courage in ways I did not even know I needed. Thus, with great anticipation I look forward to the day when we are married.

With great affection,

Miss Esme Platt

At the time something in her letter had calmed my worries and had allowed me to go through the steps we had agreed to with hope. Ironically, in a similar way her confession pleased me.

"It is real. Remember in your letter you stated that I would have to teach you. And, I have said the same to you. You will need to teach me." I told her. When it appeared that she still appeared lost I considered that perhaps what had been spoken at our reception had added worries to her. Wanting to address these, even if they were supposed to have been unheard, I added, "Without doubt others have offered you insight into marriage as they have done me."

She looked over at me blinking rapidly.

Taking that as an invitation, I continued, "But we are not them. Yes, I am a doctor, but my father was a vicar. Yes, my father came from money and we were wealthy, but I was raised that to stray from your wife was a sin. I meant the words offered to you when you asked about my plans on remaining faithful to you. There has been no other since we met and there will be no other until death separates us."

"You cannot know for sure," she argued sounding defeated. "All of my friends' husbands gave them the same assurances, but have not fulfilled them. It is simply the nature of things."

"I disagree," I insisted. "Men can have self-control if they choose, but often would rather behave abominably and seek out momentary pleasure. That is not me."

"I have seen the house you have chosen," she commented almost absentmindedly. "It is nothing like the responsibility Dorothy has, which gives me more time for my leisurely pursuits. You do not wish for me to feed you nor to take care of your carnal needs. I am left adrift confused as to why you would even want a wife."

Surprised at her conclusions, I refuted her, "Because I enjoy your company. Is that enough? I do not know. I am still uncertain if we did the right thing by making it so. Nevertheless, I speak the truth."

Yet, even though my words had been meant to empathise with her, her reaction was defensive. In the same amount of time it had taken my mind to review the letter her demeanour had changed, and she looked at me sternly. "Whatever do you mean?"

Grateful at her appearing more present, but sensing that this was a conversation full of possible entanglements and argument, I told her diplomatically, "Just as you are uncertain, I am also uncertain."

She smiled slightly looking slightly relieved, and then stated, "Together."

"That is what your letter promised, did it not?" I pressed.

Smiling broader, she agreed, "I did."

"You are not alone in having concerns, Esme," I attempted to assure her. "I know no more how to be a husband than you a wife."

She nodded and her body appeared less ridged.

"Your mother spoke to me while we danced," I told her.

"I saw," she agreed. "Wish to share?"

Wincing, I told her, "She requested that if I ever need to discipline you that I do so with my words rather than my hands."

Her eyes bugged out and her mouth opened. Once she collected herself she began fidgeting with her hands. Eventually she seemed to gather her courage and ask, "And what did you say?"

"That she had no reason to worry," I stated.

In a soft timid voice she asked, "Can you say what things might displease you so that I can work at not doing them?"

Moving over to her and squatting once more, I put her hands between mine.

As I spoke she kept her eyes on our hands.

"Esme, please let go of this idea. I find the conception that women would need to be disciplined at all abominable. There will no doubt be moments when I displease you or you I. When these happen, I hope that we will speak them to one another, learn from these mistakes, and not repeat them. You are not a child. You are my wife. If I wanted a servant, I would have hired one. I wanted an equal, someone to speak with about a great many things, someone to enjoy reading with or music. I wanted a companion and a friend. This is the answer to why I offered to court you. I do not require the things other men seek."

Finally she looked up at me. "Equal?" she asked in confirmation.

"We each have our own natures, talents, likes, dislikes. We are not the same, but we are equal. That was what I wished for," I divulged.

"I am certainly the luckiest girl," she gushed.

Disagreeing, but not wanting to debate her, especially as she finally looked like herself, I stood up.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes," she agreed.

Putting out my hand in assistance, I asked, "Shall we see the rest of the house, then?"

"Certainly," she agreed appearing slightly embarrassed.

From my perspective she was brave and courageous. Doubting she would believe me and unsure of how to convince her, with her hand in my elbow I simply guided her out of that room and into the next room, a bedroom. Hopefully, that would be the last time we would need to have that conversation, but as the beliefs of her era were ingrained in her I doubted that would be the case. As we walked my mind attempted to create an arguement that would assure her that she did not need to worry about my fidelity.

The only possible challenge to my fidelity to her would be if my mate were to make herself known in the next decades, but I had already considered that. My conclusion had been, in the extremely unlikely chance that happened, that I would simply have to explain the situation and hope that my mate would understand.

"My room," I told Miss Platt reminding myself to remain in the present.

There was a bed and a dresser, but not much else.

She stared at my things for a moment before walking back into the hall. The next door led to the bathroom, but she did not step into the room. She merely opened the door and peeked inside. As she neared the last door, she appeared hesitant, but must have found the nerve, because she turned the handle and opened it.

Then she just stood there her mouth hung open.

"I hope you like it," I told her shyly. I had paid the wedding planner extra to decorate the room. In the centre was a four-poster bed. The room was coloured in light browns and greens, which almost seemed to give it an air of being more in a forest than a bedroom. The bedspread was a white colour that held a touch of yellow in it. The dresser and armoire were from the same carpenter as the bed and so matched. "I had them put your trunks over there," I pointed out.

She took a step in but said nothing her eyes large and tears began to form in the corner of her eyes.

"Did I misstep?" I queried concerned at her reaction.

Turning to me, she replied, "Quite the contrary. You could not have created a more perfect space if I had designed it myself. I am simply overwhelmed at your attention to detail and all that you have done to welcome me into your life."

Unsure of what to say I began to turn around presuming she wanted some privacy and told her, "I shall leave you to it, then."

Instead, she came towards me and enveloped me briefly in an embrace that was probably tight for her. "Thank you," she whispered looking up at me. "It is beyond what I could have ever hoped for."

Smiling at her, I ran my hands down her arms. "You're very welcome. I do hope that you are happy here with me."

She pulled back further and looked at me seriously. "Well, what shall we do now?"

"Are you hungry?" I enquired, as I had not seen her eat anything in many hours.

"Yes," she answered after a moment's pause.

"Well, the shops will be closed by now, so let us go out to eat," I proposed.

"I would like to go to a casual establishment, a diner perhaps, something within walking distance. I could do with some fresh air," she suggested.

"Whatever you wish," I told her earnestly.

Turning to leave, I was a step towards the door when she asked sounding hesitant, "Um, Carlisle?"

"Yes?" I asked turning back to her.

"I would like to change into a more casual attire and I need your assistance to undo the dress and undergarments for me," she divulged bashfully.

"Of course," I replied wispily shocked to realise that I had not considered the workings of female clothing.

She turned her back to me.

Taking a step forward, I considered for the first time how I was actually going to live with a female in my home. Sure, I had thought about her physical needs, but this exemplified how little about women I really knew. Tentatively, one by one with extreme care, I undid the buttons to the back of her dress. The shoulders slipped down a little exposing the tops of her shoulder blades. I examined the way that the undergarment had been laced up and began to undo it loosening it as I went. Somehow the nature of the dress had turned her into a siren. A few times in doing my task my finger touched the delicate skin under her garment.

"Is that enough?" I asked long after I had begun to hold my breath needing to escape.

"Yes, thank you. I would like to take a bath first. Is that acceptable?" she asked demurely.

The image that assaulted me was scandalous. "Certainly," I replied my voice unusually hoarse. "I will be in my study. Come and fetch me when you are ready to go," I instructed her my voice still sounding strange to my ears.

"I will do," she agreed.

With that I turned and fled as quickly as seemed appropriate without letting her become aware of my need to leave with the Lord's name on my lips, as I went praying for strength. I could not stop the images nor the desire that undressing her had stirred within me. A part of me wanted to argue that she was my wife, and that it was within my right to touch her body. Certainly we had done nothing improper. We were married after all. Long after I heard her garments fall to the floor, she wrapped herself in a bathrobe, and prepared herself a bath, the heat she had radiated warmed my fingertips and how she felt softer than silk would not leave me.

One of our phone conversations had included a detailed explanation about the house and that I had the appropriate apparatus installed to provide her with hot water from the tap, but as she entered the bathroom and turned it on she seemed to marvel at it. All her sounds of surprise and approval along with her movements into the bath only worsened my body's responses to her, despite my futile attempts to stop its reactions. It was like my newborn years had returned with my instincts screaming at me, even if it was not blood. The strength of how much my body wanted her surprised me, as it was far greater than I ever had experienced before. Without doubt I had entered Dante's Inferno.

How was it in all my preparation of having her here that I had not considered these aspects? Sitting in my office, unable to not hear her, it dawned on me that having a woman who was my wife living with me would be the greatest temptation I had ever faced. My whole body was in anticipation, as if it expected me to pounce on her. My reaction would make perfect sense as a human man. Even the priest, Miss Platt's friend's husbands, and fellow doctors had asked about such things. But I was not human. To give into this desire would do nothing but ask her to sacrifice her life. I could not fathom how I was going to manage, but I would. In the beginning, I had not known how to resist the urge to drink human blood, but I had.

God would show me a way, just as He had before, because the only alternative was to force my venom into her and risk her death. And that was completely unacceptable.

A/N: So, before the first chapter I warned readers that this story would contains mature themes. Although the chapters up to now would certainly be T in my mind, I see that changing. Bluntly put, they are married. Their conversations and the events of the next chapters are going to be ones that, in my opinion, qualify for "adult themes" as the challenges of marriage, especially theirs, are adult issues. You are duly warned.

Also, thank you to those who have encouraged me with their reviews. Other writers say this and it is true for me: I greatly appreciate each of you. I look forward to reading and responding to your thoughts regarding this chapter.

Blessings and peace.