Page 61 of The Lady's Companion
Cora Skerlong’s stodgy suitor had taken her and Mrs. Skerlong to the village, so there was only Lady Bushnell to tell, and she took the news with equanimity and obvious pleasure, once she had satisfied herself that Susan had made no sacrifice. She patted the side of her bed and took Susan’s hands in hers.
“I imagine that all the Hamptons have risen as one to tell you what a goose you are.”
Susan nodded, feeling wary.
“Then you don’t need that from me, too, my dear,” Lady Bushnell said briskly. “I am most grateful that you have convinced my daughter-in-law that I am not suffering from any neglect that will reflect on her. She can be positively frightful, at times.”
“You should really thank Colonel March,” Susan said. “It was he who convinced Lady Bushnell and paid for the special license.”
“A man of sense,” she agreed, her eyes merry. “Charlie once told me that he thought Edwin March should have commanded the regiment.”
And so he should have, Susan thought, remembering with a chill the desperate letter from New Orleans. “In a married state, the colonel and Lady Bushnell deem us worthy to keep you from the cocoon of the family estate,” she assured the widow. She looked down at her hands then, suddenly shy. “David thinks it best that he move into the house with me.”
“So do I,” Lady Bushnell said. She patted Susan’s hand. “Only think how convenient this will make our trip to Waterloo thissummer! I own I was wondering how we were going to do it.”
“Oh, Lady Bushnell, I don’t think...” Susan began.
Lady Bushnell put her finger to Susan’s lips. “Hush, child! This will appear altogether more sanguine to you in the morning, after a good night with the bailiff.”
“As to that, I believe the sheep have his attention tonight,” Susan said in an agony of embarrassment.
“I doubt it,” the widow replied briskly. “Get yourself ready for bed, then bring us some tea.” She smiled at Susan, shedding the years. “It appears to me that you could use some advice.”
What I need is courage, Susan thought as she poured hot water from the Rumford, took it to the laundry room, and washed herself thoroughly. She smiled. And someone to scrub my back. She reached for the cold water bucket to douse her warmth, gasping at the change in temperature, wondering at her own eagerness for the bailiff, felt even through her nervousness. The wretched Professor Fowler says that all maidens are reticent, and only surrender—oh, what nonsensical phrase did he use—ah, “that pristine prize most precious”—silly twaddle—with the greatest reluctance. She dried herself until she tingled, then put on nightgown and robe. “I think, Professor Fowler, that your wife is to be pitied,” she said out loud as she prepared the tea tray and went back upstairs, her bare feet quiet on the stairs.
Lady Bushnell was dozing, and Susan almost set down the tray and left the room. No, I need some advice, she decided as she clattered the cups in their saucers and was rewarded with one eye, then two, staring at her.
“Pour it and sit down,” said the dowager. “First I suppose you should get me those dratted medicaments from the bureau that the doctor insists on dosing me with. I assure him I have never felt better, and he becomes almost rude in reply.”
“You cannot fool him, Lady Bushnell.”
She handed Lady Bushnell the glass of water with powdersdissolved in it. She drank it and made a face. “I pay him enough to overlook my occasional nastiness, if I will overlook his,” she retorted. “Sit down now, and tell me what you need to know.”
Susan was silent, not knowing where to begin.
“Do you need to know everything?” Lady Bushnell asked finally. “What is the matter with modern youth?”
“Oh, no!” Susan assured her. “What I mean is, I understand the ... the fundamentals. What I don’t understand... what I want to know ... Lady Bushnell, is it fun?”
Lady Bushnell smiled, and motioned for Susan to fluff her pillows. “Trust your Aunt Louisa to scare you to death! No wonder her own daughters are so pasty-looking.” She snorted and settled herself lower in the pillows. “I don’t suppose any of their husbands will ever see them even by candlelight with their clothes off!” She reflected on that a moment. “Not that anyone would want to, I think.”
“That’s all right then?” Susan asked. “I mean, I was wondering how...”
Lady Bushnell reached up and touched Susan’s cheek. “My dear, it is vastly fun and impossible to overrate. If you’re scared silly now, that will change.”
“Well, not precisely scared silly, my lady,” Susan argued.
“Then you are more sensible than I was!” The widow laughed out loud. “On our wedding night, I locked myself in the dressing room and refused to come out.”
“I don’t think I will go that far,” Susan said.
“I didn’t think so! And there was my husband, pounding on the door and saying, ‘Lydia, I am a major!’ over and over!” She laughed, then wiped her eyes. “Dear me, but that is a memory.”
“You came out finally?” Susan asked.
“No, actually,” Lady Bushnell continued, the merriment welling up in her again. “He took the door off the hinges and then just sat there on the floor and laughed until I thought hewould perish from want of breath. I cried a little more, got the hiccups, and he held my nose and made me sip porter by the teaspoon until they stopped.”
“And then?” Susan prompted.
