The One With The Renaissance Faire
Original story by: Jana~
Rewrite by: Jana~
And: Exintaris
Brief author's note:
While he followed the original premise as much as could be, and I worked closely with him on the elements within, the written content in this chapter is solely by Exintaris.
More notes at the end, per as usual.
XX
Chapter Two
XXX
A month later, Monica was in her kitchen, hovering over a rich broth that she was preparing for the midday meal, but with her mind only partly on this. Mostly, she was thinking about Chandler, and all the experiences they had shared since their wedding.
She could not refrain from smiling as she remembered how, on the morning after their wedding night, they had conspired together like a pair of naughty children to make it seem as if they had indeed consummated their marriage. Each rolled around in the bed with most of their clothing removed, to get their odours and sweat into the sheets. Chandler made a little cut on his arm to spill blood on the undersheet, and at his suggestion both removed a hair or two and left them in the bedding – she even, without his knowledge, removed a hair from her most intimate place, to add further to the deceit. She was much struck by the enthusiasm with which he approached this and the naturalness of his smiles, and began to wonder if she had been mistaken in him.
By the time they were done she was eager to wash, and he went out to summon maids. She was taken to another room to perform her toilet and dress, and so was not present when Sir Charles arrived to view the "tokens", but she soon realised, from a somewhat broad remark that he made over their breakfast, nudging his son in the ribs, that he had indeed been completely fooled. And, then, before too long, the last of their possessions were packed up and they set off in a well-loaded wagon to travel to Chandler's estate. It was hard to bid farewell to her parents and Rachel, and she shed tears, but this in a way was a help, because it meant that her mother and Rachel were concerned with trying to console her, and failed to ask questions about the wedding night that Rachel at least might have asked.
It took them the best part of three days to get to the Rickmansworth neighbourhood, but Sir Charles's servants took good care of them and they stayed in respectable inns along the route, and the whole thing took on something of the air of an adventure for her. She found it possible to push away her sadness at leaving her childhood home in Elmbridge and everything she knew, by taking an interest in all the new things to be seen and heard. Chandler seemed less easy around her than he had been when they were arranging their deception, and at first they did not exchange much conversation, but as the first day wore on they began to talk more often. And then came the night, and she was weary with travelling all day and ready for sleep, and he made no approach to her, and even turned his head the other way when she made ready for bed. In a way she was relieved, but the following morning she could not help feeling some disappointment, just as she had on their wedding night. Was he truly not interested in her?
The following night, when she was less weary, the same thing happened, and she began to feel convinced that, though he treated her with unfailing politeness, even a degree of friendliness, he did not want her. She wondered if his mind was fixed on some other woman. If so, why could he not have withstood his father, told him of his secret passion, and refused to marry Monica? Of course, that would have put her parents and herself in a very difficult position; but at least she would not be trapped in this marriage that was not merely loveless, but no marriage at all. The following morning she felt resentful, and answered Chandler shortly when he spoke to her, though she was careful always to sound dutiful.
And then they reached the estate, and both found plenty to occupy them. The house was not exactly in a ruinous state, but very rundown, with only an ageing steward, Giles Hawthorn, and his wife Nan to look after it. The first thing that Chandler applied himself to, with the aid of Rob Wilkins, a member of the Bing household who was to take over as steward, was to find skilled craftsmen to work on the repair and refurbishment of the house, as well as to hire labourers to farm the land, which had been much neglected.
So from the start Chandler was away from the house for most of every day but Sundays, but Monica did not have time to miss him, for she found herself working from dawn to dusk to set the house straight, cleaning out the rooms, unpacking and arranging all their possessions, and getting in supplies of every kind. At first she only had Nan to help her, but soon girls were got in from the nearby village to work during the day. On the advice of Rob Wilkins, she let it be known that in time she would be hiring live-in maids, but that she wanted to see how they worked first. This produced amazing diligence on the part of all the girls except one incurable daydreamer, whom she soon ceased to hire.
She found it necessary to make so many purchases that she was spending money at what seemed to her an amazing rate, far in excess of what she remembered her parents ever doing. But Chandler simply gave her whatever she needed, without any cautioning or comment on a need for frugality. Rather, he clearly took pleasure in the enthusiasm she was showing in her new role. For once she had settled in a little and had the beginnings of a system organised, she found it exhilarating to be mistress of a household and not merely her mother's assistant. And she soon realised that Chandler felt the same way about being master of an estate. He threw himself into the work with admirable eagerness, a world away from the resigned, weary air that the burden of constant debt had caused in her father. She suspected that Chandler had been bored with the idle life of a town gentleman, and in this respect his father had certainly done well for him, seeing that he needed occupation. If only he had not felt it necessary to see him married as well!
Their excitement in their new roles, and her need to discuss many things and get Chandler's approval of her decisions, meant that her resolution only to speak to him as much as was absolutely necessary was soon abandoned. For she quickly found out that he did not like silences and would fill them with talk. At the noon meal this was mostly between him and Rob, unless she had some matter that required his urgent attention, but in the evenings they would go to eat in a little dining room rather than in the kitchen, where Rob would stay with Giles and Nan, so that it was just the two of them together.
Chandler showed a need to tell her of all his activities, and also seemed to take great interest in all that she was doing. Their talk together became easier and more relaxed day by day, and they moved from discussion of work completed, in train, or needing to be done as soon as possible, to more general talk of plans for the future. Chandler also began to describe to her the people he was beginning to encounter in the neighbourhood, not merely his labourers, but the big farmers and even one or two of the local gentry, that he met in the village tavern on occasions when he and his men were taking a noon break from the endless work. She found that he had a way of producing droll little comments on people and situations that made her hide a smile more than once, and one evening she could not help bursting out laughing at his imitation of a local squire who had clearly had more ale than was good for him.
He paused in what he was saying, as if surprised, and gave her a little smile. "I have not heard thee laugh before, my lady wife," he said quietly. "Would it be too much, if I asked that thou do it more often?"
She was slightly taken aback by the sudden seriousness of his voice, and did not answer for a moment. But he seemed tense, and his look was almost beseeching, which aroused sympathy in her. Whatever other feelings he might have, he was doing his best to treat her well, and it seemed little enough to show more friendliness in return, as was more natural to her.
"No, sir, it would not be too much," she said, and smiled at him openly.
His smile grew. "And ... might I ask that thou call me not sir?" he added. "It makes me feel like someone of our fathers' age." He pulled a face in an attempt to make himself look like a much older man.
She came close to giggling. "Very well, husband," she said in a slightly teasing manner. "I am bound to obey you in all things."
It was said lightly, but for a moment he seemed to frown, before picking up the thread of what he had been saying again. She found this puzzling, but let it pass, for she felt that his talk of their neighbours was more important. These were the people she must get to know now, in her new home.
By the time they went to bed, she had almost forgotten that strange little moment and was feeling more at ease with him than she ever had. He also seemed at ease with her, but when they began to disrobe for bed he seemed to retreat into polite but distant courtesy again, and although he bade her good night pleasantly enough he gave absolutely no suggestion of interest in doing anything but going to sleep.
It took her quite a while to get to sleep herself, for this change in him, when she had thought that they were beginning to become closer, dismayed her. Why was he seemingly so reluctant to approach her? It could not be that he was uninterested in women; she had plenty of evidence to the contrary, from Rachel's gossip and what she had overheard Sir Charles saying, and his own comment about knowing something of how a bed shared by a man and woman should look. And she was beginning to find it hard to credit that he was pining for some secret love. Eventually she fell asleep while still puzzling over it in her mind.
From that evening they fell into a pattern of even more relaxed talk, especially over dinner, and she began to feel herself really at ease with him – that is, until the time for bed came, when he would retreat again into polite formality with her. She found it not merely puzzling, but increasingly frustrating. For she recognised that she found much to admire in him, and that there were times when she almost felt drawn to him, as a woman might be to a man. But although he seemed happy to talk with her easily and make his little observations and jokes, and was clearly pleased when she found them funny, and even more if she made some mildly admiring comment on how hard he was working, and how well things seemed to be going, he seemed almost to shy away from anything that might suggest a closer affection, something more like what she had observed between her parents.
And this was where her mind had brought her now, as she stirred the broth. Could it be, she wondered, that the estrangement between his parents meant that he had no pattern of how a husband should treat his wife, and simply did not know how to behave towards her? Maybe he was shy for that reason. But, if that were so, she had to confess herself at a loss. She had never been in a position of wanting to encourage a young man who seemed shy. The sons of their neighbours, when they had come to visit, had shown no shyness, but rather the opposite, making clumsily overfamiliar overtures, almost as if they felt an obligation to do so but could not forget times when they had played together as children.
Moreover, she thought, if she were to make any kind of open advance to him, it might disturb him and make him retreat into formality all the time. She would lose this pleasant closeness, almost like that between a brother and sister, and she did not want to lose that, for it undoubtedly added a flavour to her life. But for how long could they go on like this? In a moment of sudden despair, she clutched her head, only to realise she had dropped her stirring spoon into the broth. Muttering a mild curse, she fished it out just in time before Chandler arrived with the men, who sounded rather boisterous.
"Ah, that smells a right good broth, mistress," said one of the older workmen, Abel Longrigg.
This simple praise relaxed her, and she poured out the first mugsful of soup with a will, and took them to Chandler and Rob herself, for Nan and the maids had still not come downstairs from their work. At once she recognised the reason for their boisterousness: a smell of ale hung about them.
"So, you passed some time in the tavern?" she asked a little sharply as she filled more mugs. But before she could get a reply Nan and the maids came in and took over serving the broth. She took her own mug and sat down next to Chandler.
He looked at her with a slight air of guilt."'Tis true, we had two rounds," he said, "but the men have earned it, for they have all worked hard and well these last days."
"Aye, that they have, Mistress Monica," said Rob in an approving tone, "and Master Chandler as hard as any."
"I am pleased to hear it," she said in a slightly severe tone, then, seeing that Chandler seemed crestfallen, she impulsively reached out and put her hand on his arm, saying in a softer tone, "I rejoice that things go according to your plans."
His arm seemed to jump under her hand and he looked at her in startlement. She hastily pulled it back again, as surprised by her act as he seemed to be. Then a great burst of laughter from behind them, where the labourers stood with the maids, all of them well-known to each other since they came from the same village, distracted everybody. When it was explained it seemed no great matter, some tale of what Goody Hartsop had said to Mistress Archer, which you had to know all the history of the village for the last twenty years to appreciate, or so it seemed.
The moment passed, but she could not forget it. That evening she did not feel as easy with him as she had come to be, and he too seemed tense. They went to bed early, when he claimed to be tired, but she lay awake some time, unable to control the thoughts whirling through her mind. Had he been excited, surprised, or disturbed by her touch? And what about her own feeling of excitement at touching his strong, muscular arm? For a while she was near to tears as she tried in vain to reach some clarity in her thinking. She also had to suppress feelings of resentment as he slept deeply, apparently untroubled. When she did finally sleep, it was broken in the middle of the night by a dream that she did not recall well, but she was sure that it involved feeling a body against hers and left her feeling flushed and tingly in her most intimate places.
The next morning she still felt ill at ease, and Chandler acted more formally than he had been doing. That evening he seemed back to his old chattering self, which she welcomed, but when they went to bed nothing had changed, and so it continued over the next days. She could not see a way to break the pattern, and it began to unsettle her more and more. For it was becoming clear to her that she now knew him well enough, and felt close enough to him, that she could imagine accepting an approach, and there were times when she could almost think of inviting one. But at the same time she shrank from allowing herself to feel too much for him, for then, she knew, she might be in danger of giving her heart where there would be no return. But it was becoming harder and harder to lie awake beside him as he slumbered peacefully, unable to stop thinking about their situation and not daring to touch him as she was beginning to want to do.
She envied him his ability to sleep, while knowing that it came partly from the hard physical labour that he was engaged in nearly every day. After the first weeks, things had settled down in the house, and she now had a routine which kept her fairly busy but did not leave her as ready for sleep as she had been at first. And when she did sleep, she was often troubled by dreams, some of which clearly reflected her worries. She might dream of his offering to kiss her, or even of herself embracing him and asking for a kiss. But neither dream reached the kiss, though sometimes when it was her wanting the kiss this would be because he rejected her with a shocked expression. Dreams of a body against hers, even of arms around her, also occurred sometimes. However it developed, she would awaken with a gasp, her heart beating wildly, and feel a strong sense of frustration or, if Chandler had rejected her in the dream, of sadness, and always it took her quite a while to relax into sleep again.
Her sleep was interrupted often enough in this way to begin to affect her during the day, and she began to have black moods, when she wondered if things could ever improve. Sometimes she found it hard to be cheerful with the men when they came in for their noon meal, and even harder to be easy and attentive with Chandler in the evening. She even had little bursts of temper in the kitchen, which caused Nan and the maids to give her worried looks, though she always apologised and explained that she was not sleeping well. At this some of the maids would smirk and give each other knowing glances, even mutter behind their hands. But Nan would always snap at anyone she caught doing this.
Then one evening Chandler paused in his talk, and looked at her searchingly.
"Does some worry beset thee, my lady?" he said. "Thou hast not seemed so cheerful of late."
"'Tis nothing," she said, glad to have an opportunity to mention it. "Sometimes I have dreams that wake me in the middle of the night, and I find it hard to sleep again."
He made a sympathetic face. "Well, that at least is not of my doing."
Instead of saying, as she was tempted to do, that it might very well be, she found the wit to ask why he had thought that he might be responsible for her lack of cheer.
"Oh, I began to fear that my talking and joking was boring thee," he said half-seriously. "I like to be merry," he went on, as if confessing a fault, "but my father did not feel it ... appropriate for the position that we had achieved, in his eyes."
"I like to hear merriment," she replied. "But in recent years, we had such cares in the house ..." She paused, not sure how to go on, for of course their debts, especially to Sir Charles Bing, had been the source of the cares.
"I understand," he said, nodding gravely. "It is my hope that there is more merriment in thy parents' house now."
She could not help sighing. "Aye, they will be free of that care, but ... I fear they will be missing me, especially my father."
"You were close, then?" he asked, with a slight air of surprise.
She nodded, finding it hard to speak as memories of her parents suddenly overwhelmed her. She yearned in particular for her mother, to whom she felt she might be able to talk about her problems.
"Ah," he said. "My father and I were ... never close. Tell me of thy family, for I have been so constantly concerned with our life here that I have omitted to ask thee about thy life before this, and yet it is fitting that I should know something of it. Thou hast a brother, hast thou not?"
It did not take more than that one question to set her off, suddenly invigorated by a chance to talk about things that mattered a great deal to her. She poured out all kinds of details about her family and her life in Elmbridge, spurred on by further questions or comments from him. He took a serious interest in everything she told him, and when she offered to let him speak he simply shook his head and told her that it was her turn. She found this a great easing of her heart, and felt truly grateful to him for offering her the opportunity.
"Dost thou miss them, then?" he asked when she had flagged. "Now that thou hast less pressing matters on thy mind, perchance thy thoughts wander to Elmbridge and thine old home."
She gulped a little and nodded, but did not want to give him the impression that she was pining to return. "I have, have enjoyed setting up house here," she said, stammering a little. "It has been very pleasant to, to act the housewife."
He gave a little grin. "No acting – thou hast proved most competent. Well, dost thou think thou hast the household established on a sound footing, even if there is always more to be done?"
He seemed quite serious in his question, and so she took her time answering, thinking it over. The workmen had finished their various repairs and remodellings, and she now had a system for the household's work that Nan and the more intelligent maids knew as well as she did. Looking up, she saw his eyes intent on her, and nodded.
"Aye, 'twill serve, for now," she said. "I have still to decide much, and especially who shall be taken on as maids to live here, and that is a matter I must discuss with you, husband."
He nodded, but this was clearly not what he was most concerned with.
"Tomorrow, I will talk with Rob," he said. "If he feels about the estate as thou dost about the house, why should we not leave all in his hands for a few days and go to see my father, who will be eager to know of our progress, and thy parents and friends also?"
Monica felt a great rush of excitement that made her cry out and clap her hands. Of course she had expected that some day they would return to Elmbridge, but not so soon.
"Oh, husband!" she exclaimed. "How happy you have made me!" She felt a strong urge to express this happiness in the natural way, by going to embrace him, just as she might have done to her father when she was younger and he announced some treat. But just in time she restrained herself, fearing the rejection she met with in some of her dreams. She did, however, smile at him lovingly.
He blinked and looked a little confused, then returned a small smile. "It may not be immediately," he said. "I am still learning the work, and Rob may feel there is more to be done before we can let things lie for a little."
He seemed anxious that she should not be expecting to set out for Elmbridge on the morrow. But she was familiar with promises that took a while to be fulfilled and did not need this warning. The thought that soon she might be able to open her heart to her mother, or maybe first to Rachel, was enough for her.
"I can be patient," she said. "This is more than I could have hoped." She smiled at him again. "Thou art most kind, husband."
She realised as soon as she spoke that she had slipped into the more intimate "thou", when always before she had addressed him as "you". But she did not regret it, for he had given her real cause for happiness. The smile that he gave her in return made her heart skip a little. Then he got to his feet, and stretched, yawning mightily.
"I am for bed," he announced. "Wilt thou come, wife?" He held out a hand.
Heart beating a little faster, she placed her hand in his and walked up the stairs with him. He let her go when they were in the bedroom, but somehow she felt easier with him than ever before, and accepted that he truly wanted sleep without more than a slight twinge of disappointment. It warmed her when he muttered a sleepy "Good night" as she got in beside him, and that night she slept well.
XXX
It was more than a week before Rob Wilkins would finally allow that they could have a little slack time for a while. By that time men had been summoned from Oldcastle Manor to accompany them, and they made something of a stately progress back to Elmbridge over the next three days. She and Chandler conversed for much of the journey, about all manner of things, and the time passed quickly. They arrived at Oldcastle Manor in mid-afternoon, and Sir Charles Bing himself stood ready to greet them in the hall, with fine wine and cakes ready to hand.
"So, my son and daughter, is all well with thee?" he said jovially, after they had exchanged the formal kisses of welcome and been served some wine.
"Very well, I thank thee, father," said Chandler. "I know, it must seem but yesterday that we left, but I thought that a report of how far forward Rob and I have taken things would please thee, and moreover that my lady might wish to see her parents, and they her, for they have never been separated before."
Sir Charles nodded and grinned. "Perchance Mistress Monica has something that she would discuss with her mother," he said, raising his eyebrows insinuatingly.
Oh Lord, he believes I am with child, Monica thought in sudden alarm. She flushed and bent her head, knowing that this might contribute to his misapprehension, but unable to find any quick response.
Chandler was equal to it, however. "There may be many things that she wishes to discuss with her mother, sir," he said coolly.
Sir Charles grunted, sounding not altogether happy at this implicit denial of his hope. But then he began to question Chandler about how things were going on the estate, and Monica thought the moment had passed. In a while Sir Charles took them to sit in the withdrawing room, where Chandler drew her into the conversation, saying that she could speak to what had been done in the house better than he. Sir Charles seemed quite pleased with her account.
"Did I not tell thee, she would make a fine wife?" he said to Chandler. "Now, I had good warning of your arrival, so I have bidden thy parents to dinner, Mistress Monica, and thy brother and his wife too, for they are with thy parents at this time, and the Greens, so that thou needest not wait to speak with thy friend Rachel." He smiled at her in a fatherly way. "You will have much to tell each other, I doubt not."
"Thou art most kind, sir," she said fervently. "But if we are to have guests to dinner, should not Chandler and I cleanse ourselves of the dust of travel and don clothes more fitting for the occasion?"
"Indeed, that were best," he said, his voice filled with evident approval. For a moment she wondered whether there was some reason for this, and then she realised. She had referred to Chandler quite casually by his christened name, which Sir Charles must take as a sign of their closeness, as in a sense it was, if not in the sense that he imagined.
Two hours later, Monica stood in the hall besides Sir Charles and Chandler, wearing her best gown, awaiting their guests. It was some while since she had attended an occasion that she could enjoy wholeheartedly, as she had not enjoyed her wedding feast, and she was very much in the mood to do so. Chandler smiled sympathetically at her evident eagerness to see her family and best friend, and she smiled back. Again she felt Sir Charles looking approvingly at what he took to be signs of the affection that had grown between them.
There were voices in the hall, and shortly the steward, Ralph Daubeney as she now knew his name to be, led her family into the hall in his stately fashion and announced them. Quite unexpectedly tears sprang to Monica's eyes to see her parents, though at the same time her smile grew wide enough to split her face, or so it felt. They seemed to her to have aged; was that because she had been away from them?
Sir Charles and her father exchanged ceremonial greetings while Monica waited, aching to embrace her parents. Then Chandler said something very brief and waved her forward. She could not help it: she ran to her mother and hugged and kissed her fiercely, tears running, then her father.
"I have missed you!" she exclaimed.
Her father patted her on the back. "And we have missed thee, and I doubt not Ross has missed thee also."
Reminded that she should welcome her brother and sister-in-law, Monica turned to give Ross a somewhat more restrained embrace and kiss on the cheek. He chuckled and hugged her strongly.
"And how does married life suit thee, sister?" he said.
"Thou lookest well on it," said Carol, coming forward to be embraced in her turn, smiling broadly. She always showed Monica a degree of warmth that was somehow unsettling.
"I do well, I do well," she replied slightly distractedly, for she heard more voices and guessed that the Greens must have arrived. And so it proved. Here came Master Leonard Green behind Ralph Daubeney, with his wife Sandra on his arm and their three daughters behind, Rachel in the lead, wearing a gown that looked unfamiliar to Monica. There were more ceremonial greetings and kisses, but when it came to Rachel's turn she plunged forward, grabbed Monica's hands, and swung her round, beaming at her.
"I never hoped to see thee again so soon, my Monica!" she cried. "Thou art a sight for sore eyes, truly!"
"Rachel, thou art acting like some hoydenish wench! Guard thy tongue and behave!" her mother snapped. "'Tis not fitting for a maid."
Amy and Jill smirked to see their sister rebuked, but Rachel seemed quite unchastened, though she stopped dancing Monica round. Still she held her by one hand.
"I am so happy to see Monica, mother," she said. "Remember, I have such news to tell her."
Slightly unwillingly, Mistress Green relaxed her expression into a smile. "That is true, but look to it that thou learnest more seemly behaviour from her."
Sir Charles coughed meaningfully. "Shall we go in to dinner?"
"Oh, let us," cried Rachel gleefully. "May I sit by Monica, Sir Charles?"
She gave him such a wickedly beseeching glance that he chuckled and nodded. "'Tis of little consequence where we sit, since we are all friends and family here, are we not?" he said. "But go sit at some distance from me, lest I be deafened by thy endless prattle." His tone was teasing. Plainly Rachel had got him into the way of indulging her, as her own father and Monica's father did.
Triumphantly Rachel bore Monica off to the bottom of the table and sat at one side of her, while Monica's mother sat on the other. Rachel was a favourite with her, too.
"Thou lookest well, Monica," her mother said to her, when all were settled and had been helped to wine and their choice of meat. "'Tis plain, thou hast taken to wedded life."
Monica tried to smile naturally at her and said, "Aye, though I have a thousand cares as mistress of a household. Now I fully understand why sometimes thou wouldst show impatience with Ross and me, when we were children."
Her mother gave a deep chuckle. "Aye, there were times when it was hard to rein in my temper. But, as I have told thee, Ross was a gift from God, when thy father and I were almost past hope – and I was very pleased to have thee, too."
Monica felt a little pang of jealousy. Her mother had always favoured and indulged Ross much more than herself; she had been set to work in the kitchen and the house generally from an early age. But she had to admit, all that teaching of the housewife's arts had borne good fruit. Her life with Chandler would have been much more difficult if she knew as little as Rachel sometimes seemed to do.
"'Tis hard work, then, managing a household?" Rachel said with a touch of apprehension.
Monica nodded. "Aye, but very satisfying," she said.
"It is my hope that Chandler takes note of all that thou doest, and commends it," her mother said.
Monica's smile was much more natural. "He does indeed. He has let me have my will in all such matters, and much praises me, I do assure you. And he works harder than I do," she went on. "Almost every day he has been out with Rob Wilkins, our steward, and the men, working on the land, for it has been much neglected."
"And he a gentleman!" said Rachel, sounding rather shocked. "He should not have to work with common labourers."
Judith Geller looked at her rather sternly. "The true gentleman should not hold himself apart from the men upon whose work he relies so greatly for his livelihood," she said. "My Jack was much in the fields with his men when he was young. So, Chandler has taken to the work?"
"Aye, truly," Monica said enthusiastically. "To me it seems that he had no wish to live the life of a courtier or gentleman about town, but wanted true work."
Her mother nodded, smiling with approval. "Then he is indeed the husband I would have chosen for thee, for thou wast always one to be busy. And now, let Rachel tell thee her news before she burst, for this will explain why she shows this unaccustomed interest in housekeeping."
She looked teasingly at Rachel, who pouted a little, then smiled. "Father has found me a husband," she said eagerly. "He is called Oliver Lescrivain, a strange name but very ancient, and he is now the head of his family, for both his parents be dead."
"They were a great family once," said Judith Geller, "or so 'tis said, but much come down in the world. Yet he has worked hard and made them well to do again. He has an estate somewhere in the north, a place called Haxley or some such – "
"Haxby," Rachel corrected, in an impatient way that suggested it was not the first time.
Judith Geller waved a hand. "But he is more often to be found in London upon the Queen's business, and much of his livelihood comes from fees."
"A man of business and the law, then," Monica said. "But I trust he is not always at his charters and mortgages and such." She lifted an eyebrow at her friend, surprised that she should seem satisfied with such a dull-sounding man.
"No indeed," said Rachel. "He knows well how to pay court, and always shows me proper attention." She spoke with some complacency.
Judith Geller chuckled. "She winds him around her little finger, like all the men," she said. "But confess it, Rachel – thou dotest upon him also."
Rachel sighed deeply. "'Tis only too true." She looked down, seeming to blush a little, then directly at Monica. "I know not how it is, Monica, but as soon as I saw him I thought, that is the man for me."
"He is handsome?" Monica queried.
Rachel made a little gesture. "Maybe not as the world would see it, but ... he looks well, to me."
"This must be love," said Monica gaily. "Come, Rachel, I will pledge thee, for having found thy love!" She lifted her goblet. Rachel followed suit, and as they clinked the goblets Judith Geller lifted hers to make the third.
"Thy love for Chandler will come slower," she said to her daughter, "but I believe that I see the signs."
Monica could not help it; she flushed deeply and looked down, feeling a sort of shame that her behaviour had so misled her mother. And yet, she believed that she was reaching a stage where she could almost love Chandler ... if only he wanted her ...
She looked up, to see that both her mother and Rachel were looking at her with slightly concerned expressions.
"Monica," said her mother in a low voice, "truly, is ... is all well between thee and Chandler?"
Monica tried her best to look natural. "Why, yes, mother," she said as composedly as she could. "As well as might be, when we have known each other less than three months. But come, Rachel, tell me more of this Oliver. Is he often at the Queen's court?"
Evidently only too ready to speak of her new love, Rachel at once burst into a prolonged account. Monica did her best to appear attentive and to ignore the searching glances that her mother directed at her from time to time.
XXX
By the time the dinner ended, it was late and Monica was feeling very tired from the combined effects of their journey and having eaten and drunk a little too much. Chandler was in worse shape, if anything. They staggered off together to the bedroom they had used on their wedding night, changed into nightclothes and more or less fell into bed. They smiled at each other and muttered good nights before rolling over to sleep, which they did without waking until the morning, when maids attended them. As before, Monica went to another room to relieve herself, wash and dress. When she returned the bed had already been remade and Chandler was waiting to accompany her downstairs to breakfast.
"Wilt thou go to the Greens' house today, to see Mistress Rachel?" he asked.
She shook her head, then clutched it, wincing at a twinge of pain. "Nay, she is to come here," she said, remembering what had been agreed. "She wishes to be away from her sisters, lest they try to eavesdrop on our conversation."
Chandler nodded. "'Tis plain, they are jealous," he said seriously. "But, as the eldest, she might expect her father to find her a husband first."
Monica gave a little sigh. "Always he has shown most affection for her. I do confess, this does not surprise me much. For all her gossiping, she has the sweetest nature of the three. When I was younger, I was not as you see me now, but," she hesitated, "in truth, I was somewhat fat, until I got my growth. And they mocked me, with the other girls, but she never did. Always she stayed my friend."
He smiled at her. "I find it hard to imagine thee fat, milady wife," he said in a light tone, "very hard indeed. Why, I believe I could make my hands meet about thy waist."
She felt a sudden heat at the mental image of him holding her waist, and flushed a little. He too looked uneasy, as if he had gone beyond a boundary. Anxious to reassure him, for the image was by no means distasteful, she smiled at him but said no more, for they were entering the withdrawing room, now set up for breakfast.
Sir Charles was already there, with servants hovering behind him, a plateful of meats from the previous night before him with half a loaf of bread. He smiled and waved a chicken leg at them in greeting.
"Ask for whatever is thy wish, and it shall be brought, Mistress Monica," he said. "I am content with broken meats, but we have anything that thou couldst desire – eggs, cakes, pastries ..."
Monica felt a certain queasiness at the sight of the now greasy meat on his plate. "I thank thee, sir, but a cup of small beer and a round of bread, with a dish of whatever marmalade there may be, is all my desire."
He nodded, and one of the servants hurried away. But then suddenly he slapped his thigh. "Nay, but I had forgot! What sayest thou to a love apple? I have procured some from London." He peered at her from under bushy brows, obviously feeling he was offering her a rare treat appropriate to a young wife.
Monica flushed again, finding his manner too obviously insinuating, but she felt considerable curiosity about this fruit that she had heard of, but never seen.
"I will gladly try one, sir," she answered.
Sir Charles beamed as another servant set off instantly. When the round red fruit was brought and set before Monica, she had a sudden idea. Taking a small fruit knife, she carefully cut into the love apple, to halve it. It was firm, and looked nicely juicy. Then she cut a piece off one half and put it into her mouth. It was unexpectedly sharp, but still tasty. She used her knife to cut off another piece, speared it and held it out to Chandler.
"Husband, taste of this, I pray you," she said, smiling. "'Tis strange, but I like it." She was aware of Sir Charles beaming approvingly at her.
But Chandler, who had taken no food so far, twisted his mouth in an expression of distaste.
"I beg thou hold me excused, milady," he said. "I have tasted them before, and know that it would not sit well in my stomach this morning."
"Tasted before?" said his father rather explosively. "When, pray?"
"In London," said Chandler, somewhat shamefacedly, "with, with Mistress Katharine."
His father made an indistinct growling noise, then said grumblingly, "Well, if thou drankest too deep last night ... well ..." But he did not look pleased.
Monica too felt uneasy. Was Chandler's expressed reason the real one, or was he still pining after this Katharine? She lowered her knife to her plate, unable to conceal her dismay entirely.
"If your stomach is uneasy," she said, striving for lightness, "some plain bread might settle it – and I'll wager your throat is dry, so drink somewhat."
"There's a good wife!" said Sir Charles, thumping his fist on the table. "Thou shouldst thank God on thy knees that thou hast such a wife, Chandler."
He stood, his face flushed with temper, and said, "I would speak with thee later. Your pardon, Mistress Monica – I have much to attend to."
She rose and curtseyed. "Pray do not let me keep you, Sir Charles."
He nodded, looking a little mollified, and stumped off. Turning to Chandler, Monica saw that he too seemed angry.
"I beg your pardon, Chandler," she said a little nervously. "I had no intention – "
"'Tis nothing," he interrupted rather peevishly. "My father was always one for these starts." He ran a hand through his hair. "Truly, my stomach ails me somewhat, but thine advice is good. Will," he turned to one of the servants, "bring me the freshest round of bread we have, and small beer."
"At once, master," said Will, and hurried off.
Monica now felt little appetite, but finished her love apple, having been brought up never to waste food, and then ate some bread with a marmalade that was new to her, dark brown in colour, tart and sweet at the same time, which she liked at once.
"Husband, do you know what fruit this is?" she asked, pointing at the marmalade.
"Aye, 'tis the norange, or orange as some do now call it," he said, looking a bit better for a draft of small beer. "The name is Spanish in origin, but where the Dons came by the fruit I could not say." He made a deprecating gesture. "My father is always eager to find new things."
Monica smiled admiringly at his learning. "You know far more than I," she said, and returned to her food. The orange marmalade had given her back some appetite, and she decided to try some butter on her bread along with it. The combination worked well, and in the end she made a good breakfast. Feeling much better, she went back to their bedroom to wait for Rachel's arrival. But while she waited she could not help mulling over the possibility that maybe Chandler still had an affection for this Katharine, even though she had decided before that it was unlikely that he had a secret love. It made her realise that there were still things about him that she did not fully understand.
In a while she heard Rachel's cheerful voice upraised downstairs, and hurried to the head of the stairs to welcome her. Although she remembered that Rachel had eaten and drunk quite as much as she had, she seemed none the worse, and embraced Monica heartily. Monica led her to a small room next to the bedroom where they might have some privacy, and shut the door.
"So," said Rachel in a conspiratorial tone, "now we can speak full freely. How hast thou fared since we parted, truly?"
"'Twas hard at first," Monica said, "but there was so much to do in the house, I had little time to pine for my home. And though we did not converse much at the beginning, Chandler and I began to talk more and more easily. Thou mayst find this hard to credit, but he is a great talker. In truth, he cannot abide silence. So we have learned something of each other, and I have come to, to feel much liking for him."
She was not looking at Rachel when she spoke these last words, so did not see the look of surprise grow on her face, but it was there when she looked up at Rachel's loud gasp.
"Monica Geller," said Rachel in measured tones, "thou speakest of no more than liking, when thou hast shared a bed with him for months?"
Now she was faced with it, Monica found she could not lie.
"We, we have not ... been together as, as man and wife," she stammered, looking down again and feeling that her face must be scarlet.
Rachel gasped even more loudly. "But why?" she breathed.
Monica gulped. "He, he ... I do not believe he wants me," she muttered, and then her long pent-in emotions broke out and she burst into tears. Instantly Rachel jumped up and ran to throw her arms round her.
Through her tears, Monica told Rachel many things. How they made it appear that they had slept together on the wedding night, and why; how after that Chandler never approached her; how hard it was to understand what he really wanted; how sometimes she feared that his heart was set on another woman. Rachel rocked her gently to and fro through it all, making comforting noises. When Monica was recovered a bit, just heaving the occasional sob, she produced a handkerchief to wipe her cheeks.
"Now, my dear Monica," she said in a gentle but firm voice, "bethink thee a little. Has it not occurred to thee, that, after showing so great a consideration for thee that first night, he is now uncertain and knows not how to approach thee? Hast thou never noticed anything that reveals a man's natural lusts in him?"
Monica sniffed. "There have been ... moments," she said uncertainly. "But, but ...." she paused, then burst out, "he seems so, so distant when we are in our bedroom. And, and 'tis almost as if he has no wish to see me, when, when I am disrobing ..."
"All this," said Rachel, "may but show that he has some over-great fear of offending thee. This is not the way of most men, I know, but Chandler may be different. Yet here we come to it: dost thou want him to desire thee? Wouldst thou have him as thy husband in truth?"
Monica thought for a moment, then wailed, "I don't knooow!" After a pause to control herself, she went on, "Aye, sometimes I do feel that I want that, now that I know him, but ... suppose that secretly he loves another. 'Twill pain me even more, if I let myself feel love for him when he has nothing but, but ... courtesy to give in return."
Rachel sighed. "I did not observe him much last night," she said, "but I did not feel, when he and I spoke together, that his mind was on some other woman. But I would say, thou must seek ways to encourage him and fix his mind on thee." Suddenly her voice became very serious. "For, Monica, believe me in this: things cannot and will not go on in this manner for long. If he get not what it is natural for him to want from thee, he will find some village wench who is apt for it, and great trouble might come from that."
She sat back, and her manner changed. "Now, tell me of thy new life," she said, "and all that thou hast done, for 'tis clear, I shall need such knowledge when I set up house with my Oliver."
Relieved to have got off such an emotionally stressful subject, Monica launched into an account of how the house had been when she found it and all that she had done. Rachel paid unusual attention – previously she had been accustomed to dismiss talk of household matters as boring – and even asked one or two questions. Monica found a certain exhilaration in being able to speak of all her activities to another woman, even one as inexperienced in housekeeping as Rachel, and resolved to have a similar discussion with her mother.
It was only after Rachel had risen from her chair, saying that she should return to the Greens' house, that she reverted to the original topic.
"From all that thou hast told me," she said to Monica, "I cannot believe that thy Chandler still has some hidden longing for that Katharine Brewster. He would not be as easy with thee as thou hast shown. He would have moods, and maybe sudden angers. Nay, Monica, this cannot be, I am sure of it."
Monica smiled, and hugged her. "Would that I were as sure as thou," she said cheerfully enough, "but thou hast brought me to think, 'tis most unlikely."
"Keep that in thy thoughts," said Rachel, smiling back.
That afternoon Monica went to see her parents, and had a long and happy talk with her mother and Carol about running a household. She suspected that Carol's presence inhibited her mother from asking more intimate questions, for which she was grateful, though she still wondered whether she should confide in her and see if she had anything different to say from what Rachel had told her. But it was a great pleasure to her to be generally commended for all she had done by her mother, even if she characteristically found this or that to criticise, and to perceive that she had grown in her eyes from girl to woman. It was also pleasing to be obviously admired by Carol, who said frankly that she wished her mother had taught her as well as Monica's had.
Now that they were back in Elmbridge, Chandler showed no disposition to return to his estate quickly. This surprised Monica, for it was plain, though he tried to hide it, that he and his father were at odds over something. Yet Sir Charles showed great partiality to Monica, to the extent of embarrassing her with his compliments, especially after eating a beefsteak pie that she prepared for their dinner on the third day of their stay. In fact, he ate so much of the pie that he suffered for it later in the evening and in the night, for she and Chandler were awakened by the noise this caused, with servants hurrying up and down stairs.
But when she tried to commiserate with him at breakfast the next day he laughed it off, blaming her teasingly for making something so tasty that he was bound to overeat.
"I would my wife had been such a cook," he said. "Then matters had gone better between us, perchance."
Chandler made a sound that seemed to Monica very like a snort, but said nothing, and although his father plainly heard he took no notice except to dart an angry glance at him. But Sir Charles evidently had something on his mind, for he had little to say, but sat frowning and sighing to himself.
Shortly Chandler rose, saying that he was going to the Gellers' house to see Ross, with whom he had become friendly, and not to expect him for the noon meal. Monica had plans to talk with the Bings' cook in chief, who was very knowledgeable and ready to share his knowledge if approached in the right way, and said she would stay at Oldcastle Manor to do this.
She was happily engaged in preparing a rich veal soup under the cook's direction when a servant came to say that Sir Charles asked her to come to the hall. Slightly surprised, she quickly washed her hands and went out, to see that not only Sir Charles but her mother was awaiting her, with a third person, a quite tall woman with a long face and yellow hair. Though by no means old – she looked to be closer to Monica than her mother in age – she had an air of competence and experience. Sir Charles looked very serious, while her mother looked strained and sad.
"Monica my daughter," her mother said, in a slightly shaky voice, "this is Mistress Phoebe Buffay, who came recently to Elmbridge as midwife. She has a very good name."
Mistress Buffay curtseyed to Monica, who gave a little bow in return, her mind in a whirl.
"Sir Charles wishes that she should examine thee," her mother continued. "He is concerned that thou art not yet with child, and, and I too wonder if – " She paused, her face working, and put a hand over her eyes.
"If there be some impediment," said Mistress Buffay briskly. "'Tis not unknown. I promise ye, young mistress, I will do nothing that should cause ye pain."
Oh Lord, Monica thought in real dismay. If she were examined by a midwife, her virginal state would surely be discovered. Yet she thought she could see suspicion in Sir Charles's eye, and she wondered if her mother shared that suspicion. Her only hope was to go through with it, and cast herself on this midwife's mercy.
"V-very well," she said, stammering a little, "but I would r-rather I were alone with Mistress Buffay."
Her mother, who seemed as nervous as she was, nodded hastily. "I will stay within call."
"Let us go upstairs to a bedroom," said Mistress Buffay, directing a stern glance at Sir Charles, as if to indicate that this was a women's matter which he should keep far away from. With a rather ill grace, he said that he would wait in his study for her report.
They went to the bedroom that she and Chandler used, and Monica lay on the bed and pulled up her skirt and petticoat. Mistress Buffay went to work confidently, and paused almost at once.
"Why, what is this?" she said in a near-whisper. "Ye have not lain with your husband? Can a not do it, mayhap?"
Monica shook her head vigorously, momentarily unable to speak when confronted with it so openly. Then she gasped out, "It is no such matter. There are reasons ... 'tis most complicated ... Please, please do not tell Sir Charles, or my mother! I, I will see to it, that you are well rewarded, Mistress Buffay."
Mistress Buffay frowned. "No need of that, but there is some tale here. I pray ye, expound it to me quickly."
Monica gasped out the details of how she had come to marry Chandler and how things had gone between them as quickly as she could. Mistress Buffay listened quietly, nodding now and then but showing no reaction in her face. When Monica was finished, she smiled.
"Mistress, 'tis my belief, ye are addlebrained, one as much as t'other," she said, not unkindly. "Thou waitest on him, and he, I doubt not, waiteth on thee."
"R-Rachel said something similar," Monica said, too unnerved to take offence at being addressed in this very familiar manner.
Mistress Buffay smiled in a different way. "Mistress Rachel Green? Aye, for all her flighty ways, she hath some sense in these matters, or so 'tis said in the village. Now, I must ask thee some questions, to be assured that I shall not be forswearing myself too greatly. Are thy courses regular?"
Feeling an immense sense of relief at the indication that Mistress Buffay would lie for her, Monica readily answered her questions, even the most intimate, and soon they went out to see Monica's mother, who was pacing up and down, the picture of worry.
"There is no cause for alarm," Mistress Buffay announced firmly. "But as we women well know, Mistress Geller, conception is not always as easy as men fancy." Her expression showed some disdain, as if at men's presumption to know about such intimately female matters.
"Nay, indeed not," said Judith Geller, smiling as she relaxed in relief. "As you may have heard tell, I can bear witness to that in mine own body. I had feared that what ailed me might somehow have come to Monica ..."
"I see no reason to fear that," said Mistress Buffay reassuringly. "Come, let us go to Sir Charles."
There was a slightly severe look on her face, and when they came to Sir Charles's study, where he sat at a desk covered in papers, she spoke at once.
"Your daughter-in-law is in right good health, Sir Charles," she said quite sternly, showing him no deference at all. "But she is a woman, not a breeding ewe, and women do not always conceive as easily as ewes. If ye will be ruled by me in this, do not treat her, and your son, as ye would your breeding stock. Cease your fretting and have but a little patience. It hath been well said, the later engendered, the likelier to thrive."
It was plain that Sir Charles did not relish being addressed so bluntly, but Mistress Buffay spoke with the assurance of the expert. He tried to smile naturally at Monica and her mother.
"I pray your forgiveness, Mistress Geller, Mistress Monica," he said. "I have not the best of health, and was concerned – "
"Tush, Sir Charles," Mistress Buffay interrupted in a much lighter voice, "if ye did eat less, ye would amend your health greatly and might live these twenty years. Aye, even if it be one of Mistress Monica's beefsteak pies, whose fame has spread to the village," here she glanced at Monica with twinkling eyes, "ye should partake in moderation."
This sally actually seemed to tickle Sir Charles's fancy. He gave a great bellow of laughter. "Thou hast me there, and soundly, Mistress Buffay!" he said. "Pray, apply to Master Daubeney for thy fee, and if thou wilt be pleased to take a nuncheon in the kitchen ..." He waved a hand expansively.
Mistress Buffay curtseyed. "Indeed, I shall be pleased to do so, Sir Charles," she said. Then she turned to curtsey to Monica and her mother, caught Monica's eye and inclined her head a little, and swept out.
"By your leave, Sir Charles," said Judith Geller and led Monica out.
"I am right sorry to have agreed to that, Monica," she said quietly, once they were some way down the passage, "but as I told Mistress Buffay, I feared – "
Impulsively Monica hugged her mother. "I bear thee no grudge, mother," she said. "It cheers me greatly that thou dost care so much for me. But, as Mistress Buffay said to Sir Charles, we must have patience."
Her mother's eyes twinkled. "That was a sight to see, was it not, Sir Charles bearded in his own lair? I tell thee, Monica, it did my heart good to see her so confront him. He is too fond of his own will in all matters. I do confess, I was overborne by him."
Monica gave her mother another hug to reassure her that she did not blame her. She had also got some pleasure from seeing Mistress Buffay handle Sir Charles so fearlessly. "She will be good for Elmbridge, I think," she said.
She said farewell to her mother lovingly at the house door and then returned to the bedroom, to think over what she would say to Chandler, for of course he must know of all this. At first she felt easy about everything that had occurred, but in a while a thought struck her. She was relying completely on Mistress Buffay's good faith. But she had taken no oath, and she might consider it politic, on reflection, to be on good terms with Sir Charles, the biggest landowner in the neighbourhood.
Suppose she told him that Monica was still a virgin; what would his reaction be? Despite his previous approval of her, he would surely prefer his son to have a wife that he wanted. Could he somehow procure an annulment of the marriage? Monica knew little about the process of annulment, but she knew that non-consummation of the marriage was one grounds for it. And if all this came to light, she knew well, she would be blamed by many, her parents would be disappointed in her, and if the marriage was annulled the contract her father had signed with Sir Charles would be worthless and he might have to pay the debt after all.
She tried to dismiss these fears as groundless, to remind herself that Mistress Buffay had seemed absolutely trustworthy, but they kept returning. The result was that when Chandler returned after spending much of the day with Ross, most recently taking a pint of ale with him in the village tavern, he found a most unhappy-looking wife, who looked up with a woebegone expression when he entered the room.
Instantly he rushed to her, crying, "Monica, what ails thee?" and took her hands.
Monica was too wrapped up in her fears for the future to notice that he had used her name, but she thrilled to his display of worry for her and the feeling of his warm hands on hers.
"I ... there are things I must tell thee, Chandler," she said, trying to control her voice.
Quickly she told him of her examination by the village midwife, of her undertaking to conceal the truth of Monica's virginity, and of the fears that had begun to prey on Monica's mind. She was unable to look Chandler in the face as she spoke of these, and did not do so until she heard him give a definite snarl, and turned to see something she had never seen before – Chandler in a state of rage.
"That he should dare!" he growled through his teeth. "The interfering old tyrant! But what reason dost thou have to distrust this Mistress Buffay?"
"None, save that Sir Charles is a great man in these parts, and she is but an ordinary woman," she confessed. "She did show no fear of him, I grant."
"I know nothing of her," Chandler said, "but there are other things of which I know somewhat. My father cannot procure an annulment with a snap of his fingers. 'Tis a lengthy and expensive business, and if it were for, for non-consummation," he stumbled a little here, "this would require a statement from thee on oath that I was incapable." Suddenly he looked at her almost pleadingly. "Thou wouldst not do that?"
"No, never," she cried at once, horrified at the suggestion.
"Then the thing cannot be proved," he said flatly. "What evidence can he bring? He may state his suspicions, but they would count for nothing in court against our joint assertion."
Monica could not help it; she gave a long sigh of relief.
Chandler looked at her steadily. "Monica," he said quietly, taking hold of her hand again, "this would require thee to lie on oath. Thou wouldst take that sin on thy soul, for me?"
Monica looked him in the eyes, squared her shoulders and nodded. "Aye, I would," she said. She had recognised what he was really asking, whether she wanted to remain his wife, and she now knew what her answer was.
His serious expression turned to a happy smile. "That is well, for of a certainty I have no wish to be parted from thee." Suddenly he sprang to his feet, his expression turning angry again. "And now I go to my busybody of a father, to have this out with him!"
"Oh, but Chandler – " she protested, standing too, but he shook his head at her.
"Even into my manhood, he has interfered in my life," he said. "But this shall be the last time, I warrant!"
He strode out of the room and she heard his feet stamping down the passage towards the stairs. Fearful that he might go too far, in a moment she stole after him, walking as quietly as she could. She watched him descend the stairs and marked the way he went, to his father's study, and slowly, looking about her a little fearfully in case one of the servants should see her, she followed in his footsteps.
Chandler was in full swing by the time she was close to the study doorway, evidently not caring who might hear.
"To go behind my back in this way, as if I were still a child!" he raged. "And what didst thou hope to gain? I pray this Mistress Buffay be no tattler, or this tale will go all over Elmbridge and beyond, and, I doubt not, be turned to all kinds of slanderous gossip that will much hurt our family, and Monica particularly!"
"There is talk already, among the servants," came his father's voice, sounding heavy and reluctant. "I cannot be sure of thee. As I have told thee before, thou seemest cold to her always." His voice developed an angry tone. "Didst thou persuade her, by what means I know not, to gull me? Hast thou lain with her, in truth, or is thy heart still given elsewhere, and therefore thou dost not approach her?"
"Given elsewhere!" Chandler gave a wild laugh. "To whom, prithee? I must suppose thou hintest at Katharine Brewster. But she is nothing to me, nothing! And what my wife and I do in the bedroom is no concern of thine, nay, not even though thou art my father. 'Tis ill done, meddling between man and wife."
"If thou wilt not give me a straight answer," Sir Charles shouted, "but wilt so defy me, mayhap I will consider again who shall be my heir."
"Then shalt thou appear the tyrant father, who drives his son away for no good reason that the world can see," Chandler retorted in a quieter tone. "But have it as thou wilt. The Rickmansworth estate is mine, by thine own hand, and we will find a way to live without thy money, though we work from dawn to dusk."
He came storming out, to pause in evident surprise to see Monica hovering there.
"I, I was so concerned," she stammered, "concerned that thou mightest fight with him."
He seemed to relax a little. "Nay, I would never raise my hand to him, however much he angered me," he said. "Come, let us go back to our bedroom, for we have much to talk over."
"Would thy father truly cut thee out of his will and make another his heir?" she said worriedly as they ascended the stairs.
Chandler laughed dismissively. "Nay, 'tis but words. When he told me I was to marry thee, will I nill I, he used the same threat, and I was ready to believe it then. He will see that this is pure folly, when his temper calms."
"I, I heard somewhat that he said, that first time, before you all came in," Monica confessed. "Thou wast not ready to marry me then."
"I was not ready to marry anyone," Chandler corrected. "I had not even seen thee. When I did – " He gave her a smile that made her heart turn over. "But no more of this until we are well away from long ears." He nodded significantly at a maidservant who stood a short distance away, seemingly engaged in dusting a chair and table set in the passage off which their bedroom opened.
Monica's mind was awhirl with all the new ideas that she was trying to absorb. Chandler cared nothing for any other woman; he truly wanted her for his wife; it seemed, he wanted her. And realising this made her fully realise and accept something else. Now, calling to mind what Rachel had told her, when she confessed dallying with a lutenist, she did not feel a shrinking from any thought of doing such things with Chandler, but rather a lively wish to see what it would be like. She thought she would welcome his lips on hers and – it made her flush to think of it, but she did not push the thought away – his arms around her. In spite of herself, she giggled at the absurdity of it, that it should be Sir Charles's suspicions of the truth that would change that truth for ever, or so she hoped. She looked up through her lashes at Chandler: he had a sort of intent look about him, but did not seem uneasy as he had used to do.
As they entered the bedroom, Chandler opening the door for her and shutting it carefully behind him, he said, with a touch of humour in his voice, "And what has made thee laugh, Monica?"
She could not tell it to him directly. "I just thought how strange it all was, that this should show me what I truly felt about thee."
"I was always in fear that thou didst not truly want to be my wife," he said.
"Was that why thou wast so distant in the bedroom?" she asked, feeling ready to be bold with him.
He looked abashed. "Thou art so fair ... I could not believe that thou wouldst want me, especially when we were thrust into marriage together so hastily. I thought that in time, maybe ... but even when we were better known to each other, it was so hard to take the first step."
"My feelings were somewhat similar," she replied. "I feared especially that thou didst not want me – "
"Not want thee?" he cried in amazement. "Monica, no man that was not blind could fail to want thee!"
She smiled, feeling sure of him now. "Then Mistress Buffay was in the right. She said that we were both addlebrained, each waiting on the other."
He nodded, smiling, then suddenly wriggled his shoulders uncomfortably. "Lord, I am all of a mucksweat," he said in explanation, "from my day's doings with thy brother and my recent raging at my father."
"Then take off thy doublet," she said, smiling. "'There is time enough before dinner to shift thy shirt, even to wash."
With a look of gratitude, he undid his doublet and tossed it aside, and at once she saw a rip in his shirt, under his armpit.
"Oh husband, what hast thou been doing?" she cried reproachfully. "Thy shirt is badly torn. Have it off at once, and I shall mend it straight."
She went looking for her sewing box, and on finding it turned round, to see Chandler naked to the waist, holding out his shirt. The blood rushed to her face. She had glimpsed him like this any number of times, when he changed for bed, but now ... Slowly she approached, keeping her eyes on his. She did not take the shirt; instead, she came close to him and looked up. This was as much as she felt she could do to encourage him.
With a groan, he threw his arms around her, pulled her to him, and bent to fasten his mouth on hers. She dropped the sewing box and threw her arms around his neck, melting into his kiss, then running her hands down his strong back.
In a while he pulled back a little, and whispered, "Whatever we do, it is thy decision …"
Feeling a sense of triumph, she nevertheless knew that it would be better if he chose.
"It is my decision to ask my husband what he would have of me," she said, smiling at him.
For a moment Chandler looked uncertain. Then he smiled, and his intent look returned, strengthened.
"I would see thee as Adam saw Eve, or as those nymphs that attended her birth from the sea saw Venus," he said simply.
Just for a moment she felt nervous and unsure of herself. But the way that Chandler was looking at her, with a combination of tenderness and longing, gave her courage.
"Very well," she whispered, "but," for a moment her lips twitched in humour, "in exchange, I shall want to see thee as Eve saw Adam."
"Nothing easier," he said, his eyes bright, "but do thou go first."
Quickly she took off her short jacket, then worked the ties on her bodice, undid it and threw it to a chair, following it with her shoes and stockings. All the while his eyes kept on her, and a slight smile stayed on his face. Unconsciously taking a breath, she turned her back to him.
"Pray, husband, unbutton my gown," she said shakily.
"Willingly," he muttered, and set to work. While he was doing that she unpinned and unbraided her hair and let it fall loose. As soon as he was done she stepped out of her dress and put it aside, then put her hair back behind her shoulders and turned again to face him in petticoat and shift. Her face felt hot, she could feel her heart beating, and her breath was now coming faster; so was his.
"I have an idea," he said hoarsely, before she could go further. "Let us turn our backs to each other, to remove what remains, then turn to see each other when I give the word."
"Agreed," she said, and turned away. It was the work of a moment to remove her undergarments. Then she stood, quivering with excitement, as she heard him drop his shoes and take off stockings and breeches, with a muffled curse that suggested he had lost his balance for a moment. She stifled a giggle.
After a pause, he said, "Turn."
They did, and for the first time she gazed at a fully naked man. That he was in a very excited state did not dismay her; after a life spent among farm animals she had some idea what to expect. Rather, she welcomed it as the clearest sign that he truly did want her, and the look in his eyes as they roamed over her body made her blood run hot.
"As fair as Venus," he said, even hoarser than before, and held out his arms. Joyfully she ran into them and pressed herself against him.
"Take me, Chandler," she said in a voice of love. "Take me as thy wife."
To be continued
Author's Note (from Exintaris): And that concludes Monica's dream! But there is more to come, when she tells the others, so there will be a shorter third chapter.
For information: Love apple was the original name for the tomato (introduced from the New World by now), because it was thought to have aphrodisiac qualities. Marmalade was an Elizabethan word for any fruit preserve. L'Escrivain, as it would be in French, means "the writer", more or less.
Author's note (from Jana~):
As Exintaris just said, there will be a third chapter. We have decided to combine what is left of this fic with the sequel, which is just way too short to be a fic, or even a chapter of a fic, all on its own. The third chapter, like the first, will have combined written content by both of us.
There was an additional chapter of the 'Past Lives' series, that is completely separate from this story, also originally posted in 2002, that I may or may not rewrite and post. Whether I do or not depends on you, the readers. If there is an interest in me doing so, I will, but only if there is an interest. That chapter/story takes place in the latter 1800s, and includes all the 'Friends' near equally.
If there is an interest, and I do rewrite the latter 1800s fic, it will most likely be my work alone. While Exintaris had a blast working on this fic, he does have a life, and fics of his own to write, and this project took considerable time away from both.
I thank him greatly for the time he spent on this, to make it what it is, which is far better and more historically accurate than the original ever was.
An added thank you to Venused, for her assistance and support with this project.
Now, I would like to ask a favor. Especially since this fandom seems to be dwindling, as far as readers and writers go, could you maybe, please, take a moment and review? Writers thrive on feedback… without it, we writers tend to lose motivation. Lack of motivation to write could very well mean that this fandom will soon be a ghost town. We don't want that to happen, do we?
So, please, just take a sec and give us your thoughts. We would be most appreciative.
MTLBYAKY
