The Weight of the Wedding Night
Mabel learned the truth about the Darlingtons’ debt-filled ruin, and on that day she resolved to accept Carlisle’s marriage proposal.
It was a decision born of despair.
He remained a stranger, a man she feared.
“What kind of love does a woman ask from a man who is not her husband?”
How was one supposed to greet a man who spoke of divorce before the wedding had even taken place?
Was it blackmail? Give me love and I’ll leave you?
In the era when divorces were front-page scandals that stained an entire family’s honor, the word still carried poison. But the world had changed. Divorce was no longer the absolute taboo it had been.
Still, the stigma lingered. Mabel could not yet decide whether a loveless marriage or widowhood by her own hand was the greater cruelty.
Is there another woman in his life?
A sharp ache bloomed somewhere deep in her chest.
She had long heard the rumors—Carlisle’s tangled affections. One more chain she would have to endure to save the family from ruin.
In truth she had no choice. So she would not demand love from a man who offered only obligation. When she made that quiet vow, her heart felt, for the first time in weeks, a little lighter.
During the weeks of preparations Carlisle visited the Darlington house only once—solely to settle the details of the ceremony.
He spent his days shuttling between France, England, and Canada on business. For Mildred he brought a silk scarf and perfume straight from Paris. For Walter a solid-gold cigarette case and a leather card case. And for Mabel he delivered a necklace so heavy with diamonds it felt obscene.
After he left, Mabel asked Mildred whether she should return the jewels.
Mildred stared at the diamond necklace as though it had been handed down from heaven itself and let out a breathless sigh.
“Heaven above, that’s more than fifty carats.”
She declared it with the bright, triumphant smile of a woman who had just been told her favorite gown was in fashion.
“It would be unseemly for a woman to refuse jewels given by her betrothed.”
Mabel released a heavy sigh.
Dinner with a single man and a chaperon who was not yet married, a drive without a chaperone through the countryside—those things still drew stares and whispers. But a late-afternoon luncheon with one’s betrothed, a proper tea, an evening at the opera or the theater—those were acceptable.
Yet Carlisle had asked for none of it. He had even begun to avoid the few hours they were forced to spend together.
When we are wed we will sleep in the same bed for the rest of our lives.
Mabel found it almost impossible to picture herself sharing a bed with a man she had spoken to in scarcely more than a dozen sentences.
A sharp knock broke the silence.
Still curled on the edge of her bed, Mabel startled upright. The little mantel clock read eleven-ten.
“Mabel, it’s me.”
Mildred’s voice.
Mabel hurried to open the door. Mildred stood there in a heavy velvet wrapper and nightcap, her face pale but composed.
“Aunt Mildred… at this hour? Whatever is wrong?”
Mildred’s lips trembled into an awkward, fragile smile.
“I have something I must tell you before tomorrow. It won’t take long. We must both rise early.”
She stepped inside, crossed to the small table, and gestured to the chair opposite.
“Sit, please.”
When Mabel obeyed, Mildred straightened her nightcap with the absent air of someone rehearsing lines she had never been allowed to say aloud.
“There is something… ah.”
Mildred cleared her throat.
Mabel sat very still, waiting.
“When I married your uncle, my own mother was already gone. She passed early.”
Mabel knew the story. Her aunt had died of pneumonia.
“So on the night before my wedding I had no one to speak to like this.”
Mabel could only stare, unable to guess what was coming.
“I had a son, Arthur. Two years later I had a daughter. She lived only a few days. When the time came to raise you, I felt as though the child I had lost had been returned to me.”
She swallowed. “Please understand—your parents’ tragedy is not something I would ever wish on anyone. Do you understand?”
Mabel nodded quickly.
“Yes, Aunt Mildred.”
“Sometimes I worry I was too stern with you. You turned out so beautifully, and I am grateful. But I must be honest.”
This was the first time Mabel had ever seen her aunt allow even a shadow of feeling.
The daughter of a stern Calvinist minister, Mildred had once believed that love, openly shown, spoiled children. She had been sparing with praise and affection, even toward Arthur. Mabel had never felt treated unfairly.
The only difference she could recall was that her aunt had forbidden her to stare too long at her own reflection, fearing vanity might take root.
“I cannot pretend to have loved you as a mother who carried you in her womb. But I gave you the best I could. And I tried, in the circumstances that were mine, to find you the finest husband this world offers.”
Mildred coughed again, the sound heavy.
“A long time ago I swore that before any wedding I would warn my daughter.”
She searched for words, then touched her nightcap again, cheeks flushing.
“When you become the wife of the Viscount de Rochefort… you will share a bed with him. You must know that.”
Mabel’s face burned. She nodded, mute.
Now she understood why Mildred had come at this hour.
Society still regarded purity and modesty as the highest virtues. What happened behind closed doors between husband and wife was never spoken of.
Mabel’s own understanding of marriage had been equally vague. She knew a man and a woman slept together, but the exact nature of the act remained a mystery.
Will there be kissing? Embracing? And then…?
The thought of doing such things with Carlisle made her heart seize. Fear warred with a strange, shameful curiosity, like a child peering into Pandora’s box.
Mildred’s cheeks matched her niece’s in their crimson.
“When night falls, bathe carefully. Put on the nightgown I packed for you. Once you are in bed, pull the sheet up to your throat. The rest… the Viscount de Rochefort will see to himself.”
She hesitated, then added in a voice barely above a whisper.
“The first night is… painful. So lie quietly, let your body relax, and obey your husband. Close your eyes and count slowly. It will pass quickly. Though it shames me to say it, a woman must endure this act to give her husband a son. It is the price of the family line.”
Mabel’s face went gray.
She remembered the hushed gossip of her married friends on their wedding nights—the pain that felt like having a tooth pulled.
How can anything that causes so much pain be done?
Fear flooded her again.
“H-how many must I count…?”
Mildred faltered, then answered with uncertain kindness.
“Well… two hundred. Maybe two hundred and fifty.”
Two hundred and fifty? Mabel’s skin turned white as milk.
“I came to tell you because if I had not, a girl who knew nothing would be shattered by what happened. Better to be forewarned.”
Mabel whispered, “Thank you, Aunt Mildred.”
Mildred rose, patted her niece’s shoulder once, then opened the door.
“Sleep now. There is much to do tomorrow.”
“Yes, Aunt Mildred.”
Mabel crossed to the bed, turned down the covers, and climbed in. Mildred followed, then did something she had not done since Mabel was small—she reached up and blew out the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
Mabel curled into herself, knees drawn tight to her chest. A sob she had held back all evening broke free.
If she walked into church tomorrow with swollen eyes, tongues would wag and eyes would turn.
Let them say what they will.
She pressed the back of her hand hard against her wet lashes.
She had no wish to leave the Darlington house where she had been born and raised. She was terrified, heartbroken, and still unwilling to face the shame of her wedding night.
That night she lay awake, staring at the ceiling, knowing that even if she could have fled Carlisle’s side undetected, she would still have to share a bed with a man who terrified her for the rest of her life.