Page 7 of An Earl, His Valet, & Their Wife

Gerard swallowed hard, firmly suppressing every emotion that wouldn’t serve his lover before the momentous task ahead. Calm, bright and breezy was imperative. “Well then. Let’s get ye bathed and dressed, my lord.”

Everything else, he would think about tomorrow.

* * *

Wedding days were no fun whatsoever; far more an endurance event of wearing an uncomfortable gown, pinching shoes, and sixty-five stabby hairpins, while obnoxious family members gorged themselves on free refreshments. Would the wedding night be an improvement?

Katherine sighed as she finished securing her hair into a neat braid. While it had been a tremendous relief to retreat to the countess’s spacious, rose-themed chamber and discard the hideous churchyard haunting gown, now she had far more to contemplate. Namely, the marital act with a near-stranger.

Michael had seemed so earnest when proposing, but today he’d barely said ten words to her! Worse, she felt like a stale cake being frosted. Her mother was fluttering around, dabbing costly perfume to Katherine’s wrists and lightly rouging her lips, but it didn’t disguise perspiration or a too-pale complexion. And while the daring knee-length, scooped-neck cream lace nightgown might look desirable on someone else, it merely emphasized her coltish limbs and lackluster bosom.

Ugh. This would be a disaster. Like a true gothic heroine, she could feel it in her bones.

“Oh, Katherine,” said her mother, as she fastened a cream ribbon to the braid. “You look so…corpse-like. Poor Whitmore won’t rise to the occasion if you resemble a prisoner marching to the gallows.”

She grimaced. “Thank you for the encouraging words.”

Lady Queenhill sniffed. “Your sisters were the same, equally ungrateful that I worked dawn until dusk to secure them splendid matches. Although in fairness, yours is by far the most splendid. I outdid myself.”

“Didn’t Lord Whitmore approach you?”

“Details, details. But now comes the best part. The talk.”

Katherine swallowed a groan. This would no doubt be excruciating, yet she still wanted to know every detail. Someone needed to pen a book for brides that cut through all the nonsense; her wretched sisters had refused to tell her anything, the gleam in their eyes when they’d insisted she get the talk from their mother had been truly diabolical.

“Very well, Mother. Do proceed.”

Lady Queenhill preened in front of the mirror. “I believe in plain speaking. The marital act involves your husband putting his member inside your feminine channel and stirring it about until he releases his seed. The first time will hurt as he breaches your maidenhead. But the preparation is the real joy. Your husband will touch and kiss you all over. Your neck and shoulders. Your breasts. Between your legs—oh, it feels marvelous when a gentleman caresses you there. I must say, your father—”

“Mother,” said Katherine swiftly, her cheeks burning.

“Don’t be missish. These are important facts. A lady cannot conceive unless she reaches orgasm, which is a most delightful sensation. Like a little explosion internally. Some ladies moan or cry out…Queenhill said I wailed like a banshee; he gagged me with a cravat so we didn’t wake the neighbors.”

“Mother, I am begging you. Please stop.”

“Your cheeks are actually crimson,” said Lady Queenhill, tittering. “An improvement on your sisters. They all swooned, silly chits. But heed me thus: a contented husband is far more amiable to purchasing new gowns or bonnets or escorting you to balls. Also less likely to flaunt some garish ladybird.”

Katherine hesitated. “I understand Lord Whitmore has a longtime paramour.”

“Then you must remedy that. Be a countess in public and a mistress in the bedchamber. When I permitted your father such liberties, he soon discarded his ladybird. Even when I was carrying…oh, a man mounting you like a stallion on a mare is—”

Her mother halted as a knock sounded at the connecting door and Katherine nearly cheered as Lord Whitmore stepped into the room.

“Good evening,” he said formally, inclining his head. “Lady Queenhill, thank you for your assistance, but I shall take things from here.”

Her mother curtsied. “I’ll return in the morning.”

“Unnecessary.”

Both women looked at him in surprise.

“My lord?” asked Katherine, somehow quelling her joy.

“You’ll be busy, Katherine. I’ve arranged a domestic agency to send over several prospective candidates for the position of lady’s maid, among other things.”

“Oh, I can assist with that,” said Lady Queenhill. “I—”

“Lady Whitmore is quite capable,” said the earl firmly. “Good evening, madam. I’m sure my wife will send a note if she desires your company.”