Page 2 of Papa's Captive
Her soul was besmirched and scarred, but somehow, she kept moving. Her new friends and the care of Miss Wickersham had certainly helped her become accustomed to her surroundings and vastly different life than what she had been used to. But now Daisy and Cynny and Cammie were gone. Another wave of loneliness rolled over her, a rush of familiar despair she wished she could learn to outrun before the first searing impact hit her.
Forcing back the dark thoughts, she turned her attention to the letters in her hand, a physical reminder of friendships and affection which she held dear. There had been a time, not so very long ago, when she had felt utterly alone, despondent, desperate and friendless. That she now had a home, friends and a fiance, was beyond miraculous.
The thought of her soon-to-be-papa, Lord Caldwell, sent a variety of emotions pulsing through Rosie’s body, ranging from dreamy-eyed affection to bone chilling terror.
No, of course, there was nothing frightening about Lord Caldwell himself. He was prone to carrying a gun, but somehow the sight of the firearm at his side filled Rosie with a thrill of excitement. Her fiance had an intriguing streak of daring and unpredictability, characteristics which in any other person, Rosie found most disagreeable. Yet, with Lord Caldwell, Rosie viewed his ability to move forward in life with complete confidence and faith in the future as engaging.
His bravado was contagious and after a few minutes in his company Rosie began to believe his view of the world could be possible. But when he was absent, as he had been for an unusually long period of time, she noted with rising anxiety, she quickly returned to her usual way of thinking, which tended to be much more practical and cynical than her seemingly carefree Papa.
Rosie looked to the future with trepidation. Was she a fool to hope happiness could be hers? Could anything wipe away the shadow of her past which loomed over her, and by extension, Lord Caldwell?
She was tempting fate, and fate had rarely been kind to her.
To stave off her melancholy, she returned her attention to the missives in her hand.
Cynny’s letter was full of excitement for the future and helped to elevate Rosie’s mood.
Lord Grayson and I are thrilled to know you are to wed Lord Caldwell. How wonderful that our papas are already friends and we shall have the most delightful times once you are Lady Caldwell. I am overjoyed at the prospect of having all three of my dear friends from Talcott House here in London. We shall take the ton by storm and leave no prisoners.
Though the thought of being in London did not bring Rosie joy, she was heartened by Cynny’s enthusiasm for her company and the notion of being reunited with Cammie, Cynny and Daisy made her heart sing.
She tucked Cynny’s letter away and unfolded the numerous sheaths upon which Daisy had sent her latest correspondence. Other than the first page which contained Daisy’s monogram as Lady Kensington as well as the date and her salutation, the other pages were unnumbered and out of order. Trying to sort it all out had been like deciphering one of Daisy’s conversations and though it had frustrated Rosie, it also reminded her of her dear loving, but disorganized, friend.
Rosie was pleased to know marriage had not diminished Daisy’s exuberance, though it was Daisy’s rather cryptic postscript which lingered with Rosie.
The most extraordinary event has happened to me, which almost surpasses my happiness at being married to my dear papa. I have been reunited with my father. I dare not put all of the details in writing—which Rosie found ironic considering the length of Daisy’s letter—and shall enlighten you when I next see you in the flesh. By that time, you shall be Lady Caldwell.
For once, Daisy did not exaggerate. It was an extraordinary and shocking turn of events as Daisy had once confided in Rosie that her father had died before she was born, though she had also hinted at some mystery involving her mother. At the time, Daisy had been eager to share more of the story, but Rosie, fearing an expectation of reciprocity of family tales, cut the conversation short. She had no desire to revisit her family history.
Though, she did allow herself a moment of happiness for her friend. Having a father had been the most important part of Rosie’s pre-Talcott House life.
And his loss had shattered everything.
Before the memories could overtake her, Rosie opened Cammie’s letter.
I am required to keep this brief as I have gotten myself into a wee bit of trouble due to what I am told is unladylike sharing in my correspondence, but I feel I must at least set pen to paper and tell you of my great happiness at knowing you are soon to be wed. Pray, there shall be much jubilation in London as we all await your arrival.
A smile tipped the corners of her mouth as she recalled seeing Cynny behaving furtively with a letter just a few weeks after Cammie’s marriage. Rosie had been piqued when Cynny did not offer to share the letter which was obviously from Cammie—who else had such a distinctive script that it could be recognized from a distance? But, with Cammie’s confession, a vague idea of what the contents of the letter might have been flitted through Rosie’s mind. She suspected Cammie’s letter had likely included some private details about what happens between husbands and wives once they are wed.
Of course, Rosie had no direct information about the happenings in the marital bed—the mere idea of even sharing such close quarters as a bed with Lord Caldwell gave her a sudden flush—but all of the little ladies of Talcott House were curious and sometimes whispered questions amongst themselves. It seemed such matters were to remain a mystery until a girl got married and dire warnings had been given by Miss Wickersham in an effort to quell curiosity. However, unlike nearly all of Miss Wickersham’s stringent expectations, it seemed nearly impossible for the young ladies to obey and rampant inquisitiveness ran through the building.
The questions and whispers tended to die down when there were no weddings, but as soon as a betrothal was announced or a marriage took place, the quest for knowledge on the topic spun up again, like a dust devil blasting across a barren field.
Just before a resident of Talcott House got married she had a special appointment with Nurse Lister and Miss Wickersham who explained the secret things that happen between a husband and wife. Although Rosie was not prone to sneaking around, Daisy was and had often lingered near the door to Nurse Lister’s office while such talks took place and though she never admitted to being able to discern any of the words spoken, she did report the brides-to-be always left with a flush on their cheeks and a faraway look in their eyes. Daisy had even seen one or two who had to be supported on Miss Wickersham’s arm when they exited, due to an apparent weakness in the knees.
It was a source of particular consternation that once so enlightened, none of the soon-to-be-married young women could ever be prevailed upon to reveal the contents of the top-secret colloquy.
Thinking about the unspoken events of the wedding chamber set Rosie’s pulse racing, as happened more than she cared to admit whenever she contemplated being alone with Lord Caldwell. Until recently—and her heart plunged to her stomach when she noted his absence—he had paid regular visits to Talcott House, though the ever-vigilant Garland had made it nearly impossible for Rosie and Lord Caldwell to have private conversations, let alone explore any of the physical needs which had been awakened in Rosie.
She had no name for it, but a stirring had begun within her which grew stronger, sometimes to the point of distraction. She occasionally found herself restless in bed, tossing and turning as heated pulses affected her between her thighs. When she dared to touch her privates in such circumstances, she often found herself wet and discovered she could quell the aching if she stroked over a swollen nubbin that protruded from her slick nether folds. But during such experiences, which she was certain she would receive a spanking for if Miss Wickersham ever found her out—the headmistress of Talcott House made clear to all her little ladies that they were only to touch their kitties for perfunctory matters—she felt as if she were nearing something wondrous and blissful that she couldn’t quite reach. Why couldn’t she make the aching go completely away?
She felt desperate for more information. The prospect of being faced with the marital bed absent the vaguest understanding of what was expected of her sent Rosie’s well-ordered mind into a tailspin of panic.
How could she please a husband if she did not have the slightest notion how to do so? And if she could not please her husband, how could she prevent him from abandoning her and perhaps taking up with a mistress who knew the secrets no one would share with Rosie?
Unlike Daisy, who flitted through life like a butterfly scampering from flower to flower without a care in the world, Rosie knew full well the importance of preparing for every eventuality, particularly the negative ones.
Despite Miss Wickersham’s insistence that each of her girls got a new flower name and a fresh start when they arrived at Talcott House, it was not as though she had a magic wand to remove the words and deeds seared upon Rosie’s memory.
