Will You Love Me in September

At midnight Lance and I retired to the bedroom with its brocade-covered bed and sprigs of rosemary, and the moments I had been dreading were at hand. I was terribly apprehensive; I was both ignorant and innocent. I had vague ideas of the relationship between men and women. I had come across servants in embarrassing situations. I had heard giggles, seen certain fuming dark corners; I had once come across a couple in the woods merged into each other under a tree, moving and moaning. I knew one of the kitchen maids had been, as the cook said, "anyone's for the taking," and finally she had had a baby. I will not pretend that I had not thought about an idyllic relationship with Dickon and when we had lain side by side in Makeshift Gallery we had both deplored the fact that we were not alone. I think we both knew that if we had been, our emotions would have swept us into physical union, which would have been irresistible to us both. I thought now that if we had been, we should have been bound irrevocably together and I should not be in this bridal suite with Lance at this time.

But it had not been so, and there I was, seated at the mirror brushing my hair, brushing on and on because I was afraid to stop. Lance had removed his coat. He was standing there bare to the waist, and I could not help seeing in my mind's eye that other scene-Lance as he looked now, but another woman at the mirror. She had been relaxed and smiling, luxuriously dreamy, like a satisfied cat. How different I was-ignorant and inadequate.

Lance came and stood over me, smiling at me in the mirror. He slipped the robe over my shoulders until it fell to my waist. Then he kissed me ... my lips, my neck and my breasts.

I turned to him suddenly and clung to him.

"Don't be afraid, Clarissa," he said. "It's not like you to be afraid. Besides, there's nothing to fear.”

He pulled me to my feet and my robe fell to the floor. I felt unprotected without my clothes. But Lance was laughing softly as he picked me up and carried me to the bed.

So my wedding night had begun. It bewildered me. I felt I had stepped into a new world where Lance was my guide and teacher. He was gentle and sympathetic. He understood my ignorance, and something told me that he knew I was thinking of that occasion when I had seen Elvira in his bedroom. He was determined to make me share his pleasure in our relationship, but at the same time he respected my virginity and understood that I must come to understanding gradually.

Finally he slept. But I did not. I lay awake thinking of all the young brides who had come to this room ... all dead and gone now ... but it seemed as though their spirits lingered on. I seemed to hear voices in the rustle of the curtains and the faint moaning of the wind in the trees. Then I thought, Oh, Dickon, it should have been you. It would have sealed our love forever.

The curtains had been drawn back and there was a full moon.

It shone into the room through the mullioned windows, making shifting patterns on the wall from the swaying branches of the trees outside. Lance lay on his back. I could see his face clearly in the moonlight-the well-chiseled features and fine bones, the Roman nose, the high forehead and the hair which grew back thick and wavy. As I watched him the moonlight touched his face and in the shifting pattern his face seemed to change. I could believe he was an old man now ... the shadows did that to him. I thought, He may look like that in thirty years' time. It made him seem vulnerable, and suddenly I felt how very dear he was to me.

The moonlight shifted-he was young and handsome again.

I must love him, I told myself. I must cease to think of Dickon. Even if he comes back, we shall be two different people. Lance is my husband. I must remember that ... always.

So I continued to lie sleepless in the big four-poster bed, my husband beside me.

So I became Lady Clavering, and the days that followed were full of new experiences.

Lance was always the tender lover, at ease in every situation, and his exquisite manners were in evidence in the bedchamber as everywhere else. He was sweeping my fears aside; he tutored me in the arts of love, as he had in those of living when we were on the road from York together. I could see that life with him would always be lived graciously. Our intimacy had brought us very close. I do love him, I assured myself. I was certainly proud of him; he was charming, easygoing and distinguished in company.

Jeanne's delight increased with every day. Unmarried herself, yet she was knowledgeable in the ways of men and women. He was the beautiful man; as far as she was concerned, we were worthy of each other.

Everyone around us was content.

My grandmother Priscilla was, I think, particularly so. She said I must read the family journals and contribute to them myself.