Kitabı oku: «Counting on a Countess», sayfa 5
Chapter 6
The campfire on the night before the Battle of Nivelle seemed festive by comparison to this evening. Only an hour had passed since he’d pledged his troth to Miss Tamsyn Pearce of Cornwall, and the atmosphere still snapped with tension.
The setting couldn’t be faulted. Kit’s friend, the Duke of Greyland, had offered his expansive, elegant home for the ceremony and reception. The wedding itself had been held in the dining room, which had been cleared out and specially decorated for the occasion with garlands of boxwood leaves and roses. Once the vows had been exchanged, the rites concluded, and the parish register signed, servants had brought in tables laden with delicacies and cakes, bowls of punch, and decanters of wine.
A string trio played softly but cheerfully in one corner. Candlelight glittered on cut crystal chandeliers, making the polished silver plates and goblets shine. Everything looked splendid. But the mood remained stubbornly dour.
Kit stood with a glass of wine by a large arrangement of gerbera daisies, watching the guests attempt to socialize. He fought a melancholy sigh. Men didn’t give melancholy sighs on their wedding days.
“Naturally, an original such as yourself had to buck tradition and have a wedding at eleven o’clock in the evening.” Langdon approached and gave Kit’s shoulder a good-natured shake. He stood beside Kit, and together they observed the reception.
“My parents came all the way from Yorkshire to be here,” Kit noted, “and their carriage became stuck in the mud four times today. I couldn’t have the ceremony until they arrived.”
The majority of wedding ceremonies had to be before noon in a parish church, but Kit’s expensive purchase of a special license—using a loan from Langdon—from the Archbishop of Canterbury ensured that he could be wed at the place and time of his choosing. Unfortunately, it had taken two days longer than Kit had anticipated. Added to that was the excessive amount of time it had taken his parents to travel from Yorkshire, and he’d barely an hour left by the time the vows had been exchanged.
“And on the very last day you had left,” Langdon added. He whistled. “I knew you were fond of gambling, but I didn’t think you’d risk your fortune.”
“It wasn’t by choice,” Kit grumbled. “I swore to my parents that I wouldn’t marry without their presence.”
He glanced over at his family. All of them appeared as though they had been drinking unsweetened lemonade.
“None of them are especially forthcoming with their felicitations,” Langdon observed drily. “You’d think they would be happier with their youngest son no longer being their financial responsibility.” He eyed Kit. “And I would think you would be happier, too.”
Kit took a drink of wine, but it didn’t round the sharp edges of his humor. “Nothing is settled until tomorrow. I’m to go to Lord Somerby’s solicitor’s office and finalize the paperwork. Until then, I’m the very impecunious Lord Blakemere, and my wife is the impoverished Lady Blakemere. Speaking of her . . .” His gaze skimmed over the small gathering. “Where is she?”
“Being watched over by a disapproving sentry.” Langdon nodded toward a corner of the room.
Tamsyn stood off to one side, her only company being the censorious Lady Daleford. Tamsyn’s expression was one of barely suppressed frustration.
“Excuse me,” Kit said to Langdon.
He crossed the room to reach her, aware of many gazes upon him. Nearing her, he observed how bewitching she looked in her pale silver gown adorned with tiny pearls and silver lace. It had been purchased ready-made, due to the time-sensitive nature of the wedding, yet she was a ravishing bride, the color and cut flattering her complexion. She wore a crown of white flowers, which gleamed against the fiery hue of her hair.
She’ll be mine tonight. That hair would spread upon a pillow, and he’d feel her arms around him. He’d learn the delicious secrets of her body and show her how much pleasure two lovers could create together.
He could barely restrain his eagerness.
“May I have a word with my wife, Lady Daleford?” he asked, feeling the strange shape and sound of the words my wife on his lips.
The older woman fixed him with a sharp glare. “You both have walked into a horrendous mistake,” she snapped before storming off toward the punch bowl.
Tamsyn rolled her eyes. “Lady Daleford’s candor was one of the qualities my parents admired.” She looked rueful. “I wouldn’t mind a little dissembling right now.”
“I would have liked to have met your parents,” he said.
“I would have liked the same,” she answered.
They both seemed to realize at the same moment that, had her parents been alive, there would have been no need for this wedding.
“Please excuse me for a moment,” Tamsyn said, and slipped out into the corridor.
Langdon, Greyland, and Greyland’s wife approached him. Kit couldn’t help but notice the way the duke and duchess kept close to each other, with Greyland’s hand possessively on her lower back as if he needed to touch her at all times.
“Best wishes on your marriage,” the Duchess of Greyland said cheerfully, raising her glass of wine. “She’s a lovely woman.”
“Felicitations,” Greyland added heartily.
Langdon also lifted his glass. “Blessings on you both. Though,” he added with a furrowed brow, “I fear for my own unattached state, given that my two closest friends have fallen prey to matrimony.”
“A duke’s heir must marry,” Greyland pointed out, ever practical.
“But at the time of my choosing,” Langdon replied. “With my father as hale as ever, I pray that time is long in coming.”
“Besides,” Lady Greyland noted pertly, “whoever she may be, your choice of bride is entirely at your own discretion. Even someone as entirely unsuitable as me.”
“Love, there’s nothing unsuitable about you.” Warmth shone from Greyland’s eyes as he gazed at his duchess, and she gave him a private smile that radiated devotion.
Though Kit and Langdon glanced at each other with exasperation, Kit admitted to himself that it was a rare luxury to have someone with whom you shared that kind of connection. Would he and Tamsyn ever grow as close? Unlikely. They’d sealed their bond on the basis of practicality. So long as they tolerated each other, they ought to do well enough. He knew with certainty that they would enjoy their physical connection, and when that paled—for desire always cooled—they could seek pleasure elsewhere.
Something odd and hot jabbed Kit in his belly. He frowned at the unfamiliar sensation. Perhaps the wine had spoiled. Or was it—no. He couldn’t be jealous at the thought of Tamsyn taking someone else to her bed. He never felt jealousy when his past paramours found new lovers, and besides, he barely knew Tamsyn. How could he possibly feel that strange emotion for her?
Yet it was there, just the same. Smoldering like the edges of paper moments before bursting into flame.
Out of the corner of his eye, Kit saw Tamsyn slip back into the chamber.
Before anyone could speak, he announced cheerfully to his family, “Your carriages are waiting.”
His father scowled. “I didn’t order my carriage to be made ready.”
“But I did.” Kit smiled, relying on the charm that had gotten him out of many a childhood scrape, including the time he painted a very detailed illustration of a dairymaid on the wall of the drawing room.
“How gracious of you,” Tamsyn said enthusiastically. She gave Kit a discreet wink, and when he winked back, she coughed into her hand, barely concealing a laugh.
“Lady Daleford,” Kit said, turning to her with as much charisma as he could muster, “your vehicle also awaits.”
Tamsyn managed to suppress her laughter enough to press a fast kiss on the elderly lady’s cheek. “Thank you so much for being here. And my sincere gratitude for your hospitality. I’ll have the remainder of my things brought to me tomorrow.”
“Where are you staying?” Lady Daleford demanded. “You cannot mean to make a home in his bachelor lodgings.”
“I’ve rented a house on Bruton Street,” Kit said. “Until we are settled in more permanent accommodations, it should suit us well. The house comes complete with a full staff,” he added for Tamsyn’s benefit. For the gathered crowd, he continued, “Lady Blakemere and I will spend tonight in a hotel, and then tomorrow we shall move into our new home.”
Nothing truly has to change, he told himself. I’m not going to alter all of my life simply because I’m married.
“But that’s all on the morrow,” he said cheerfully. “For now, I bid you all a very heartfelt good night.” He held out his hand, ushering his family and Lady Daleford toward the door.
As everyone began to file out, grumbling, Tamsyn stepped close to whisper in his ear, “They think your behavior to be scandalous.”
He sent her a lopsided grin. “What’s one more scandal?”
“Indeed,” she said with a mischievous smile.
Ah, damn, I think I truly like this woman.
Finally, after receiving one last affronted glare from his father, they were gone.
“There’s always the possibility that we’ve disappointed them,” Tamsyn said wryly.
His smile didn’t waver. “A third son is always a disappointment, even if he becomes an earl.” He ran a placating finger down her cheek, and the softness of her skin roused him.
Soon.
Coming back to himself, he continued brightly, “Now that we’ve liberated ourselves from our oppressive guests, the celebration can happen in earnest.”
“Truly, though,” she said, laying a hand on his arm, “you didn’t have to send your family away on my account.”
The spontaneous touch of her hand upon his sleeve sent a jolt through him. Their kiss formalizing their union had been quick, chaste—a far cry from the heat that had risen up between them so quickly days earlier—yet the feel of her now stoked the furnace of his growing desire.
“They’ll recover from the indignity,” Kit said optimistically. “In time, when I’m generating more wealth than my father, everyone will come to an accord.”
“Nonetheless,” she said, smiling, “your gallantry on my behalf is appreciated.”
He pressed a hand to his chest and executed an extravagantly old-fashioned bow. “Your servant.”
His reward was the trill of her low, husky laughter. The sound trailed heat into his chest and traveled lower.
Since when did virgins laugh like sophisticated, earthy women of pleasure? There was more to Tamsyn than he’d first realized.
“We need to improve the atmosphere in here,” he declared, then strode to the musicians. “Enough of elegance,” he said to them. “Play something more festive and lively.”
At once, the musicians struck up a sprightly country tune.
“A fine improvement,” Kit proclaimed. He made his way back to Tamsyn, who watched with amused interest. “Come.” He offered her his arm. “Let us attend to the other guests.” He guided them toward Langdon, Greyland, and Lady Greyland.
Tamsyn whispered with a hint of awe, “You’re truly friends with a duke? And a duke’s heir?”
“Lord Langdon and I were at university together,” Kit explained. “After, he and I had a few years subsequently of knocking around London until I joined the army. When I came back, Langdon introduced me to the duke, and the three of us have been wreaking havoc over the city. Well, Greyland has always been a bit, shall we say, sober. And since his marriage to Lady G., he’s become as sanctimonious as a parson. Wouldn’t you agree, Greyland?” Kit added once they’d joined the others.
“I pray for Blakemere’s soul,” Greyland confirmed with a wry tilt of his lips, “but it comes to nothing. He’ll surely burn in the afterlife.”
“But I’ll be there, too,” Langdon added, “so at least we’ll enjoy our time in Hades.”
“I’d add my prayers with yours, my darling,” Lady Greyland said sardonically, “but I’m afraid my avowals of righteousness hold no weight.”
“Love,” her husband answered, “where you go, I follow. Paradise would be a dark place indeed without your light.”
Langdon rolled his eyes. “My God, the two of you.”
Greyland’s hand curved over his wife’s waist. “You’re jealous because, unlike you, when my woman professes her devotion to me, no money changes hands.”
Kit couldn’t hold back his laugh. “A hit, a very palpable hit.” He glanced at Tamsyn, who watched the interplay with amused fascination. “Forgive us. The habits of long familiarity must seem appalling to you.”
“Oh, no.” A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “It’s rather like going to the zoo, only better, because the animals are not caged.”
For a moment, everyone was silent. An expression of horror crossed Tamsyn’s face as she clearly regretted her humor. But then everyone began to laugh, and not only did her face brighten, but the little knot of anxiety wrapped around Kit’s chest loosened. He didn’t need to worry how well Tamsyn would fit in with his friends.
That would presume, however, that there would be interaction between them beyond tonight.
As Langdon chatted with Greyland and Lady Greyland, Tamsyn turned to Kit. “How did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That once Lady Daleford and your family left, things would get better?”
He said lightly, “I learned in the army that you can’t build a decent campfire with too much kindling. The fire won’t breathe if there’s too much fuel. Take a little out and”—he waved his hands—“you have a cheerful blaze.”
“A ship can’t float with too much ballast,” she agreed.
He motioned for a servant and flourished his arm. “We have our music, and now some liquid cheer.”
The footman stepped forward with a decanter full of dark amber liquid.
“Ah, perfect,” Kit exclaimed. “A glass for everyone in the company.”
“Is this . . . brandy?” Tamsyn asked, peering into the goblet that was placed in her hand.
“So it is,” he said with good humor. “All the way from Cognac. You needn’t drink it if you don’t care for spirits.”
As the words left his mouth, she tilted the glass back and downed the contents in one swallow. Then she held out her goblet for more. The footman refilled it immediately.
Well. Every day with Kit’s new bride would be a surprise.
A peculiar expression crossed her face, as if, in the most unlikely place, she recognized someone after they had been absent for a number of years.
“Where did this come from?” she asked the duke.
“It’s perfectly legal,” Greyland assured her. “I’d never serve Blakemere anything that wasn’t strictly aboveboard.”
“Why is that?” Tamsyn wondered.
“For all his wild reputation,” Langdon drawled, “Blakemere doesn’t look kindly on criminals.”
“I didn’t see good men die to protect their country,” Kit said grimly, “only to have the rule of law in England sneered at. Felons and offenders deserve whatever punishment is meted out.” His jaw hardened as he felt anger rise.
Color drained from Tamsyn’s face.
“You seem distressed.”
“Not a bit,” she said at once, but the merriment in her eyes had faded.
“I’m about to stun myself by cautioning that we shouldn’t overindulge tonight. Tomorrow afternoon, we go to the solicitor’s office and finalize the transfer of Lord Somerby’s fortune. You’re the Countess of Blakemere now, but in less than twenty-four hours, neither of us will be poor as church mice.” And he’d be so much closer to building the pleasure garden. So close to fulfilling his dream and finding peace.
Tamsyn’s expression turned thoughtful. Kit tried to decipher her countenance—was she forming plans for his money, or did the thought of possessing any fortune bewilder her?
“To the bride and groom,” Langdon said, lifting his glass. His look was practically devilish. “May the marriage be as fruitful as it is prosperous.”
Greyland and his wife lifted their own glasses and said, “To the bride and groom.”
Everyone merrily drank. Then Greyland pulled the duchess into his arms and waltzed her around the room, as Langdon tapped his foot and Tamsyn clapped her hands in time with the music.
Kit couldn’t tear his gaze from her. Despite the stressors of the day, she glowed with a radiance he’d seldom seen before, and it drew him like a wolf edging closer and closer to a welcome fire.
She was his wife now, and whatever the future held, tonight belonged to them.
The clock chimed midnight.
Chapter 7
“Good night! Good night! Try not to make the morning newspapers!”
With these questionable words, Lord Langdon, Lord Greyland, and Lady Greyland waved Tamsyn and Lord Blakemere—Kit, she reminded herself—off as their carriage pulled away.
She’d married a man who hated lawbreakers. Good God.
Not only that, soon, she and Kit would spend their first night together. By morning, she’d no longer be a virgin.
Tamsyn tried to grasp the fact that she was now a married woman, with a wife’s duty to her husband in the home, and in bed. Everything in her life had changed. She was no longer Tamsyn Pearce, but Tamsyn Ellingsworth, the Countess of Blakemere, and inside half a day, she would be wealthy—well, her husband would be wealthy, but she’d likely be given a substantial allowance.
She had plans for that money and knew precisely what to do with it. But when it came to the mysteries of the nuptial bed, she had little experience. Men wanted to marry virgins but they preferred a courtesan in the bedchamber—or so she’d been told. Almost everything she knew about sex was relayed to her by the women of Newcombe. Fortunately, the village women were outspoken and opinionated.
Through her lowered lashes, she studied Kit. They had never been truly alone until this moment. He wasn’t an especially big man, but he was strapping and hale and irrefutably masculine. Nothing buffered the small space between them, and each breath felt shallow due to his nearness.
He filled the silence and darkness of the carriage with easy conversation.
“Greyland’s cook turned out a repast that would put Prinny’s banquets to shame,” he said idly. “I think my brother Franklin ate a dozen seed cakes. He never had to be coaxed into cleaning his plate. I wouldn’t have been surprised if his wife filled her reticule with sugared fruit. Pamela is parsimonious to the point of agony. You wouldn’t believe she stood to become a viscountess upon the passing of my father. Given the long lives enjoyed by Ellingsworth men, I can see the point of her concern.”
“They must have been proud of you today,” she replied.
He wryly quirked his lips. “Relieved of their responsibility, more like. I’m not certain if pride is quite the feeling they’ve ever had where I was concerned.” He sounded fatalistic about being dismissed by his kin, as though he never expected otherwise.
There was no affection between Tamsyn and her aunt and uncle, yet when her parents had been alive, she had been treasured and loved. She clung to memories of their care, using it to sustain herself in darker moments.
But to never have had that—as Kit seemed to—seemed lonely and cold.
“Surely they felt pride when you were given an earldom for your service,” she objected.
“They thought my role in the army was merely decorative,” he answered. “No one in my family has any idea what war is like.” The brightness around him dimmed as memories seemed to swarm behind his eyes.
“Did you fight in many battles?” There had been men in Newcombe who’d gone off to fight. Either they hadn’t returned, or many of them bore terrible injuries. Few had been willing to talk about what they’d seen. Katie Davis told Tamsyn that her husband came back without any visible scars, but he couldn’t sleep in a dark room, and often woke Katie with his nightmare-induced screams.
He shrugged. “A few.”
“You were decorated,” she recalled.
He waved that aside like an invisible insect. “They dole out medals with a liberal hand.”
His modesty intrigued her. Most men would savor the opportunity to extol their own virtues.
“You cannot say the same about your earldom,” she noted. “Not many received the same honor. Clearly, your heroics deserved approbation.”
He glanced away. “Lord Somerby was a good man. It was only because of his efforts that I was given the title.”
His unwillingness to discuss his commendations tugged at her. Was he being modest? Were his recollections too horrific to speak of? Would he ever entrust her with his memories?
She reminded herself that she couldn’t afford to have her and Kit reach that point of trust and intimacy. The more they were apart, physically and emotionally, the easier it would be for her to keep her secrets safe.
However, she wondered, perhaps Kit slept with a light burning, too. Maybe his dreams pulled him back to bloodstained battlefields. Yet she would never know, because she would never let them grow that close.
“It’s our wedding night,” he said, clapping his hands together, “and I won’t bore you with tales of the War. Let’s talk of something more pleasant. You wanted to see more of London’s amusements, and now you shall, loosened from the yoke of Lady Daleford’s aversion to frivolity. Let’s start right away with Vauxhall. Sadly, Ranelagh closed years ago, but it was said to rival Vauxhall for spectacle.”
“We had traveling fairs come through Newcombe,” she said with a smile. “There were games where we could win ribbons or toys, jugglers and acrobats, and pig races.”
“Ah, you see! You know the joy that can only be felt at such places. Though,” he added drily, “I’ve not yet experienced the bliss that is pig racing.” He reached across the narrow space of the carriage and took her ungloved hand in his. Eyes bright with humor, he added, “Perhaps someday we can share in that delight together.”
She tried to share in his droll humor, but the feel of his touch made her breath scarce and head light. With just a brush of skin against skin, her senses flew into disarray.
Having heard the blunt and earthy talk of the village women, Tamsyn understood that the first time would likely be uncomfortable or even painful. But then it got better—provided a husband was attentive enough.
The way some women back home talked, having sex was the greatest pleasure they’d ever experienced.
It would soon be hers. He would be hers.
But what if she liked sex with Kit so much she wanted him all the time? Even more alarming, how would she stand it when he left her bed to find satisfaction with another woman?
“Perhaps,” she said, trying to keep her voice sounding as light and easy as his.
He let go of her hand, yet his heat continued to linger in her flesh. “Tomorrow morning,” he said, “we’ll tour our new home. It’s temporary until we can find a permanent residence in London. The Blakemere estate in Northumberland is rather in need of attention, but you’ll have free rein to renovate and improve it.”
She wasn’t certain how to broach this important topic. Best to just say what she thought and get it over with. “Cornwall is where I’d like to spend most of my time,” she ventured. “At my family home.”
The interior of the carriage was dim, so she couldn’t quite make out the look on his face, but his words showed his surprise. “You won’t stay in London?”
“I’m a country girl,” she said, spreading her hands. “For all its pleasures, I don’t know if I will ever be comfortable in this city.”
He fell into a stunned silence.
Oh, blast. They hadn’t worked out the details of where each of them would live, and now they had to tackle the logistics of how to make their marriage work. She could evade customs men while timing the tide on a moonless night, but the particulars of being married eluded her.
Finally, he said, “How about this—once you’re pregnant, you can live in Cornwall as long as you like.”
That would mean being away from Newcombe for what could be a long while. Could they manage without her? When she bought the house, she’d place Nessa in charge. At least until Tamsyn got with child.
“Ah, here we are,” Kit said eagerly, peering out the window as the carriage rolled to a stop.
The streets were utterly silent at this late hour. A chill mist obscured the sky and clung to the pavement.
A liveried footman opened the vehicle’s door and helped Tamsyn alight. Kit followed, and together they crossed the threshold of a large and elegant building.
She had a brief impression of rich fabrics and stylish furnishings in the empty lobby before a neatly dressed balding man rushed forward to meet them.
“Ah, Lord Blakemere and his new bride!” The man bowed. “I am Chapman, the night manager of our fine establishment. Welcome, my lord and lady, and felicitations. We have everything on hand to ensure you have a most pleasant night.”
“Much appreciated,” Kit answered politely, yet she could sense waves of impatience emanating from him as his gaze moved restively around the hotel entrance.
“You have a lovely establishment,” Tamsyn added.
The night manager beamed. “If you’ll follow me, I will show you to your rooms.” He waved them toward the stairs adorned with gilded railings and covered with plush deep red carpeting.
She tried to take in the details of the hotel. She’d never stayed in anything finer than an ordinary coaching inn, so to spend the night at one of London’s best hotels was a privilege she didn’t want to waste. The crystal lamps sparkled and the thick floor covering dampened the sound of her footsteps.
Kit didn’t appear to notice or care. He kept looking at her as though she was a sweetmeat he wanted to devour.
Her stomach fluttered in response.
After climbing two more sets of stairs, they at last arrived. Mr. Chapman unlocked the door and said, “We have smaller chambers nearby for your valet and maidservant. And, of course, our staff is available at all hours to accommodate your every need.”
Kit nodded distractedly, his mind clearly on something else.
Mr. Chapman opened the door and waved them inside. Kit waited as Tamsyn slowly entered, then he and the night manager followed her into the room.
It was a spacious chamber, the walls covered in floral wallpaper that surely came from France, and a row of curtained windows. A fire burned merrily in the grate, and candles had been lit in anticipation of Tamsyn and Kit’s arrival. Other furniture occupied the room, but all she saw was the substantial four-poster bed. It towered as large and looming as the Colossus of Rhodes.
Once you climb in me, it promised, there’s no going back.
“Is there anything you require?” Mr. Chapman was all solicitousness. “I can have refreshments brought up.”
“We have everything we need.” Kit hastily handed him a guinea.
“My gratitude, sir,” the night manager said with a bow. “I’ll just see myself out.”
Tamsyn’s heartbeat was thick in her throat when the door closed, leaving her alone with her new husband. She tore her gaze away from the bed to find him watching her with a careful, curious expression, as though she were a doe who had wandered into a ballroom.
“My valet and your maid should be here by now,” he said neutrally. “Shall I send her to you?”
To help her undress.
“Yes, please.” She tried to discreetly wipe her damp palms on her skirts. Damn these nerves! She had no reason to be afraid. Pain was merely pain—it came and it went. She could manage that kind of hurt.
A wound to her heart, however, was more difficult to heal.
After giving her a warm, encouraging smile, Kit left quietly.
She walked to the fire and watched the dancing flames, as if their shifting light could somehow ease her mind and calm her body.
A soft tap sounded on the door, and Nessa let herself into the room. Seeing her cheerful, familiar face in this decidedly unfamiliar place was a balm, and Tamsyn walked quickly over to lay her head on Nessa’s shoulder.
“Ah, child,” Nessa said, patting her back. “Here I am. Naught to worry about.”
“I’m not worried,” Tamsyn replied automatically.
“’Course you aren’t,” Nessa said in a soothing voice. “You’re a brave lass. Come on, then,” Nessa said, stepping back. “Can’t have you climbing into bed wearing all your clothes.”
Tamsyn nodded. With brisk, businesslike movements, Nessa began divesting her of her gown.
“He’s a handsome one, so it won’t be a chore,” Nessa noted in a matter-of-fact tone.
“He pleases my eye,” Tamsyn agreed. “That much is certain.”
Nessa’s fingers stilled on the fastenings running down the back of Tamsyn’s dress. “How much do you know?” she asked. “About what goes on between a man and a woman?”
“I understand the process.” Tamsyn couldn’t stop the heat that washed through her. “What goes into what and so forth.”
“That’s good.” Nessa’s fingers, well trained in the fixing of fishing nets, made short work of the gown’s fastenings. Once the silver dress had been removed, Nessa put it in the clothespress. “I was afraid I’d have to draw you pictures, and I’ve no skill with a pencil.”
“It’s one thing to understand how bodies fit together,” Tamsyn admitted. Blast, but she hated this nervousness. It wasn’t like her at all. “Another thing entirely to know what sex is truly like. What if I do something wrong? It’s supposed to hurt the first time.” It seemed like it had to, given what she’d seen of male parts. Like other girls of Newcombe, she’d spied on boys bathing in the sea—but Cornish waters were chilly, and, one girl said with confidence, that part shrank in the cold. It got bigger and harder when properly motivated.
“There’s some pain,” Nessa said plainly. She worked at Tamsyn’s stays. “Can’t be helped. But it’s not a forever pain. Remember when you fell off John Pricher’s wall and twisted your ankle?” When Tamsyn nodded, Nessa said, “That was far worse.”
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