Chapter 29: Conjugal Matters

After dinner, they pored over a stack of invitations, a veritable mountain of social obligations, deciding which engagements to grace with their presence as they made their grand debut into London's social whirl. Their families, in a rare display of tact, granted the newlyweds some semblance of solitude. Cavendish, at last, managed to press his lips to her temple, a small victory that brought a visible curve to his mouth. Alicia shifted slightly, creating a respectable distance between them. "What is it, Alicia?" he asked, unable to contain his concern any longer. "Have I become so utterly repugnant to you?" He attempted to remind her of their blissful moments from the previous weeks. Her neck showed no marks, and he touched it gingerly. "Was it those two nights?" He could understand that sudden coldness could be caused by excessive indulgence. Alicia observed the still-healing bruise on his chin. "No," she said, "I simply believe we should maintain a certain degree of... propriety." Too much closeness would invite gossip, and their current arrangement was perfectly suitable, thank you very much. She had not offered him a good morning kiss, and their days of unrestrained affection seemed a distant memory. Heavens, he hadn't even kissed her properly since yesterday. William Cavendish, in a show of spousal duty, accompanied Alicia on a stroll to Devonshire House. After exchanging pleasantries with the Duke and Duchess, Alicia busied herself with assisting her father in the garden, pruning shears in hand. Cavendish stood with the Duchess on the veranda, observing the father-daughter pair. In this setting, his usual awkwardness dissipated, replaced by an air of untroubled confidence. It proved that Alicia's desire to return to London was driven by homesickness, rather than any dissatisfaction with their marriage. And she had shared their plans for the hunting season at the Marquis of Salisbury's and Christmas in London. Surely, she wouldn't have confided such details if she didn't care for him. The Duchess, a woman of considerable insight, smiled knowingly. "Will," she said, her voice laced with gentle understanding, "you and Ally are perhaps too familiar." After all, he had practically watched her grow up. What constituted a truly intimate relationship was beyond Alicia's comprehension. The bond between husband and wife was clearly of a different order, a merging of two souls as it were. Returning to society, she would require a period of adjustment, a gradual acclimation to this new reality. Cavendish understood. They each had their own circles of friends and social commitments. Perhaps he truly needed to give Alicia her space. He approached Alicia, noting that her white gown with green trim was identical to one she had worn before their marriage. Tonight, she was attending a soiree hosted by a married lady, organized by Lady Cowper, one of the illustrious patronesses of Almack's. A mere twenty-six years of age, she was also the sister of William Lamb, and sister-in-law to Alicia's great-aunt, Lady Caroline. Such gatherings, of course, were strictly off-limits to husbands; only young, unmarried gentlemen were permitted to attend. Cavendish ground his teeth, the thought of being separated from his wife utterly unacceptable. But they would have to learn to do as other couples did, and pursue their own separate interests. Dinner was to be at Cowper House. Alicia would spend the afternoon receiving visits from her unmarried lady friends, followed by a pre-arranged tea. Cavendish announced that he would spend the day at his club and meet her after the soiree. He would collect her, and if she fancied a trip to the theatre, he was at her disposal. Alicia expressed a preference for returning home by eleven, rather than lingering until the early hours. She did not ask him to stay, even telling him that he could go wherever he wanted, without seeking her permission. Cavendish's heart ached. But he couldn't show it. He had to appear utterly indifferent. William Cavendish had always been a dominant force in London's social scene, his charisma, personality, and impeccable taste earning him the title of the "Uncrowned King." No one could have imagined that his marriage would be so... lacking. Dressed to the nines, he arrived at St. James's Street, the hallowed ground of the most exclusive gentlemen's establishment, White's. The very sight of him caused a stir among the members. Greetings and respectful bows were offered in abundance. Cavendish, ever aloof, had few close friends, and even fewer dared to tease him. He possessed the power to effortlessly ostracize anyone who displeased him from London's social circles, a fate worse than social ruin for any nobleman. Only the boldest, and those closest to him, dared to offer jovial congratulations on his recent nuptials, lamenting that his absence had cast a pall over London, leaving the entire street dimmed in his wake. The Marquess of Tavistock, Francis Russell, a man of brown hair and green eyes, threw an arm around his cousin's neck. "Cavendish, we were just taking bets on when you'd finally show your face!" "Come, let's have a few rounds of cards, and some drinks." Amidst the laughter and merriment, Cavendish declined each invitation. "What, are you going to sit with the old fogies?" "Married life has certainly changed you." Only Francis would dare to joke with him so freely. The members of White's were notorious gamblers, always eager for a wager. Whether it was which raindrop would reach the bottom of the windowpane first or the identity of the next person to enter the club, thousands of pounds were routinely staked. Cavendish's gaze fell upon the most hotly contested bet of the moment: the state of a certain newlywed couple's relationship, designated as "C&A." The total sum had reached a staggering five thousand pounds. The odds were three to one, a rather pessimistic outlook. He signed a check for three thousand pounds, betting on himself. They would be the most loving couple ever, bar none. Alicia sat, watching her parents exchange a farewell kiss. Married for seventeen years, their affection was a constant, neither cloying nor distant, a source of quiet reassurance. "Ally, are you sure you won't join me?" Lady Anne asked, preparing to visit her aunt, the Duchess of Beaufort. "No, Mama," she replied, engrossed in the unfinished lessons she had neglected during the past month. Alicia resolved to resume her studies in astronomy, mathematics, and physics. Her cousin was quite forgotten. In the afternoon, her unmarried friends arrived, and they strolled through the back garden, their conversation turning to the mysteries of the wedding night. Alicia, unfazed, recounted her experience, eliciting giggles from her companions. She hadn't bled, which was perfectly normal, as she had bled once when riding at the age of thirteen. Her husband had been somewhat inexperienced, a bit clumsy. Pain was inevitable, along with a peculiar sort of pleasure. The young ladies blushed, listening with rapt attention. They expressed regret at not having met Mr. Cavendish, a man of extraordinary handsomeness and impeccable manners. They, too, yearned for such a desirable husband. The conversation then shifted to the latest arrivals in London, any eligible young men who might have appeared on the social scene. The married ladies, in the evening, were far more forthcoming. The patronesses of Almack's had long desired to include the Duke's daughter in their ranks. Now that she was married, addressed as "Lady Alicia," though the meaning had changed from Miss to Mrs., she was finally eligible. Alicia quickly adapted to her new role. Almack's was the pinnacle of London's mixed-gender social clubs, with an extremely high bar for entry and a rigorous selection process. Not only was lineage paramount, but character and accomplishments had to be flawless, beyond reproach. Or rather, simply approved of by the patronesses. Some, despite their high status, could be excluded due to personal conflicts or dislike. They established the list of invitees with a whimsical and self-serving attitude, with a maximum of five hundred invitations, and those who received them could bring one guest. A ball was held every Wednesday evening. A young lady's social success was measured by her ability to secure an invitation to Almack's. Mothers dreamed of obtaining an invitation signed by a patroness, ensuring their daughters' entry into the ballroom and the chance to meet an eligible young bachelor. The patronesses were each more haughty than the last. There were seven at present. Lady Cowper was renowned for her beauty and intelligence. Lady Jersey had inherited her grandfather's Child's Bank, a colossal fortune of 1.2 million pounds. She was considered rude, boisterous, and lacking in manners. Lady Leven, as the wife of the Russian ambassador, was a formidable woman, particularly arrogant. The young Baroness of Perth was also known for her haughtiness. Almack's was not only a social platform but also a place where politicians were active, expanding their influence. Cavendish was well-acquainted with them, being of a similar age and a keen participant in social events. The patronesses, like many aristocratic ladies, had relationships with their husbands that were not bad, but that did not preclude having lovers. For instance, Lady Jersey, who had married the Earl of Jersey for love, and he was handsome, still found it inevitable to have young lovers. A husband had to be tolerant; he couldn't possibly duel with every lover. A lover was a significant symbol of personal charm, a common practice in high society. Every lady had a throng of admirers from which to choose a few, or even share them. The prerequisite was to give birth to the eldest son to ensure the inheritance of the title. Lady Jersey inquired, without any pretense of subtlety, about the harmony of their intimate relations during their honeymoon. She and Cavendish were related by marriage. This question caused even Lady Cowper to raise an eyebrow, and she tactfully rephrased the inquiry. Alicia, utterly unfazed, replied, "It was... passable." Lady Cowper and Lady Jersey exchanged a knowing glance, suppressing a smile. They hadn't expected the infamously proud William Cavendish to be so... unremarkable in that department. Was this the root of their marital discord? These ladies candidly advised her not to worry, as pleasure could easily be found with lovers, and her charm was more than sufficient to attract a host of admirers. A husband, after all, merely provided the status of a married woman and a certain level of protection. Of course, maintaining a stable marriage and ensuring harmony between husband and lovers was an art in itself. If not, simply flirting with men could make a tedious marriage much more bearable. As Lady Jersey said, her husband did love her, but his life consisted only of hunting, his racehorses and hounds, he was habitually silent, did not understand her jokes, and their intimacy was merely a matter of routine. Although her feelings for her husband had not changed much in eight years, and if she had to choose again, she would still choose him. Moreover, men became less attractive as they aged, and their energy diminished. Having a young lover was hardly a bad thing. Lovers could be replaced, but a husband was for life. A normal husband would not be jealous of a lover. One of Lady Jersey and Lady Cowper's shared lovers was the so-called "Cupid," Viscount Palmerston, who was very good at flirting. He had recently been paying great attention to Lady Leven. Alicia absorbed this information with remarkable speed. William Cavendish was blissfully unaware of the dubious tutelage his wife was receiving. He was busy assuring everyone that he and his wife were deeply in love, and that they had all made a grave error in their wagers. They should prepare to lose their money and fall into debt. He was then plied with alcohol until he was quite inebriated. He recalled the last time he had been drunk, and this time. Alicia wanted to move out, and they hadn't even kissed today. Propping his chin on his hand, he was overcome with sorrow. Shaking his head, he offered a piece of advice, "Never marry, marriage is the grave of oneself." One moment he was complaining, the next he stood up. "What are you doing, Cavendish? The night is still young." "I'm going to fetch my wife," he declared, grabbing his hat. The soiree was nearing its end, and he was determined to collect her. Yes, my wife. He arrived at Grosvenor Square, waiting in the carriage a full half hour early. As soon as the footman opened the door, Alicia stepped in, clutching her shawl, and was immediately met with the pungent aroma of alcohol. He grasped her wrist. "Alicia." The door closed, and he pulled her into his embrace, his arms encircling her slender back, holding her close. With uncharacteristic boldness, he held her tightly, giving her a drunken kiss. The sweet scent of grapes, the fresh taste of apples and pears. She could probably guess what he had been drinking. He boldly entered her mouth, hooking her tongue, teasing and enticing. His hand reached for her, and she did not resist. The touch of his fingertips made her lean against his shoulder. His soft lips found hers. Alicia returned his embrace. "Why do you refuse me?" he murmured, a hint of complaint in his voice. He could feel it, "You do like me." Cavendish paused, his inebriated state making him unusually assertive. "Where are we going?" Alicia's face was slightly flushed. It was strange; every time he touched her, she reacted strongly. She sat on his lap. "Burlington House." Cavendish smiled, his chin nuzzling her chest. "Very well," he said. His wife was returning to his home. He had forgotten that this was only within the three-day limit. They alighted from the carriage as if nothing untoward had occurred. Alicia was slightly breathless as he led her by the hand, stealthily entering through a side door. The Earl and Countess of Burlington, being of advanced age, retired early. Cavendish's parents were notorious for their late nights. They ascended to the third floor, and at the landing, they could no longer contain themselves, falling into a passionate embrace. "I knew it," he whispered, trembling with excitement. His teeth gently grazed her cheek. He opened the door, pulling her into his own room. He hooked her waist and closed the door with his other hand. She loved the scent of alcohol on him, his now even redder lips, and his dark eyelashes. And an irresistible forcefulness. His knee pressed against the inside of her thigh, his hand resting on the door. Despite his impatience, he patiently prepared her. He kissed her while unfastening her collar, his eyes fixed on her snow-white skin. He led her to the bed, his hands cupping her legs, the rustling sound of their clothes filling the room. Alicia thought of what she had said today, that it was "passable." She could only reach up, her hands exploring the firm muscles of his back beneath his shirt. After that moment, she swallowed a sigh. Amidst the rising and falling, he grasped her hand, guiding it to his cheek. "You can't live without me, Alicia, can you? You can't live without me." He was anxious and insecure, biting his lip hopefully. Holding her waist, he asked again and again. He cleaned her, seeing that she belonged only to him. Red fingerprints on her milky skin. She leaned lazily, her leg on his body. Her eyebrows relaxed, and he kissed her lips again and again. He longed to hear her praise him, or promise never to leave him again. Alicia traced the contours of his face. She pondered their peculiar marriage. He always wanted to be close to her, was this what young couples were like? Those patronesses, most of whom had been married for many years, had gradually grown tired of their husbands and gained freedom after giving birth to an heir. "Shall we sleep together?" he asked, stroking her shoulder, and trying to get her to touch his chest, she liked to pinch it. After the throes of passion, Alicia was typically overcome with fatigue and a sense of detachment. "I'll go back in a while." Alicia didn't want to hear the servants' discussions. Sleeping in one room was vulgar and rude, and sooner or later the whole of London would know. "Alright." He couldn't sway her. The utopian days of their honeymoon were well and truly over. "Can you walk?" he asked with concern. Alicia closed her eyes. "I'll sleep next door," he mumbled. He couldn't sleep with her, so she would let him stay here. She pulled him, he paused, and then smiled. He stayed with her for a while. She liked to lie on his body, rising and falling with his breath. She fell asleep. He carried her to the next room and kissed her forehead. Then he dutifully changed the sheets. But this did not prevent the entire Burlington House from knowing the next day that the newlyweds had shared a room. The atmosphere at the breakfast table was somewhat strained. The Burlingtons and the Cavendishes were relieved, ruling out a series of conjectures such as hidden illnesses and lack of intimacy. At least it was not so bad. Cavendish blushed slightly, but Alicia was relaxed, completely unaffected.