Chapter 35: Contraception

Cavendish, as a man accustomed to the lofty heights of social scrutiny, cared not a whit for the swirling rumors about his possessiveness. To be admired was to be judged, after all, and he'd long since grown a thick skin to the endless gossip. "Absurd? I hardly think so," he declared with uncharacteristic candor. "I simply adore my wife." He held in utter contempt those men who, under the pretense of friendship or familial ties, hovered about Alicia like moths to a particularly luminous flame. Their affections were nowhere near as forthright as his own. Alicia, for her part, rather appreciated his vigilance. It kept the more persistent of the social butterflies at bay. Besides, after two weeks of dedicated research, she'd concluded that the so-called "art of flirtation," as espoused by Lady Cowper and her ilk, held little appeal. It all seemed terribly exhausting. And, being prone to chills, Alicia was rather fond of the warmth of her husband's hand in hers. Percy, the Earl, continued his subtle campaign of disparagement. "Such constraint from your husband is simply too much, my dear. Such unbridled contact in public! The man has no sense of decorum." Alicia had always liked Percy, her childhood companion. If only he weren't quite so verbose. "But aren't you the same?" she countered, a teasing lilt in her voice. Percy's face flushed a becoming shade of crimson. William Cavendish, seizing an opportunity to visit relatives, whisked Alicia away from the suffocating social whirl of London. It was, he mused, remarkably easy to enjoy himself when accompanied by his wife to every ball, concert, and theatrical performance. As promised, they called upon Alicia's grandfather, the Marquess of Stafford. The old Marquess, long widowed and a man of serious disposition, was an old friend of Cavendish's own grandfather. He regarded Cavendish with a measured approval. After a lengthy discourse between the two gentlemen, William found Alicia gazing at a portrait of her late grandmother. Everyone remarked on her resemblance to the Countess of Sutherland, in both bearing and spirit. The couple, it was said, had fallen in love at first sight, marrying at eighteen or nineteen at the bride's ancestral seat, Dunrobin Castle. Sadly, the Countess had succumbed to illness in her early thirties. The Marquess, though encouraged to remarry after the death of his heir, had remained steadfastly single, a testament to a love that transcended even death. Cavendish, observing Alicia's wistful profile, felt a pang of fear. The thought of her preceding him in death was unbearable. He could not fathom enduring thirty-odd years of solitary existence as the Marquess had. Alicia, sensing her husband's presence, did not turn. He embraced her from behind, a silent expression of his anxieties. "Come," he murmured, "let us visit your Aunt Harriet." Alicia bid her grandfather farewell. In his presence, she was always the very picture of a demure and gentle granddaughter, full of smiles and soft-spoken words. They agreed that upon their return, she and the Marquess would journey back to London together. The Marquess presented her with a parting gift: a rare first edition of Shakespeare's works, recently acquired at auction from the Duke of Roxburghe's collection, a purchase that had set him back several thousand pounds. He stroked his granddaughter's hair, his gaze lingering on the young woman he had watched grow. "Go on, Alia," he said softly, "and give my regards to Granville." Thankfully, the Marquess was in robust health, easing Alicia's worries. Yet, as their carriage departed, she found herself staring blankly out the window. She recalled how, just five or six years ago, she would often accompany her grandfather on extended stays in Scotland. Now, his advancing years made such a ten-day journey an impossibility. She leaned against her cousin's shoulder, seeking comfort. Cavendish understood. They both harbored a deep-seated fear of death. Aunt Harriet and her husband, Lord Granville, a prominent Whig politician, resided in Hampstead, just north of London. The couple, despite a twelve-year age gap, had known each other since Harriet's childhood, owing to her aunt's connection to Granville. Lord Granville was considered one of the most handsome men of the age, with his brown hair, startling blue eyes, and almost too perfect features. He enjoyed a considerable following of female admirers and had maintained a long-standing liaison with Lady Bessborough. Both of Alicia's aunts possessed dark hair and blue eyes, inherited from their father. Alicia's father, however, had inherited the golden locks of the famed Georgiana Cavendish. The newlyweds were warmly welcomed by Lord Granville. Alicia conveyed her grandfather's regards to his brother. Cavendish, meanwhile, was reluctantly drawn into the masculine sphere, joining Lord Granville and his associates in political discourse. He cast longing glances at Alicia as she ascended the stairs to visit her expecting aunt. Harriet, unlike her mother and siblings, was not a renowned beauty. Her features were unremarkable, save for her striking eyes. She was, however, a woman of sharp intellect and a gifted writer, much like the late Duchess and her cousin, Caroline. Alicia greeted her aunt, noting her pale complexion as she lay in bed, clad in a nightgown and covered with a blanket. She clasped Harriet's hand. A London physician had been summoned to attend the birth. Harriet's previous delivery, two years prior, had been relatively smooth, resulting in a daughter. Yet, childbirth was never without its risks, and it was customary for aristocratic women to pen farewell letters to their families before labor. "Leah, you've come," Harriet greeted, her voice tinged with weariness. She brandished a sheet of paper, the ink still damp. "Tell me, what do you think of my will?" "I am utterly wearied by the endless obligations of a wife, and of childbearing," she sighed. "Papa and Mama will arrive tomorrow," Alicia offered, examining the letter. It detailed the allocation of Harriet's assets in the event of her demise. Harriet had brought a dowry of thirty thousand pounds, which would pass to her eldest daughter. However, she intended to use the interest to provide three thousand pounds for her adopted daughter upon her coming of age. Alicia couldn't help but wonder if she, too, would be required to write such a letter before each childbirth. A letter filled with reassurances to her family, urging them not to grieve unduly and to care for her children. It was here that Alicia encountered her great-aunt, Lady Bessborough, who had come for her niece's sake, despite the awkwardness of her former lover being the husband in question – a relationship that had ended a mere three years ago. "Hally-o," Lady Bessborough greeted. The statuesque lady, now fifty-one, bore the marks of time upon her face, though one could still discern the remnants of her once-radiant beauty. They chatted with the expectant mother for a while before retiring to allow her rest. Outside the nursery, in the long corridor, stood a girl with flaxen-brown hair and blue eyes. She was strikingly beautiful, with curled eyelashes, resembling Lady Bessborough's legitimate daughter, Caroline. Alicia knew her. She was Lord Granville and Lady Bessborough's illegitimate daughter, now twelve years old. She had joined this new family in August, unaware of her true parentage, referring to her biological father as her "guardian." "Lady Bessborough," she addressed her mother timidly. To the unfamiliar one, she added, "Lady Alicia," as a reminder. Beside her stood her younger brother, George Arundel, two years her junior. Alicia observed her great-aunt bend down to speak to the children, her usual haughtiness replaced by a gentle tone. The girl wore a locket around her neck, containing a lock of her father's hair. Little did she know that the woman before her was her true mother. Alicia remembered that her grandmother, too, had an illegitimate daughter living in obscurity. Both sisters, trapped in unhappy marriages, had found true love years later, only to be forced to conceal their relationships and separate from their offspring. "How is Lady Granville?" little Harriet inquired. She was quite fond of the elegant lady. Lady Bessborough and her former lover exchanged polite greetings, maintaining a formal distance befitting their circumstances. Only by marrying his niece could he remain within her social circle indefinitely. Alicia took in these tangled, complicated relationships. They were not so different from the much-gossiped-about saga of her own grandparents. She suddenly realized how fortunate she was in her own marriage. When traveling with her grandfather, he had told her that she would meet someone very suitable. "What will he be like?" she had asked. "It's hard to say," he had replied. "You'll know when you meet him." Cavendish finally extricated himself from the men's conversation and rejoined her. He surreptitiously took her hand, mindful of their host's presence. He inquired about her visit with her aunt and suggested they visit little Susan, Harriet's two-year-old daughter. She was already walking and talking quite fluently. Perhaps they could coax her into calling them "cousin." Alicia realized that, out of all the men she knew, she liked him best. The married ladies had advised her to associate with more young and talented men to discover what true love was, lest she waste her life in a dull marriage. But in comparison, she still preferred him. The Duke and Duchess had once asked their daughter about her ideal husband. Alicia had thought for a moment. "He must be knowledgeable, well-mannered, witty, mature, and steady." She added, "Not frivolous like Cousin William." "What are you doing?" he asked playfully, pinching her cheek. Her skin, meticulously cared for, was smooth and vibrant with youthful energy. Alicia merely glanced at him. At least she was certain she would never take a lover or have illegitimate children. Little Harriet's situation saddened her. She couldn't imagine abandoning her own child to the care of others. And if she kept them within her own family, what kind of gossip would they endure? Just look at Lady Cowper's eldest daughter, Emily, widely believed to be fathered by Lord Palmerston, bearing a striking resemblance to him. For the first time, Alicia felt a sense of responsibility and social morality. They proceeded to dinner. Cavendish was yet to understand the profound impact this visit had had on his wife. Harriet's labor was successful. She gave birth to a healthy baby girl, named Georgiana Charlotte Leveson-Gower after her mother. Though Lord Granville couldn't entirely conceal his disappointment at not having a male heir – his advancing years made the need for one more pressing – he went in to see his wife. Their arranged marriage had, perhaps, gained a touch of genuine affection. By comparison, Alicia carefully examined her cousin. She discovered his merits and some rare qualities for this era. After attending little Georgiana's christening, they returned to London. During their stay in Hampstead, for propriety's sake, the couple had not shared a room, let alone a bed. After a night at Cleveland House, under the Marquess of Stafford's roof, they finally returned to Devonshire House. That night, he knew she needed him, and they fell into each other's arms with an almost desperate urgency. After a long and passionate interlude, she nestled against his shoulder. Even within the familiar confines of her parents' home, a certain shyness lingered. She had a habit of playfully nipping at him, her voice hushed. Just as the wave of intense pleasure was about to crest, he abruptly stopped and withdrew. Alicia's tears, on the verge of spilling, receded. She looked at him, puzzled. Although he continued to kiss her, his movements unceasing, the culmination had been undeniably interrupted. "What is it?" she asked, her voice laced with confusion. His forehead beaded with sweat, he forced himself to regain composure, resorting to manual assistance. Only later did Alicia understand the reason behind his actions. She found it rather peculiar, and he apologized profusely as he cleaned her. "Why did you do that?" she pressed. "Contraception," Cavendish explained, his face slightly flushed. It was, after much research, the most reliable and least offensive method he'd found. But Alicia was nothing if not direct. "It's rather uncomfortable when you stop like that." "Is it?" He nuzzled her ear, his mind already racing. Other methods of contraception... "Don't you want me to have an heir?" Alicia sat up, her brow furrowed. "It's not that, it's just..." Alicia understood. They both remembered the recent childbirth. Even with a smooth delivery, the screams from the birthing chamber and the basins of blood carried out afterward were vivid in their minds. "Are you not afraid?" She was still so young, so innocent, though accepting of the idea, she had no real concept of what childbirth entailed. In her mind, it was an inevitable consequence of marriage, something that simply had to happen. "There's no hurry, Alicia," Cavendish reassured her, propping himself up on his elbow. She leaned into his embrace. He confessed to the doctor that he had little desire for children, couldn't imagine himself as a father. Of course, he would be happy if it happened. He just preferred Alicia's company. They discussed the matter of limiting offspring. "There's also what Malthus wrote in 'An Essay on the Principle of Population,' have you read it?" Alicia looked at her husband, seeing a different side of him. He spoke with a serious air, citing authorities and evidence, discussing a topic considered absurd and largely ignored. "Yes." "It says that men have a duty to reduce the number of births," he said with a smile. "One could limit relations to once a month." Or even twice a year. Alicia, intrigued by this novel concept, raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Could you truly manage that?" "Frankly, no, but it's worth a try," he admitted, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. He was, after all, a man of considerable willpower. When it came to certain matters, his promises held weight. Alicia did not doubt him. "Will that truly prevent pregnancy?" Cavendish was also perplexed. It was merely a theory; he hadn't tested it. Besides that, contraception was mostly focused on the woman's side. Those who needed it, besides married ladies with lovers, were mostly the brothels. After this period of research, Cavendish had a fair understanding of the matter. Besides withdrawal, there was also... douching after the act, standing to let the seed flow out. There were also internal barriers and potions, but the latter, especially, were harmful to the body, even causing infertility. There was also a kind of witchcraft that involved wearing a beaver testicle sachet during intercourse, which was said to prevent pregnancy. But Cavendish considered it utter nonsense. Alicia listened, nodding in agreement. "What else?" She had heard of a "sheep intestine" sheath, used by men, but... William Cavendish found it difficult to articulate. "Tell me." These were used by patrons of brothels to prevent the rampant spread of venereal diseases. No one used them for contraception. To use it on his wife would be an insult. William Cavendish had ruled out this option from the start. Hence, the earlier scene. Alicia, however, found it a perfectly reasonable method of contraception, given its function. She didn't blush, but he did, profusely. The sheep intestine sheath had to be kept moist in water and was prone to breakage. Each one could be washed and reused. And so, with Alicia's full consent, he took upon himself the task of procuring and smuggling the devices into the Duke's residence. He was terrified of being discovered, avoiding the Duke's servants at all costs. Alicia was always keen on experimentation. "Don't look at me," Cavendish mumbled, feeling awkward. They gave it a try. "It's still a bit odd," she concluded, "but better than last time." And thus, the two of them, in their own peculiar way, embarked on the rather unconventional path of contraception.