Arthur holds up his drink. “To the next many years by your side.”
As far as toasts go, it’s perfection.
When our lunch is finished, Bess materializes to take me into the kitchen. Arthur watches me go with fondness in his gaze, never once trying to intervene. I appreciate the freedom more than I could possibly say.
Ella and Ruby are inside the kitchen, cleaning up after our meal. There’s a large table used for preparing food as wellas for the meals the staff shares here, and along one wall is the stove. Ella comes over, explaining which side of the flat surface is kept hottest, while Bess fills a pot with water. I watch both, so that I may replicate the process myself without assistance.
As the water heats, I head upstairs to fill the tub. It’s beautiful, plenty big enough to fit me fully inside. There’s a sink and toilet, as well, and a freestanding mirror framed by more mahogany wood. I run my finger along the edge of it, avoiding my reflection as much as I can. There’s a pinch in my gut I do my level best to ignore, used to such discomfort.
Back downstairs in the kitchen, I find the pot of water ready to boil. Bess grabs a large towel with which to hold it.
“Please,” I say, realizing she’s about to do it herself. “May I?”
Bess and Ella exchange a quick look.
“Please,” I repeat, gentler, as I meet each of their eyes in turn. “There is very little in life I’ve been allowed to do. And there are surely ways in which I’ll need your help. I cannot cook. I’ll likely get lost a time or two inside these walls before I learn the manor. I may have questions. About Arthur and how I may make him happier as his wife. But it’s obvious to me this is no ordinary home.”
I pause, allowing the truth of that to sit in the air. Neither woman offers argument.
“And I do not wish it to be,” I say honestly. “I’m capable of carrying a pot. Please allow me.”
Without a word, Bess hands over the towel. I give her a grateful smile before wrapping the fabric around the handles. Filled with water, the pot isn’t light. But I heft it easily enough, the linen providing protection, and go to exit the room. Bess and Ella watch me, and it isn’t until I’m to the pantry door that I realize Arthur is there, watching me, too.
I pass through the small pantry and walk slowly up the stairs, careful with the scalding water. By the time I reach the bath, my arms are shaking slightly. I rest the pot on the lip of the tub before dumping the contents inside. With the water warmed, I set the pot aside and remove my clothes.
There are items set along a tray beside the tub, soaps and perfumes likely picked out by Arthur. It brings a smile to my face. Towels are resting there, as well. Fluffy and pristine white. Such indulgence.
As I slip into the tub, I let out a sigh. I pull my hair down once I’m seated, setting the pins on the sill of the window. The afternoon sun shines inside, lighting the space I realize is now my own. All of this is mine. For the rest of my life.
It’s a thought that has butterflies taking flight inside my chest, even as I begin the unwelcome task of running my hands over my body to wash. I’ve just submerged my hair when I hear a soft knock.
“Arthur?” I call, sure it must be him.
“Yes. May I come in?”
Unease swells, but I push it quickly aside. This is Arthur. Baring myself to him is nothing new.
“You may,” I answer, sitting upright, my hair wet down my back.
The door opens only enough for Arthur to slip inside, and then he shuts it again. His eyes stay on my face as he approaches. “Is it warm enough?”
“Yes,” I assure him, even as he kneels beside the tub, dipping his fingers into the water to check. “Quite pleasant.”
He hums, looking me over at last. My breath stutters when his gaze reaches my breasts. I glance away on instinct, not realizing he’s noticed until his voice beckons me.
“Charlotte. You do not like when I look at your breasts.”
I inhale as shallowly as I can, trying frantically to think up a lie, but Arthur catches my gaze, his gentle eyes imploring me.
“You don’t like when I touch them, either.” It’s a simple observation devoid of judgement. “Nor do you like my cock inside your body.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, my eyes burning.
“No.” The word is whisper-soft, Arthur’s hand finding mine beneath the water. “Don’t apologize. I only wish to understand. You are lovely, Charlotte. Every inch of you, inside and out. It pains me to know I may make you feel otherwise.”
“You don’t, Arthur,” I tell him, not knowing how to make him understand. “It’s what I feel inside, not how you’ve made me to feel.”
“Oh, love.” He brings my hand out of the water to kiss my knuckles. “Have I not told you enough how beautiful you are? I would erase every doubt if I could.”
