The Street Orphans Page 16

  The Parvoils and the Bellingers were both in attendance today and had given Katrina her rightful place, and although they weren’t friendly, they were at least respectful.

  Daddy had done her proud by allowing her mother to have a free hand in preparing their home for the event. No expense had been spared, and all had been done to the very latest fashions that society demanded. And, to Daddy’s delight, the cream of society had attended. Oh, and Daddy had tried so hard to speak with a ‘posh’ accent, as taught by her own and Marcia’s old governess, brought out of retirement for that very purpose. Poor soul, what a job she’d had!

  For the most part Daddy had managed very well, until Lord Bellinger had sought him out. Then he’d been unable to hide his anger and she’d heard him say, ‘If I were you, lad, I’d watch me back, because I don’t forget, and I’ve me own means of sorting the likes of you.’ Frederick had intervened and had steered Bellinger away, but not before Daddy had said, ‘And another thing: I’m after seeing me solicitor about having you, for slandering me daughter’s name.’

  This had sat like a dampener on proceedings for a while – not that anyone other than herself and Frederick had heard, but Frederick had to spend some time with Bellinger to calm him down and smooth things over. It was then that something had happened that she hadn’t expected. She’d looked over at them, wondering how things were going between them, when she’d caught Bellinger’s eye. What she saw in his gaze had shaken her. He’d looked on her with longing and, to her shame, something had kindled inside her that triggered feelings Katrina could not comprehend. Even thinking of it now did the same. Her nerves jangled as Annie, her maid, fussed around her, giggling as she prepared Katrina for bed. It was the kind of giggling that told of Annie’s knowledge of what was going to happen, as did the suggestive note in her voice and the knowing looks she gave as she tended to her. Katrina wished she was a party to that knowledge, too. What is this mysterious thing that happens between a man and a woman?

  Annie had been with her since she’d turned thirteen, when Mother had decided that Katrina needed a maid of her own. She’d travelled with her to school, and to Belgium for finishing school, and – well, everywhere. They were friends, in the way it was possible to be friends with a maid. Annie was her confidante. They’d talked about everything, except . . . well, they’d never broached the subject of the man–woman relationship. Such things were just not spoken of, but Katrina had to find out from someone! Mother was hopeless, and though she suspected Marcia knew, as nothing passed her by, her sister had only teased her as to what she was in for, but wouldn’t share the truth of it.

  Marcia hadn’t changed, although Katrina had missed her whilst she’d been away at finishing school, as her antics were usually a fun distraction from the everyday routines of life. That is, except for her mischief-making! No, Katrina had been glad to have a rest from that for a while; and from the way that Marcia’s jealousy of her manifested in wanting whatever Katrina had, and often going to great lengths to get it.

  Marcia had this inbuilt principle that if someone crossed her in any way, they would pay; besides which – and Katrina wasn’t sure if this trait was worse than the mischief-making or not – Marcia would do anything to get what she wanted. Today she’d shown signs of wanting Lord Bellinger! She’d planted herself wherever he was, had laughed a little too loudly at his jokes and had generally gushed over him at every opportunity. It was all very bad form, especially as he and Henrietta had now announced their engagement. Thinking of Henrietta, Katrina knew there was still a coolness between them that hurt. Oh, but why am I thinking about Marcia and Henrietta, when the time for me and Frederick to come together is fast approaching? I must find out what will happen – I must!

  ‘Annie, leave my hair for a moment. I can brush it out. I want to talk to you.’

  ‘Oh, Miss . . . Oh, I’m sorry, I mean Lady Katrina. I’m that excited! It’s been a grand day and I’ve been the most important of all the maids; and, oh, you looked lovely, Miss!’

  ‘Annie, please, this is important. We can talk about the day over and over another time, but there is something I have to know. I need to know what’s in store for me.’

  ‘Eeh, don’t worry on that score, Lady Katrina.’

  ‘What score? And what do you know about . . . well, about what will happen? I mean, what Lord Frederick will do to me?’

  The brush halted in its progress through her long hair. In the mirror in front of her Katrina saw Annie’s face drop into an amazed expression, before colouring till it showed a tinge of scarlet on each cheek.

  ‘I’m sorry, Annie. I shouldn’t have asked. Look, just give me the brush. I will finish my hair. You’ve had a long day.’

  ‘I’m all right, Ma’am, I – I were just shocked as you don’t know. I thought your ma had told you. Mine did, as soon as my monthly show started. Gave me a right lecture, she did. But at the same time she made me think about the day I come to wed. It ain’t owt to worry over, Miss – eeh, I’m sorry, I’ve been practising for a long time to call you Lady Katrina, but me tongue’s not used to it.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it will come. I’m not used to it myself yet. Just try hard to remember if there is anyone present, otherwise they will think you rude. Now, tell me what your mother told you. I have to know.’

  ‘It ain’t easy to tell, but me ma said as it’s sommat to look forward to – that is, if you get a good man as loves you, and I know as Lord Frederick will. How can he not love you? And he’s a good man an’ all. He’ll treat you right, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Never mind all of that. Just tell me the facts of what happens. What can I expect? I am so afraid. I—’

  ‘Don’t be, Miss, it ain’t nowt to be afraid of. Look, me ma said . . .’

  What she heard over the next few seconds had Katrina reeling through so many different emotions. Fear turned to anticipation; ignorance turned to a realization of what the funny feeling was that she’d had at times, when she had caught a certain look from Lord Bellinger. But there was also disgust at herself for thinking that; and at him for doing such things with the whores she knew he visited. At the same time she wanted to experience these thrills Annie was telling her about, but then she became afraid again as to whether Frederick knew what to do and whether they would manage it.

  And what of this pain Annie is now talking about? How bad is it, and will I be able to relax, as Annie says I should? And why haven’t I felt the same desire when Frederick is near that, without doubt, I do feel when Lord Bellinger looks at me? Oh, it’s all so confusing. Frederick is nice. He is handsome, and loving, but not in the way that suggests he wants to do this thing with me! Oh dear, does he even desire me? And what of Bellinger? Is what he shows me simply lust? It must be. Surely no one could do what he did to me, if he loved me?

  ‘You’re very quiet, Lady Katrina. I ain’t upset you, have I? You did ask me.’

  ‘No, no, really, Annie, I’m glad you told me. I can prepare myself for something I know is coming, instead of being terrified of the unknown. Leave me now. I – I want to be alone for a few minutes. D – don’t tell Lord Frederick that I am ready just yet. Leave it another five to ten minutes.’

  Annie did something she’d never done before. She put her hand out and touched Katrina’s shoulder. It was a reassuring gesture, and she quickly pulled it away. The worried look on Annie’s face told of her anxiety.

  ‘Annie, please don’t be afraid. I can handle anything, but only if I know what it is I am in for. Thank you for enlightening me. Everything will be fine, now that you have done so.’

  But will it? In some ways I feel more afraid now than I have been of the unknown. Taking a deep breath, Katrina made her way to the closet behind the screen in the corner of the room. An urgency had taken hold of her and she wanted not only to pee, but to touch herself there – to feel what she had between her legs, and to explore a little.

  It came as a surprise to her that she had a bigger orifice than she had imagined, an
d that she could insert her finger without hurting herself, and even evoke a nice feeling as she touched a protrusion that lay just inside the front of the opening. The feeling spread through her body and filled her with anticipation.

  Covering her pot, she glimpsed Frederick’s bigger pot a few feet away. The sight confirmed to her that he would come to her bed. And something in her couldn’t wait!

  Hearing a noise outside her door, Katrina scampered across the room and dived into the bed. Its soft-feathered mattress allowed her to sink into its depths. This room was in the far west wing and was part of a suite of rooms that hadn’t been used for years. Of late they had received a fresh coat of distemper to whiten the walls, and some very plush furnishings that her mother had found in a large store in London. They were French in design, which she had said Frederick would appreciate, as his mother, Lady Eleonore, had steeped him in her native traditions.

  It was to France that they were sailing tomorrow on their honeymoon, staying with a cousin of Lady Eleonore’s whose family still lived in Paris . . . Paris! Oh, how I loved the place when I visited, and they say that spring in Paris is not to be missed; well, I’m sure it will still be just as delightful in midsummer. These thoughts drifted away into the fast beating of her heart as the sound of someone in the adjoining bedroom – Frederick’s apartments – reached her. Oh God, he is getting ready. He will be coming in soon. Anticipation and excitement scrunched her up into a ball, then a knock on the connecting door straightened her body. Her voice sounded husky in her own ears as she bade Frederick come in. Shock caused her to sit bolt upright as Lord Bellinger entered her room.

  ‘Wh – what are you doing? Get out at once!’

  ‘You don’t mean that, my pretty one.’

  ‘I do! Where is Frederick? Why are you here? Please go away. Please! Frederick will be here any moment. He’ll think . . . Oh God, don’t do this to me, please.’ He was nearer her now. His face held a look that spoke of his intention. ‘Stop it, stop now!’ But even as she said this, she felt a strange fascination at his progress towards her. The bed sank under his weight as he sat down near her and reached his hand towards her. His fingers played with strands of her hair. Her throat tightened, as sensations rippled through her. How had she got so close to his face that she could feel his breath?

  The tinge of brandy and cigar smoke didn’t repulse her; instead it added to the anticipation she felt, making her want him to continue, to complete the move that would have his lips on hers. When he did, his touch tingled through her, and his weight bore her down, pressing her back into the pillows. His movements had him lying next to her, but something in her wouldn’t let her protest or resist. When he lifted his head, her lips burned with a near-agony to have him kiss her again. His voice was different now, the tone thicker. ‘Katrina, my Katrina.’

  Her name held a promise she couldn’t deny. Though she knew she was doing wrong, she melted into him and gave herself to the pleasure of his kisses, his caresses and the burning desire he’d awoken in her.

  That burning turned to discomfort as he entered her, making her cry out. His apology held love; his holding back helped. His lips snuggled into her neck, kissing and sucking. His hands kneaded her breast. Catching her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he massaged it with a motion that had her writhing beneath him. She could take the pain. She needed to. She needed to have him sink deep into her. He responded with a thrust. The pain was momentary, the joy immense. Feelings she didn’t know existed seized her whole being. She was shocked at this awakening – this exquisite joining of herself with the man she loved. Yes, she could admit it: Simon Bellinger was engraved onto every part of her, and would always be so. She opened every pocket of herself to him.

  Then something strange and wonderful happened. His movements started a sensation creeping, slowly at first, but then gaining in strength, until she wanted all it had to offer. Drawing in her breath, she gasped his name and dug her nails into his flesh. He mustn’t go from her; she had to have what her body promised. ‘Yes. Yes . . . there, keep going. Please, my love.’

  Her core burst in a cascade of wave after wave of the most exquisite feeling, which had her wailing with uncontrolled ecstasy and crying out her despair at its fading. But then it grew in strength again as Simon moved once more, thrusting himself against the delicate place that was the very heart of her, until she caught her breath, unable to bear any more, and stayed him by clamping him between her legs. Pulsating on him, she allowed her body to come down to a peaceful, spent state – a place that held her. The real her: the one that belonged in the arms of her man, this man . . . Simon Bellinger.

  Without knowing why, sobs racked her body. Simon kissed away her tears and told her he was close to his end. He asked her if he could stay with her when he came. Not knowing what he meant, but not wanting him to leave her, she whispered ‘yes’, then lay beneath him, unable to participate as he took his fill until he gave an animal-like cry of great joy and let his shuddering body lie fully on her.

  Staying like this for a moment, with only the ticking of the clock and Simon’s slowing gasps disturbing the silence, Katrina felt guilt creep over her. What of Frederick? Where is he? Oh God, if he should come in!

  Simon rolled off her, as if sensing her distress and its cause, and then spoke in a more normal voice. ‘Don’t worry – Frederick is out for the count. I made sure of that. I gave him something with his drink, to knock him out. He’s lying on his bed next door. When I get my breath back, I’ll have him carried in here by my trusted men, who will first prepare him for his marital bed. When he wakes in the morning beside you, my darling, it will be an easy matter to dupe him into thinking it was he who deflowered you.’

  Reality hit Katrina. All that had been now seeped into a dirty, disgusting place. ‘No! Oh God, how could you?’ Her body cringed away from him. Everything about him repulsed her now. What have I done? Oh God, what have I done?

  ‘Don’t. Please, my love, my darling, don’t reject me now. You know we were meant for each other.’

  ‘I don’t deny that I am strongly attracted to you, but it is too late. I am married to Frederick. Oh, Simon, why – why did you do it? And if you love me, why didn’t you offer for me?’

  ‘My dear, I wanted to. But by the time I’d decided to, that bloody Bertram told me he had done so and had been accepted. I never dreamed that Frederick would act so swiftly, on Bertram’s death. I know he is short of money, but I didn’t think he would stoop so low as to jump into his brother’s shoes before he was even cold in his grave! Oh, darling, don’t cry . . . don’t.’

  ‘I am ashamed of what I have done. I – I have behaved the way you expected, and I am not like that, I’m not!’ Her tears were now ones of distress at the disgrace she had brought upon herself. How did such a thing happen? How did I let it happen? And what of the future? Simon loves me, and I love him!

  Trying to come out of the sleep that held him felt, to Frederick, as though he had to fight through a forest of closely-knit bracken. His brain hurt; his body ached. Sweat ran from every pore, leaving his mouth dry and his throat sore. Turning his head only increased the pain. Opening his eyes threatened to bring to his mouth the vomit that was churning in his stomach, as the ceiling spun towards him. A strange ceiling – one he’d never looked up at before. Where am I?

  Turning his head, Frederick let his eyes settle on a sleeping form next to him. Memory struck him, enlightening him with a rush of information that shocked him. My God, I’m a married man! And I can’t remember a thing about it. Well, not . . . oh, dear God, please let me have been gentle.

  ‘Katrina.’ His voice held the fear that he felt. What if, in his drunkenness, he’d been rough and had done what Simon had kept urging him to do? ‘Just get on with it, old boy, it’ll be for the better in the end. Yes, she’ll feel pain, but that will pass and then she’ll be grateful every time you visit her bedchamber. Pussy-foot around, and you’ll be a slave to her every whim!’

  He’d la
ughed and had joined in the guffawing, but hadn’t thought he would do as Simon had suggested. He’d rather be a slave to Katrina’s every whim than hurt her more than was necessary. How is it that I can remember that conversation, but nothing afterwards?

  ‘Katrina . . .’

  Her stirring increased the dread in him, but when she opened her eyes, she smiled and rolled towards him. Moving his arm to enclose her brought Frederick’s painful joints back to his attention, but her body felt soft and warm, snuggled into his. Still she didn’t speak. He would wait.

  He didn’t have to wait long. A small sob escaped her. Oh no, I hurt her!

  ‘I’m sorry, dear, really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t know what happened, I—’

  ‘No, don’t be sorry. Please. I’m being silly. I – I’m so happy. But I need my maid to come to me now. Will you leave me?’

  ‘Of course, but are you really all right? I mean—’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. I am just in a little bit of a mess. I need to get clean. I will come into your room when I am ready. That is, if you want me to?’

  ‘I’d like that.’ As he kissed the top of her head, Frederick’s lips sank into her soft hair. Its touch reminded him of Ruth. Something stirred deep in his groin as his head cleared at last and, with the clarity of his every fibre, he wished it was Ruth in his arms at this moment. Shaking the thoughts from him, he pulled his arm from under Katrina and swung his legs out of bed and onto the soft rug beside it. Once more the queasiness hit him, and this time the vomit came into his mouth.

  Staggering across the room, he made it to Katrina’s dressing table. His stomach emptied into her washing bowl. Humiliation withered him. Reaching for the pitcher next to the bowl, he poured the water from it over his head. Nothing helped. His legs gave way beneath him.

  Somewhere a long way away he heard the tinkling of a bell. For a moment he thought he was dead, but the sound of Katrina calling out told him he wasn’t, and he realized the bell was her summoning her maid.