Chapter 9: The Seven Times Agreement

William Cavendish suspected he had misheard. He stared at his new bride's immaculate face across the expanse of the dining table. Something was decidedly amiss. He set down his cutlery, propped his chin on his hand, and inquired with a gravity that belied his inner turmoil, "Have I been... unsatisfactory?" "No, quite the contrary," Alicia replied, tucking her legs up beneath her, then remembering he was not beside her to appreciate the gesture. "You've been rather too satisfactory." He flushed crimson. "Then...?" "I'm simply exhausted. Your demands are a tad... excessive." She took a measured sip of punch, the picture of composure. As if the various positions he'd insisted upon were not taxing in the least. Although, she did rather enjoy touching him. "Please, Alicia," William's face was now the shade of a particularly ripe tomato. His eyelashes fluttered like a distressed butterfly's wings. "One does not simply say such things!" If one can do it, why not speak of it? Alicia blinked, magnanimously deciding to remain silent on the matter. Were men truly so different? He found his dinner suddenly unappetizing. "So you do not enjoy the process?" "Not exactly," she stated, quite plainly. It had not affected her appetite in the slightest. She helped herself to some pheasant and ladled a bowl of turtle soup with gusto. It was simply that, in Alicia's world, other matters held more importance. A chasm of silence opened between them. "Very well," William began, feigning nonchalance as he viciously attacked his veal cutlet with a knife and fork. He appeared the very picture of indifference, save for the tight line of his lips. "How do you propose we regulate this... activity?" Only last night everything had been perfectly delightful. She had even professed to like him. It mattered not in what aspect. It appeared that even affection was fleeting, something to be discarded as easily as a used glove. "Perhaps..." Alicia considered this carefully, then generously offered, "Twice a month?" Twice a month? Cavendish could maintain his facade no longer. He looked up, startled, his expression a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. "Two?" He wanted to say, why not just once? But then, Alicia might very well agree with cheerful alacrity. He rallied, employing the same adaptability he used in court. He adopted a negotiator's stance—reasoned, logical, and articulate. This was far more likely to sway his dear cousin, his dearest new wife, than any amount of childish pouting. William ground his teeth. He was positively fuming. He unconsciously raised a hand to his face, then quickly lowered it, clasping his hands together tightly. "But we've already had..." He glanced at her, then quickly away. "Three." They had been together for nearly a week, and it had only been three times. William grew even more despondent. Alicia was giving this serious thought. Based on experience, Cavendish pre-emptively interjected, "Therefore, I believe ten times to be more reasonable." He had originally wanted fifteen, and to have odd and even days. He hid a smile. Why were they having a formal negotiation about their marital relations over dinner? If others knew, they would be shocked. You are her husband! Ten times seemed a bit much to Alicia. She couldn't imagine ten days a month doing nothing else. She was a girl accustomed to filling her schedule to the brim. William, on the other hand, longed to take her hand and say, "Is it possible, Alicia, that you simply need more... practice?" But some people were truly indifferent to this sort of thing. He wasn't so sure anymore, and began to reflect if it was his fault. Last night, he had been the dominant one, venturing into territories unexplored in their first two encounters. He hadn't been as gentle, as considerate as on their wedding night. He had deliberately prolonged matters, denying her proper rest. He had even used a bit of force at times, taking a wicked pleasure in her tearful countenance. And he had woken her this morning. His desires were, as she had said, excessive. Was this why Alicia had begun to detest him? William attributed her refusal to a growing aversion to him. He traced her features with his gaze, wondering why they were so different by day and by night. The closest, yet the most distant. The negotiation concluded with a compromise: seven times. Cavendish cherished this hard-won concession. At least it was five more than initially offered. And now, only four remained. "Does the third night count?" Alicia inquired, pondering the definition of conjugal relations—an act primarily intended for procreation. Finally, she declared, "It does not." Ha, he'd found a loophole. Alicia began listing stipulations. For instance, he was not to linger past midnight. She pointed out that last time, he had not left until two o'clock. "Only two hours difference," he muttered. They adjourned to the drawing-room. He drew her into his embrace. At least he could still hold her waist. She didn't resist, and even her usual ticklish flinches were subdued as if she knew this was inevitable. Alicia didn't argue. She continued, stating that he could not come to her before eight in the evening. So, she only had four hours of his time at night! And she wouldn't allow for a repeat performance. They were to meet in a new room. Every time she got up to clean herself, she had to wait for the maids to change the sheets. "It's terribly inconvenient," she declared, "It severely disrupts my sleep." He was rather fond of her bedroom, especially that small, gilded bed draped in green satin. He was particularly keen on pressing her wrists against the bedposts. "But I do so enjoy undressing you," he murmured. Alicia frowned at him, taken aback by his audacity. "You are quite the libertine," she remarked. "You'll ruin my dresses." Evening gowns were far more intricate and expensive than day dresses, each frill and fold meticulously pressed. She couldn't fathom how, upon waking, bits and pieces always seemed to be missing, requiring a thorough wash and tidy. William thought of the drawer filled with ribbons, lace, frills, buttons, and even garters that had once adorned her person. He simply had a penchant for being a bit of a magpie. He always had to take something, a memento of their encounters. Speaking of which, she had yet to give him a lock of her golden hair, a common token of affection between lovers. Their engagement had been so sudden, they hadn't had a proper courtship. He had spent the first few months accompanying her on reading sessions and walks, reminiscing about her deceased grandfather. When spring arrived and she returned to London, there was a flurry of social engagements. He watched her dance with other men. While busy with meetings—he was a lawyer, after all—and helping with the complex prenuptial agreement, he still made it a point to check on the progress of her wedding and post-wedding gowns every day. He asked her about her preferred styles, but she said they were all the same. He had commissioned numerous pieces of jewelry for her. He knew her preferences, yet he still didn't know how to love her. At first, it was a responsibility, then it became an instinct. He thought he would never love a little girl, so he kept telling himself that he had to love his future wife. Later, he realized that he had loved her all along. Alicia. "And," she continued, "you may not enter my bedroom before seven in the morning." She needed her sleep, and this morning's events had been rather alarming. His lips and tongue had been rather too adventurous, venturing north of her knees. Alicia could not fathom engaging in such activities during daylight hours. He loved to caress her, using his touch to confirm her love for him. He held her close, nestling her against his knee. At night, she rarely wore silk or satin, preferring the comfort of fine cotton. It draped over her, outlining her form when held close. Through the fabric, her skin was even more sensitive. He nuzzled her neck, his lips finding the delicate skin there. Her satin shoes occasionally brushed against his calves. Dressed in her long gown, with its layers of frills and fabric, one could only discern that they were embracing. "Does this count?" he asked suddenly, his lips grazing the sensitive spot behind her ear. He had discovered it. Every time he did this, her eyelashes fluttered like trapped butterflies. She seemed to forget to breathe. "It does not, but do not overdo it," she said, her voice slightly unsteady. Her hand was clasped in his, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her palm, a game he never tired of. She complained that he was invading her space, constantly testing her boundaries. "Do you wish me to come tonight?" he asked, remembering every subtle reaction when she was aroused. To hell with odd and even days. "Do you wish to use up your allotted times so soon?" Alicia turned her gaze to him, his lips brushing her cheek as she did. On second thought... William couldn't imagine the remaining twenty days alone, it would drive him mad. He opened his mouth, pressing it against her smooth cheek. "Don't be a dog." Once again, he had gotten his saliva all over her face. Alicia patted his hand, signaling him to let go. She had yet to accomplish anything today! Being interrupted at the peak of excitement was the most frustrating. He wished that his wife could share his feelings, that same pleasure, that same reluctance to part. Even last night, she had been distracted, complaining that he was pulling her hair, that his grip was too tight, that it hurt, that she didn't want to be lifted. Only for those few fleeting moments was she rendered speechless, seeking solace from him, clutching at his dark curls. She was an excellent horsewoman; her waist was actually quite strong. She just refused to move, becoming a puddle of water, only wanting to lie there. He had a fondness for nibbling on her waist. She had called him a dog three times last night. "I refuse to call you William. I shall call you Luxuria," she declared, half-reclining as she flipped through the latest journal that had been delivered. (Luxuria, Latin for lust, derived from the root luxur, meaning "excess," "abundance.") Her evening gown was short-sleeved, with a lower neckline, revealing a generous expanse of creamy skin. He approached, and she glanced up. William felt a flicker of unease under such a discerning gaze. See, most of the time she was this cold. "Is it difficult to control?" Alicia asked, pursing her lips. She was a staunch advocate of rationalism, believing that willpower reigned supreme and that one should use reason to curb desires. He hummed in agreement. She charitably offered her hand for him to kiss, then withdrew it. "I have sums to do, and today is an even day." Yet, she naturally rested her leg against his. It was how it should be, only now because he had sat down next to her, she was making room. Alicia had recently become engrossed in the burgeoning field of calculus, devouring various journals she had ordered. Educated by her mother, she insisted on studying mathematics and physics, believing it kept her mind sharp and alert. Cavendish felt dizzy just looking at the equations. "You could find other activities to release your... superfluous energy," Alicia suggested earnestly, offering a solution. She forgave the bulge in his trousers, assuming that her cousin must be uncomfortable as well. It was likely that, being in the countryside, unlike the city, her cousin lacked access to clubs and could only ride his horse for entertainment at most each day. Is it possible that I simply adore you too much? William mused, playing with a strand of her hair. Why should one engage in other activities during one's honeymoon? A honeymoon, after all, was meant to be spent revolving around one's new bride. "A honeymoon only happens once in a lifetime," he murmured. "Not necessarily," Alicia countered objectively, citing the example of a certain lady who had remarried a few years prior. "But her husband passed away!" "Ah, my apologies. I do hope you live a long and healthy life," she offered as consolation, effectively ending that line of conversation. "Do you detest this sort of thing? Then I shall refrain from it entirely," William declared, suddenly unsure of himself. Before their marriage, he had never entertained such thoughts, considering himself a rational, self-disciplined, and utterly perfect individual. But once it had begun, he found himself unable to stop. He thought of her day and night. Alicia comforted her cousin, concluding that he must be ill. She patted his head, accepting his repentance. "It's not that. It's simply that afterward, I have to interrupt my walking routine." They discussed the matter calmly. Routine, to Alicia, was of paramount importance, as unchangeable as her preferences and tastes. William had a sudden realization. Her affection for him was akin to her affection for her pony or her dog. "Then, after we've used up our allotted times, may I come and sleep with you on odd days?" he asked, planting a chaste kiss on her forehead, finally regaining a semblance of purity. After a moment of thought, perhaps seeing the pitiful look in his eyes, Alicia conceded.