The Wicked Confessions of Lady Cecelia Stanton by Viveka Portman Page A
Authors: Viveka Portman
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Cecelia?’ she chided, shooing Bess away. She pulled my hand from the water and glanced at it. ‘Serve you right. Young ladies like yon self shouldn’t be straying where they’ve no place.’
She was of course correct. I had behaved in a fashion singularly inappropriate for my station.
I looked upon Bess then. She had her back toward me and was busy cleaning the mess of potatoes. Her maid’s uniform stretched over her broad back and her sleeves were rolled up her arms. I admired her then, so strong, calm and composed, yet only a year older than I.
Cook shortly ordered Bess to wrap my hand in some muslin after the scald had cooled. The feel of Bess’s work-roughened hands, and the simple tenderness of her touch simply took my breath away.
I feel I must express something here. As a child of the peerage, my education in women’s arts was of the utmost importance. It left little time for naïve and silly things such as displays of affection and kindness. So Bess’s attentions awoke something within me. Our friendship blossomed, and at times it felt as though we were part of the same body. I was the left hand and she was the right.
So it was I made myself a vow that day. I would no longer be the silly, flighty girl I had been. I would be stronger, I would be calmer. I chose to become more mindful of my behaviour, though I often went to seek Bess in the kitchens. My sole intent on these occasions was to steal her away. Occasionally, I was successful. We would to spend the afternoons whispering and laughing behind the sitting room curtains – away from Cook’s red-faced glares and my governess’s haughty disdain.
It is little surprise then that it was Bess who opened my eyes to the world of men and women. The first time she tumbled in the hay with Carter, the son of our head groom, she recounted the wicked details to me with glee.
I’ll confess, I was mightily jealous of her, sinful though it was. You must understand, I had no desire to tumble with Carter, who smelled of horseshit and had teeth like the animals he managed, but I did want something. I was merely unsure of what.
My jealousy however did not just stem from wanting someone to tumble with. It also came from knowing Carter touched Bess in a way no one had touched me, and likely never would. I ached for even the simplest form of affection. When Bess would touch my hand, I was suffused with joy.
Internally, I would question myself. I understood not why I felt this way, and wondered if Bess may feel the same. She gave no indication that she did.
It continued thus, until my marriage, when everything changed…and so begins my confession.
My father announced my engagement to Lord William Stanton over dinner one evening in 1806. I had only just started my first season in London. Truly, I still feel it unfair that my one and only season was cut so miserably short. I felt something harden within me. William Stanton ? I recall thinking. Is he not the young Lord who was caught sodomising a maid during the Yule Tide Ball, a year last ? Indeed he was. Bess, as it turned out, had family in service with the Stantons and knew many of the wicked details.
You may well envision my misery. I beseeched my father to reconsider, but he was, as ever, adamant. We were a good match, or so it was said, and my dower was a happy supplement to the Stanton coffers. I could do nothing but adhere to my father’s wishes, but I asked one boon of him. I had only one wish, and that was to keep Bess as my lady’s maid.
My father accepted and preparations for the nuptials began. I left everything in the capable hands of my stepmother, a young woman whose marriage to my father had occurred three years prior, upon the death of my mother. I shall admit that, despite my grievances regarding my pending marriage, I had at least escaped the misfortune of marrying a man twenty years my senior.
As I said, my marriage ceremony was a quiet one, the party even quieter. My new husband seemed to
She was of course correct. I had behaved in a fashion singularly inappropriate for my station.
I looked upon Bess then. She had her back toward me and was busy cleaning the mess of potatoes. Her maid’s uniform stretched over her broad back and her sleeves were rolled up her arms. I admired her then, so strong, calm and composed, yet only a year older than I.
Cook shortly ordered Bess to wrap my hand in some muslin after the scald had cooled. The feel of Bess’s work-roughened hands, and the simple tenderness of her touch simply took my breath away.
I feel I must express something here. As a child of the peerage, my education in women’s arts was of the utmost importance. It left little time for naïve and silly things such as displays of affection and kindness. So Bess’s attentions awoke something within me. Our friendship blossomed, and at times it felt as though we were part of the same body. I was the left hand and she was the right.
So it was I made myself a vow that day. I would no longer be the silly, flighty girl I had been. I would be stronger, I would be calmer. I chose to become more mindful of my behaviour, though I often went to seek Bess in the kitchens. My sole intent on these occasions was to steal her away. Occasionally, I was successful. We would to spend the afternoons whispering and laughing behind the sitting room curtains – away from Cook’s red-faced glares and my governess’s haughty disdain.
It is little surprise then that it was Bess who opened my eyes to the world of men and women. The first time she tumbled in the hay with Carter, the son of our head groom, she recounted the wicked details to me with glee.
I’ll confess, I was mightily jealous of her, sinful though it was. You must understand, I had no desire to tumble with Carter, who smelled of horseshit and had teeth like the animals he managed, but I did want something. I was merely unsure of what.
My jealousy however did not just stem from wanting someone to tumble with. It also came from knowing Carter touched Bess in a way no one had touched me, and likely never would. I ached for even the simplest form of affection. When Bess would touch my hand, I was suffused with joy.
Internally, I would question myself. I understood not why I felt this way, and wondered if Bess may feel the same. She gave no indication that she did.
It continued thus, until my marriage, when everything changed…and so begins my confession.
My father announced my engagement to Lord William Stanton over dinner one evening in 1806. I had only just started my first season in London. Truly, I still feel it unfair that my one and only season was cut so miserably short. I felt something harden within me. William Stanton ? I recall thinking. Is he not the young Lord who was caught sodomising a maid during the Yule Tide Ball, a year last ? Indeed he was. Bess, as it turned out, had family in service with the Stantons and knew many of the wicked details.
You may well envision my misery. I beseeched my father to reconsider, but he was, as ever, adamant. We were a good match, or so it was said, and my dower was a happy supplement to the Stanton coffers. I could do nothing but adhere to my father’s wishes, but I asked one boon of him. I had only one wish, and that was to keep Bess as my lady’s maid.
My father accepted and preparations for the nuptials began. I left everything in the capable hands of my stepmother, a young woman whose marriage to my father had occurred three years prior, upon the death of my mother. I shall admit that, despite my grievances regarding my pending marriage, I had at least escaped the misfortune of marrying a man twenty years my senior.
As I said, my marriage ceremony was a quiet one, the party even quieter. My new husband seemed to
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