Unconquered (9 page)

For a few minutes she sat quietly, letting the warmth of the water penetrate her body, her mind a blank. The air was warm, and redolent of her personal scent, sweet stock, a slightly exotic yet innocent perfume that strangely suited her. It was distilled and made for her in London.

As the tub began to cool she took up the stock-scented soap and quickly lathered and rinsed herself. Climbing out, she reached for the towel hanging on its rack before the fire, and slowly dried herself.

Her mind was beginning to clear. This afternoon had been quite a revelation, although she would never, ever admit it to Jared. Thank God the wedding was still six weeks away! How
did women fight the feelings men caused in them? Would giving in to those feelings mean losing one’s own self?

“I will not belong to anyone but myself,” she said softly. “I won’t!”

Naked, she walked across the room to the bed where fresh clothes lay, and dressed in white lawn drawers, white silk stockings with lacy garters, vest, and petticoat. All of the undergarments were edged in dainty, hand-made lace. She recalled the shocking new Paris fashion. French ladies had dispensed with undergarments, and were nude beneath their silk gowns! Some were even wetting their gowns so that they clung to their bodies!

Her dinner gown was of apple-green shot silk, which appeared silvery in certain light. Its neckline was square and low, its waistline caught beneath her breasts in the Empire style, its sleeves were short and puffy. She smiled, pleased with her image as she stood before the mirror and fastened a strand of pearls around her neck and matching pearl bobs in her ears. Pulling the pins from her hair, she brushed it vigorously, braided it, and affixed the braids neatly in a coronet atop her head. It was a severe style, but Amanda’s confection of curls, the latest fashion, simply did not suit Miranda. Lastly she dabbed on essence of distilled stock flowers and, slipping on her heel-less apple-green silk shoes, left her room.

Knocking on her twin’s bedroom door, she called out, “Are you ready, Mandy?”

“Meet you in the hall,” Amanda called.

Amanda was dressed in her favorite pale pink, and together the sisters descended the main staircase of the house and entered the family parlor where Jared and their mother waited.

“Lord,” murmured Amanda softly so only her twin could hear, “he is devilishly handsome … our guardian, your betrothed.”

Then both girls chorused, “Good evening, Mama! Good evening, sir!”

Dinner was announced, and Jared took Dorothea’s arm while the girls followed behind. The meal was a relatively simple one beginning with a thick cream of vegetable soup, followed by a ragout of breast of veal, a platter of partridges and quails stuffed with apricots, prunes, and rice, another platter of whole boiled lobsters, a soufflé of autumn squashes flavored with maple
syrup and cinnamon, a bowl of late peas, and one of a whole cauliflower, the top of which was sprinkled with buttered crumbs. The second course consisted of apple fritters sprinkled with sugar, caramel custard, and almond cheesecake. Red and white wine were served with the first course, and coffee and tea with the second.

After dinner the four retired to the main parlor, and Amanda sang, accompanying herself on the pianoforte. Jared sipped an excellent brandy. Finally he put his snifter down after complimenting Amanda, and said to Dorothea, “I want you to plan Miranda’s wedding as if Tom were still alive. Spare no expense, and invite whom you please.”

“I don’t want a large wedding,” protested Miranda. “Can we please be wed quietly? Amanda’s wedding will be the social event of the season, and that should be enough for us all.”

“Amanda’s being married in London, and none of our good friends and neighbors, as well as many of our relatives, will be able to come. You cannot deny so many people the chance to see one of you wed,” said Dorothea.

“It’s silly, Mama! This is a marriage of convenience, not a love match. I shall feel very foolish surrounded by a horde of people all burbling nonsense, and wishing me happiness.”

“Because it is a marriage of convenience is no reason you cannot be happy,” replied Dorothea sharply.

“Oh, do as you please!” snapped Miranda. “You will, anyway!” She stood up, and moved through the French doors out onto the terrace that jutted over the hill, giving a view of the sea. Her long, slender hands clenched and unclenched at the terrace’s rough stone wall. She had always hated fuss, and this would become a monumental fuss. She shivered in the early October night, and was glad when a shawl was draped over her shoulders.

His arm slipped around her waist, drawing her back against him. She felt his breath warm against her ear as he spoke. “I thought all women loved planning their weddings.”

“If they are looking forward to their weddings I imagine they do. But I don’t love you.
I don’t love you!
”

“You will, Miranda. You will,” he said softly. “I will make you love me!” Turning her toward him, he bent and covered her mouth with his own.

It happened again! She shivered violently. Her heart began to race. The blood roared in her ears.
Fight!
said her brain. Fight, or be overcome! But her limbs were drained of strength. She melted against him, her lips returning his kisses. He raised his head from her mouth and kissed her closed, quivering eyelids. “You will love me, Miranda,” he said huskily, “for I will it, and I am not a man to be denied!” Then he held her tenderly against him until her breathing quieted and she stopped trembling.

She felt so helpless against him, and wondered if it would always be like this between them. Why could he render her weak with just a kiss? It confused her, and she almost hated him for it.

“I will not see you in the morning, wildcat,” he said gently. “We sail on the early tide, long before you’ll open those sea-green eyes of yours. You have my permission to buy whatever you feel you’ll need for the wedding.”

She pulled away from him, and he immediately ached with loss. “Your permission? I do not need your permission to spend my money,” she said angrily.

He couched his statement as diplomatically as possible. “I’m afraid you do, Miranda. You are legally underage, and I am your legal guardian.”

“Oh.”

He laughed. “Sweet Miranda, don’t fight me so hard.”

“I will never stop fighting you,” she whispered suddenly, fiercely. “
Never!
”

“I think,” he answered her seriously, “that there will come a day when you will have to, my dear.” He bent, and sweeping her into his arms once more, took her lips in a swift, savage kiss that left her breathless. Then, setting her back on her feet, he said, “Good night, dearest wildcat. I wish you sweet dreams.” And then he was gone.

She remained in the cool night air, clutching her shawl to her breasts nervously. It was all happening too fast. She was to marry a man she didn’t even know, a man who could render her helpless with a kiss, and who promised—no, threatened in a voice that brooked no refusal that she would indeed love him one day.

Why was she so afraid that in loving him she would lose herself? Men, she had been taught, were superior to women. Did not the Bible teach that God created man first, and then woman as an afterthought? Miranda often wondered why, if
women were so unimportant, God had bothered to create them at all. She wanted no master. She would marry Jared Dunham because it was the only way she might keep both Wyndsong and her father’s fortune, but she would never love him. For to love him would be to give him an advantage over her.

This resolved, she returned to the parlor. It was empty, and lit only by dying embers, carefully banked for the night. In the hall outside, a lit chamberstick had been left for her, and taking it up she ascended the stairs. The house was quiet. She used the taper to light her own candles, and found her nightdress laid out, and a basin of lukewarm water.

Undressing quickly, for the air was chill, she bathed her face and hands and cleaned her teeth. Slipping beneath the covers, she was relieved to discover that Jemima had placed a flannel-wrapped hot brick at the foot of her bed.

“Miranda?” came the whisper.

“Mandy, I thought you asleep.”

“Can I come in?”

“Yes,” replied Miranda, throwing back the bedclothes. Amanda placed her chamberstick on the nightstand and hurried to climb into bed beside her sister.

“Are you all right, sister?” Amanda asked anxiously.

“Yes.”

“Jared is most forceful. I am so relieved that I was previously contracted to my dearest Adrian. Did you swoon when he kissed you?”

“I did not say he kissed me.”

“Well, I can’t believe he didn’t.”

“Yes.”

“And did you swoon?”

“Of course not!”

“Oh, come sister! I know for a fact that you’ve never been kissed until Jared. Are you going to tell me that you felt nothing? I won’t believe you.”

“I … I felt possessed! I didn’t like it.”

“Oh, Miranda, your feelings were shared by Jared, for if he possessed you, so you possessed him also. It is the way of a kiss between two people,” said Amanda gently.

“You speak with such authority, little sister,” was the mocking reply, but Amanda heard confusion in the mockery.

“Oh, Miranda, you are such a ninny! I should hope that I
speak with authority since I have been kissing since I was twelve. In five and a half years I have learned something about kissing.” She laughed softly.

“You must listen to me, sister, for Mama will tell you nothing on your wedding day but to obey your husband. And although men place a high price on their bride’s virginity, total innocence can be dangerous. Our guardian is a magnificent creature, and I imagine that when the two of you finally make love it will be like a wild and wonderful storm!”

“Amanda!” Miranda was shocked, and suddenly shy of her twin who now seemed a stranger. “How can you have such knowledge? Surely you haven’t dared to do anything improper!”

At first Amanda looked outraged, then she giggled mischievously. “Oh, sister, if you spent more time with females and less time by yourself and with books, you would know everything I do—and at no cost to your virtue. Women trade information.”

“I’m sleepy, Mandy.” Miranda was embarrassed.

“Oh, no, Miranda! You’ll not escape my lessons. Come, dearest, did you not help me with our studies when we were younger? Let me return the favor now.”

Miranda sighed. “If I must, I must. I can see you’ll give me no peace until you’ve shared your knowledge.” She sat up and, crossing her legs, began to braid her long hair, a task she’d neglected before climbing into bed.

Amanda hid a smile as she pulled the patchwork quilt over her shoulders to keep warm. Her little blond ringlets bobbed from beneath her white lawn and lace-edged nightcap. The cap was tied beneath her chin with pink silk ribbons. “Did Jared touch you?” she demanded.

“What?” Miranda’s voice was absolute confirmation.

“Oh ho, he is a bold one!” murmured Amanda. “I almost envy you, but I do not believe I could withstand such passion as I see in those green eyes of his. Where did he touch you?”

“M-my b-breasts,” came the whispered reply.

“Did you like it?”

“No! No! It made me feel hot and cold—and helpless! I don’t want to feel like that!”

“He’ll feel that way later on,” came the surprising reply.

“He will?”

“Yes. First you must yield to him, and then he will yield to you, and finally together you will reach paradise.”

“How can you know such things?”

“My friends in London, Miranda. The ones you think too silly to bother with.”

“I think them even sillier having heard what you have to say so far, Mandy. How can you believe such drivel?”

“I know that when Adrian kisses me I die a thousand little deaths, and when he caresses my breasts I am in Heaven! I long for the day we may truly be one! I had hoped to have the opportunity to instruct you in these matters from personal experience, but suddenly you will be wed before I, so I can only tell you what I have experienced so far and what my married friends say.”

“Let us go to bed, Amanda.”

“No. Have you ever seen a naked man?”

“Good heavens, no!” Then, curiously, “Have you?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, Amanda, what have you done?!”

Amanda laughed delightedly. “Why, Miranda, I do believe I have shocked you!” She chuckled again. “Remember last summer when I went off with friends for a picnic outside London? There was a party of us, and Lord and Lady Bradley were the chaperones. It was a terribly hot day, and toward midafternoon we decided to go bathing in the stream that ran through the meadow in which we had been picnicking.

“The young men were to go around the bend in the stream while the ladies were to stay upstream. We’d taken off our gowns and petticoats, and were in our vests and drawers. Thanks to you I can swim, and so does my friend Suzanne. We decided to sneak downstream and peek at the men, which we did.

“We got a good deal more than we bargained for, I must say! The men were totally naked! Miranda … surely you have noticed the way horses are built?”

When her sister remained silent, Amanda went on. Miranda was keeping quiet either because she knew nothing or because she chose not to discuss what she had seen in the animal kingdom. Miranda being Miranda, she was not going to speak of it unless she wished to. Taking a deep breath, Amanda continued:

“Men have—well, appendages that hang from between their
legs, the way animals do. Some are big and some small, some long and some short. But they all have them. And they have hair on their triangles, the way we do. Some even have hair on their chests and legs and arms.”

“And you stayed there looking at them?” Miranda was shocked.

“Listen! Soon several girls came along. They were gypsies, I am quite sure—bold girls with big breasts and dark hair. They called to the men, joked with them, and the gentlemen invited them to swim. Well, Miranda, those girls threw off their blouses and skirts—they had no underdrawers, vests, or stockings on—and were quickly as naked as the men.

“They were not one bit shy about jumping into the water and splashing around with the men. For a while that’s all they did, and then the men’s appendages changed, becoming bigger, and sticking straight out from their bodies.