just as the door to the bedchamber inched open. A maid peeked an eye through
to the inside, and then, seeing her awake, quietly pushed the door to enter.
“Good morning, my lady,” she
said, bobbing a curtsey. She was the same maid who had brought her the tea the
night before.
“Good morning.”
Grace’s head felt heavier than usual, as
if oddly it were weighted somehow from the inside. As she sat up, she noticed a
strange soreness between her legs. She immediately thought to the night before.
Why, oh why had she drunk all that tea? Even now she could only vaguely
remember what had happened—Christian kissing her, and how she had spouted some
nonsense to him about needles and threads. She remembered the pain of him
entering her body, but not much beyond that until he’d risen from the bed to
leave her. The only thing she did know was that whatever it was she was
supposed to have done, she had obviously done it badly. Why else would a
bridegroom be so eager to leave his marriage bed?
“What is your name?” she asked
the maid as she watched her move about the chamber, seeing to her duties.
The maid looked startled at the question.
“Eliza Stone, my lady. But everyone calls me Liza.”
“Stone. You are related to Mrs.
Stone, the housekeeper?”
“Aye. My aunt she is, my lady. ‘Twas
because of her I was able to find a position in this household.”
Grace nodded. She heard the sound of
horses on the drive outside and stood, walking to the window. The coach that
had brought them there the day before stood waiting, the coachman making a
great show of checking the harnesses and fastenings. Grace remembered then that
they were to leave for London that morning. “Do you know the time,
Liza?”
“Aye, ‘tis a quarter hour past nine,
my lady.” Liza picked the topmost gown from Grace’s trunk and gave it a
shake to smooth out its wrinkles. “His lordship is a’ready awake. He said
to see you up and ready to leave for London by ten. You’ve a long day’s journey
ahead of you.”
She draped the gown at the foot of the
bed, a plain beige bombazine carriage dress, along with the other necessaries
she’d taken from the trunk—chemise, stockings, half boots. “Breakfast
awaits you in the parlor downstairs. I’ll have the boys come to fetch your
trunks down after you’ve dressed.”
Grace was pulling on her robe when she
noticed the maid staring at the bed behind her, the expression on her face
quite peculiar. She turned to see what had caught her notice. Splotches of
brownish red marked the white of the sheet beneath where Grace had lain. It was
blood. Her blood. She drew in a startled breath, covering her mouth with
her hand. She knew quite well it wasn’t time for her monthly—that had come and
gone but a fortnight ago. She remembered the pain from the night before.
“Oh, dear… what has happened?”
She looked at the maid, eyes wide. “Am I… am I dying?”
Liza came immediately to her side. “Oh,
no, my lady. Not at all. Do you not know? Didn’t you realize? Were you never
told?”
“Was I never told what? That one
should expect to receive grave injury on one’s wedding night?”
Liza shook her head, taking Grace’s hand.
“Tis all right, my lady. It is but your virgin’s blood. ‘Tis
natural. When a lady beds with a man the first time, the man takes her
virginity.”
Grace let go a frustrated breath.
“Yes, yes, I know that, and the girl is then suddenly considered a woman
and can participate in conversation and no longer is required to have a
chaperone wherever she goes. She can even wear her hair differently. But what
has that to do with this?”
“It isn’t that I’m speaking of, my
lady. I’m speaking of what happens when a man comes into a woman’s body.”
Liza looked at Grace directly. “I can’t say for myself, since I’ve never
been with a man—other than Jemmie the stable boy who stuck his hand down my
bodice and got his nose bloodied for it. But Ma says the Lord
to the inside, and then, seeing her awake, quietly pushed the door to enter.
“Good morning, my lady,” she
said, bobbing a curtsey. She was the same maid who had brought her the tea the
night before.
“Good morning.”
Grace’s head felt heavier than usual, as
if oddly it were weighted somehow from the inside. As she sat up, she noticed a
strange soreness between her legs. She immediately thought to the night before.
Why, oh why had she drunk all that tea? Even now she could only vaguely
remember what had happened—Christian kissing her, and how she had spouted some
nonsense to him about needles and threads. She remembered the pain of him
entering her body, but not much beyond that until he’d risen from the bed to
leave her. The only thing she did know was that whatever it was she was
supposed to have done, she had obviously done it badly. Why else would a
bridegroom be so eager to leave his marriage bed?
“What is your name?” she asked
the maid as she watched her move about the chamber, seeing to her duties.
The maid looked startled at the question.
“Eliza Stone, my lady. But everyone calls me Liza.”
“Stone. You are related to Mrs.
Stone, the housekeeper?”
“Aye. My aunt she is, my lady. ‘Twas
because of her I was able to find a position in this household.”
Grace nodded. She heard the sound of
horses on the drive outside and stood, walking to the window. The coach that
had brought them there the day before stood waiting, the coachman making a
great show of checking the harnesses and fastenings. Grace remembered then that
they were to leave for London that morning. “Do you know the time,
Liza?”
“Aye, ‘tis a quarter hour past nine,
my lady.” Liza picked the topmost gown from Grace’s trunk and gave it a
shake to smooth out its wrinkles. “His lordship is a’ready awake. He said
to see you up and ready to leave for London by ten. You’ve a long day’s journey
ahead of you.”
She draped the gown at the foot of the
bed, a plain beige bombazine carriage dress, along with the other necessaries
she’d taken from the trunk—chemise, stockings, half boots. “Breakfast
awaits you in the parlor downstairs. I’ll have the boys come to fetch your
trunks down after you’ve dressed.”
Grace was pulling on her robe when she
noticed the maid staring at the bed behind her, the expression on her face
quite peculiar. She turned to see what had caught her notice. Splotches of
brownish red marked the white of the sheet beneath where Grace had lain. It was
blood. Her blood. She drew in a startled breath, covering her mouth with
her hand. She knew quite well it wasn’t time for her monthly—that had come and
gone but a fortnight ago. She remembered the pain from the night before.
“Oh, dear… what has happened?”
She looked at the maid, eyes wide. “Am I… am I dying?”
Liza came immediately to her side. “Oh,
no, my lady. Not at all. Do you not know? Didn’t you realize? Were you never
told?”
“Was I never told what? That one
should expect to receive grave injury on one’s wedding night?”
Liza shook her head, taking Grace’s hand.
“Tis all right, my lady. It is but your virgin’s blood. ‘Tis
natural. When a lady beds with a man the first time, the man takes her
virginity.”
Grace let go a frustrated breath.
“Yes, yes, I know that, and the girl is then suddenly considered a woman
and can participate in conversation and no longer is required to have a
chaperone wherever she goes. She can even wear her hair differently. But what
has that to do with this?”
“It isn’t that I’m speaking of, my
lady. I’m speaking of what happens when a man comes into a woman’s body.”
Liza looked at Grace directly. “I can’t say for myself, since I’ve never
been with a man—other than Jemmie the stable boy who stuck his hand down my
bodice and got his nose bloodied for it. But Ma says the Lord
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