Perfectly Plain

The maid had drawn the heavy brocade curtains for the night, but as soon as the door had clicked shut, announcing my aloneness, I had rushed to part them again. I had not been confident enough to go against her established duties and to ask her to leave them open. I had not thought to have such sway, one day. This was to be my first night in my new home as 'Mistress' of the domain. Ha! Mistress is too plain a word for Countess, but plain like me, it provides a certain comfort.

How could my parents have suspected that their last child would make a mockery of her given name? Their other children, my brothers and sisters are all pleasant on the eye and charming with it. I, Miranda, whose name means 'worthy of admiration' has never attracted any. My loving parents have been kind in that they have never shown their disappointment in me. My father truly loves me. My siblings have simply shown no interest at all which is better, I suppose, than disdain.

So, here I am now at the advanced age of twenty-three, on my wedding night. I am my husband's second wife, so perhaps he wasn't much concerned with looks this time because I believe that his first wife had been a beauty. If I have opened the curtains, it is because I don't wish for my husband to pretend that I am someone else. For whatever his reasons, he has married me and I want him to see me. Is that too much to ask of a husband? That he knows the woman whom he is about to know carnally?

Tonight, as I began my toilet, I looked at myself yet again in the mirror. Light brown hair with my blue eyes are my only redeeming features. Nothing about my features is alarming; they are just lacking in that grace which we have been brought up to seek. My mouth is too large by today's standards. But, it does no good to study again that which I have known for so many years. I have left my hair loose as it has seemed to me that Witlock, my husband, has appreciated it. My gown for the night is simple. Are my reasons not obvious? I do not want competition for my husband's attention. I now await his presence, in the semi-dark. I do not fear him.

George Mellow, Earl of Witlock, is a good-looking man in his thirties. Unlike all those men in my family who are dark, he is blond. It is the first time I have ever associated 'blond' with strong. He is strong in stature and in the place he holds in society. He also emanates a virility which does frighten me while exciting me at the same time. I have had my secret, girlhood crushes but this no longer falls anywhere near that category. I am afraid that I love my husband already, so will accept what little he is prepared to give me.

In spite of the late hour, I have done him the courtesy of waiting in an armchair near to the door, which separates our rooms. I have dozed without meaning to, and it is his light that has stirred me, not the door. Candlelight will flatter any woman, and I am grateful for his. His soft words, as he has taken my hand, have awakened me fully.

"Miranda, my dear. I am sorry to have kept you from your bed. Come, you will be more comfortable there. We will leave this matter until tomorrow." Spoken without guile but with true concern.

I could not help but laugh. His 'delicatesse' in using the word 'matter' for the word 'consummation' touched that ability I have to see the humour in anything.

"My Lord, forgive me, but your choice of words have more than awakened me, and although the day was long, all need for sleep has left me."

It was his turn to laugh as it came to him that I might not be that shrinking bride that he had expected. I had not seized the first opportunity to delay that intimate contact.

I gasped as he threw his candle into the fireplace and pulled me into his arms. Hardly had I the time to draw in breath than his mouth was on mine. I really believed I would faint from the pleasure. It is a kiss I will never forget. My first on the mouth and very far from chaste. It was because my legs trembled that he took me in his arms in one swift movement, and carried me, not to my bed, but his own! What was I to think? I couldn't help but say,

"My bed is that way, My Lord."

He laughed again before placing another kiss on my mouth. A strange noise came up from my chest that I had no control over as I savoured his kiss and all that it meant.

"I know where your bed is, my dear. You see, I also know that my bed is very comfortable, whereas I have no wish to test yours this night."

Whereupon, he lay me on his bed and began to undress me. He too had left his curtains open wide, and it was with a sigh that I saw his admiring glance as he passed a hand over my breast.

His bed was indeed comfortable. It had needed to be as we rarely left it in the days to come. This man, my husband, Witlock, showed me in so many ways that he loved me. Between our bouts of love-making, we laughed. He laughed with me and hugged me when he was beyond all else. I do believe he did not see me plain.

And then the moment came when I was confident enough not to doubt in his affection for me, and I was able to ask, 'Why me?'

He smiled a soft smile as he held me and replied.

"I was foolish when I was young. Yes, you might well grin at that. I put importance on appearances and my first wife was all that I thought that I wanted at that time. I soon discovered my error when she showed she was only interested in fashion and whom she could impress with her beauty. Even married, she flirted outrageously with any man, and I can now say quite easily that she was an unfaithful sot. She died in tragic circumstances, and I am ashamed to admit that I was relieved.

The lesson that I learned was to listen without looking. It has taken me six years to find you. I'm afraid that I did peak at you, and your mouth has fascinated me from the first. Your 'oh so generous' mouth was what won me. Not the mouth alone but the words you have spoken and the thought behind them. You are a bright young woman who has made me happy with your astuteness, kindness and loving. But that doesn't explain how we came upon one another.

It is perhaps I who should be asking 'why me?' I didn't deserve a second chance and certainly not to have won you.

I suspect that now we might ask together, 'why us?' but we shall never know.

Miranda, my love."

Sealed with a kiss.