Chapter Text
Mary Bennett knew what was to happen on her wedding night. Or, more accurately, she sort of knew what was to happen on her wedding night. There were many books hidden under her bed, both in childhood and currently, that briefly mentioned the logisitics of the activities that would occur, but only in the briefest, most clinical sense.
To be completely frank, she was unsure what the appeal was. Besides, it is not as if she thought she would ever be allowed the opportunity to experience said activities. The only additional information she had been provided came from her sisters, and they all had different ideas of whether or not wifely duties were... pleasurable. And even Lizzie, who had expressed how wonderful her wedding night had been, never went into great detail about what had made it so wonderful.
Now, only a day before her wedding, Mary was more confused than she had ever been. For the first time, she had the realization she would be acting out the intimate details mentioned in her books, not just reading about them.
Thomas Hayward was the loveliest man she had ever known, and imagining him treating her the way Lydia's husband did on their wedding night... well, she just could not imagine it. Tom was much too gentle, much too wholesome to throw her around. And honestly, what did Lydia mean by that? None of Mary's books mentioned getting thrown around on one's wedding night.
She thought about asking her aunt. Mrs. Gardiner seemed very happy with Mr. Gardiner, and there was evidence that they had been intimate at least three times, given that they had three children. If it really was to be so horrible for the woman, would a woman as reasonable and headstrong as her aunt have agreed to do it three times? But no, she could not ask her aunt. The very thought of it made her face hot.
So, in all honesty, Mary had no idea what was to happen on her wedding night... and she hated not knowing things.
-
As Mary Hayward waltzed through her aunt and uncle's home hand-in-hand with her new husband, she believed this was the happiest she had ever been. She also thought, perhaps, this would end up being the happiest she would ever be. Tom had not stopped smiling at her since their wedding ceremony. In all honesty, it had probably started since the day they were engaged, but it was hard not to notice such radiance on the handsome man's face as she walked to meet him down the aisle earlier that day. And still, as Mary's family was spinning around them with ribbons, she was greeted by her husband's radiant smile.
It was not until later, as Tom was packing up the carriage that would take them to their honeymoon in the lakes, where her nerves set in again regarding what exactly was to happen that same night. Tom had looked so handsome in his wedding suit, a three-piece ensemble with a lovely spring green waist coat. To anyone else, the green may have seemed garish, but her husband knew her favorite color to be spring green, and he only wished to please her during their wedding. Why would he give any thought to the opinions of others?
Something Mary had noticed since first meeting Tom all those months ago was a strange warm feeling she experienced when he was around. She first noticed it the day that he caught her trying to play graces alone, and he began rolling up his shirt sleeves. There was a kind of... tingling sensation that travelled down her spine, eventually causing a warmth in her stomach. It was almost too much, and she had tried to avert her eyes, but something about Tom's arms seemed irresistible to Mary. In the books she had read about sex, there was never any mention of a man's arms, nor the effects they could potentially have on a lady. The conclusion being that the outlying factor here was Mary.
"Are you ready, my love?" Tom's voice cut through Mary's thoughts, and she had to shake her head to snap out of it.
"Yes, of course." She mumbled back, turning towards the carriage and stepping into the open door. Tom followed closely behind, and soon they were sitting across from each other in silence as the carriage rocked back and forth.
Mary brought a book to read during their journey, one gifted from Lizzie that seemed to be a collection of various poems written by various poets, and a few pages in she began to wonder why one earth she had decided to bring a book of poetry to try and distract her from her impending wedding night. Since her engagement to Tom, they had spent a significant amount of time reading poetry. Or more accurately, Tom spent a great deal of time reading poetry, while Mary spent a great deal of time listening to Tom read poetry. So often, in fact, that she was able to occasionally read it alone as long as she could imagine it was him reading it to her instead.
All that is to be said, currently, Mary was having trouble understanding anything on the page in front of her. Of course she knew the words, she was literate after all, but understanding them seemed too difficult a task in her current state. As she sat there, wrinkle nosed, reading the words over and over again, she barely registered Tom say a soft, "Mary?"
"Hm?" She asked, still looking at the traitorous words in front of her.
"Are you alright?" He asked, finally causing her to look over the book and into his eyes. He was wearing a fond face, one that made it clear he had been watching her for quite some time.
"This poem seems to be getting the best of me." She responded.
Tom smiled, "Would you like me to read it to you?"
Mary sighed, pushing her spectacles up the bridge of her nose, "Please." She huffed, "I am not sure what Lizzie was thinking in lending me this book. I cannot imagine what she saw in it that reminded her of me."
Tom reached for the book and Mary handed it to him eagerly, closing her eyes as soon as the book had left her fingers.
"Hm," Tom hummed, "I have never read this one. I am interested to see what made her think of you as well."
The particular poem she was finding herself stuck on was one by the name of The Enjoyment by Thomas Otway. Clearing his throat, Tom began reading to her.
Clasped in the arms of her I love
In vain, alas! For life I strove:
My fluttering spirits, wrapped in fire
By Love's mysterious art,
Borne on the wings of fierce desire,
Flew from my flaming heart
Tom's voice was deep and soothing, often lulling Mary to a calm respite, finally soothing her endless thoughts and worries. There was nothing else inside of her now, only the soft lilt of his voice as they both worked to decipher the meaning behind his words.
Thus lying in trance for dead,
Her swelling breasts bore upon my head;
When waking from a pleasant dream,
I saw her killing eyes,
Which did in fiery glances seem
To say, now, Celia dies
The first time Mary read through this particular section, she felt as though she should feel a sadness in Celia's death, but hearing Tom read it aloud it seemed to take on a different meaning entirely. In fact, for some odd reason, Mary started to feel a familiar warmth building inside of her. At the same time, she started to notice a slight shakiness to Tom's voice as he continued to read.
Fainting, she pressed me into her arms.
And trembling lay, dissolved in charms;
When with a shivering voice she cried,
Must I alone, then die?
No, no, I languishing replied,
I'll bear thee company
Mary was breathing heavy now, unsure what exactly had come over her. Her heart was beating too fast, her whole body starting to get warm. Was she... embarrassed? She opened her eyes to look over at her husband and, to her surprise, Tom's cheeks and the tips of his ears seemed to be a shade of red most similar to crimson. She had yet to finish the poem, but she was suddenly very interested to hear how it was to end.
Melting our souls thus into one,
Swift joys our wishes did out-run;
Then launched in rolling seas of bliss,
We bid the world adieu;
Swearing by every charming kiss,
To be forever true.
Tom closed the book, clearing his throat and pulling at the collar of his shirt. They sat in silence for a moment, Tom looking at the cover of the aforementioned closed book, and Mary looking at Tom while she tried to conceal her heavy breath and beating heart.
She finally understood the poem. Not only that, she wondered if she was finally beginning to understand what was to happen on one's wedding night. And, she hoped, what was to happen on her wedding night.
"Mary I..." Tom started, finally looking at her. Upon reaching her gaze, his shifted to something she had not seen from him before, his eyes briefly looking at her lips before shaking his head and returning to her eyes. "I apologize if that poem made you in any way uncomfortable. I did not realize it would be about..." He trailed off.
"About..." Mary tried, but Tom shook his head again.
"I am not sure I can say Mary."
From that point forward, they did not say much to each other on the rest of their ride. Tom went back to whatever book he had been reading prior to the one he read her, but Mary chose to sit and stare out the window instead.
Desire. That seemed to be the one word that was missing from all of the other books she had read on the subject of sex. She always wondered why a woman would actively choose to engage, or even enjoy, her wifely duties. But now, she understood that all of those feelings, all of that warmth within her whenever Tom was around... it was all desire. She wanted him, and she wanted to please him. Even more excitingly, based on the poem by Mr. Otway, perhaps Tom wanted to please her as well.
Then again, the poem had seemed to make Tom incredibly uncomfortable, so perhaps he would want to stick to the basics. Focus instead on the child rearing part rather than the pleasure part. That really did not sound like him though. Tom was a man of feeling, always so passionate in whatever his attention was on. Whether it was his work as a barrister or his poems, his emotion was always so palpable. So pleasant. Why should that same passion not be afforded when his attention was on Mary? Was she not beautiful enough? Perhaps too plain to be desirable?
Worrying her thumbs, Mary tried not to think of all the ways he may not want her. Instead, she tried once again to distract herself by taking in the scenery that surrounded their carriage.
-
Even though the ride seemed endless, arriving at their destination only offered a new set of worries for Mary. She had been ruminating practically the entire ride, and it was difficult not to notice how little her husband has said to her over the hours. After Tom unloaded the carriage and placed their belongings in the room, he went out to retrieve their supper.
There was a small balcony attached to their room, so Mary decided to watch the sunset, trying to catch the last bit of sunlight before night fell. Did Tom really find her to be so distasteful? That even a small mention of intimacy between a man and woman would cause him to ignore her their entire carriage ride?
Well, perhaps it could have been said that she was ignoring him as well, but Mary had asked him to continue his thoughts on the poem and he decided not to engage in that particular conversation. It still did not seem like Tom to shy away from anything passionate, though. If this had happened before they were married, of course he would air on the side of discretion, but they were husband and wife now! Were they not supposed to discuss these topics? What of the women who had no access to books about intimacy, or those without older sisters? Was it a complete surprise to them on their wedding nights?
Oh... Mary thought, slightly leaning against the balcony railing. Perhaps he thinks I do not know.
It was well mentioned in all of her studying that men were generally much more knowledgeable in sex than women, oftentimes afforded a level of promiscuity and "sampling" that women would be ostracized for. A horrible, wretched thought crept into Mary's mind at that moment. What if he has been intimate with someone else? It would of course be Mary's first time. Tom was her first kiss for heaven's sake!
When she had briefly thought about marrying Mr. Ryder, she was certain that he had been intimate with women before. Probably many. And that she could accept, because she did not love him and it would have been more a marriage of convenience. But Tom... she adored him. The idea that they would not be experiencing this first together made her hands clammy.
Behind her, right as the final flash of light disappeared beneath the horizon, she heard a knock and the door slowly opened.
"Mary?" Tom asked.
She walked back inside, closing the balcony door and trying her best to give her husband a bright smile. "Welcome back, my love." She gave him a soft kiss on the cheek and took one of the sacks he was holding. "What did you bring for us?"
-
Dinner was a bit awkward. For the second time, they fell into a kind of uncomfortable silence. There was obviously something hanging over the both of them, and as much as she was in a fog, it was not only Mary's mind that seemed to be bothered. She wished that Tom would speak to her. Wished that he would kiss her.
-
Mary sunk down into the warm, steamy water with a long sigh. Even though she had her own bath at the Gardiner's, she never took for granted the fact that she no longer had to be the last one to bathe. Most of her bathing rituals consisted of an almost ice cold soak while all of her sisters raced down the stairs without her.
Now, she was surrounded by the lovely scent of lavender as her long hair trailed over her shoulders into the milky water. This may have been the only chance to relax she had been afforded all day. While her wedding ceremony was the happiest moment of her life, she would not necessarily describe it as relaxing.
While she did not wish to leave Tom waiting for too terribly long, she was still incredibly nervous regarding what exactly they were supposed to do this evening... that is, if Tom even wanted to. Perhaps she also needed to ask herself the question: Do I want to?
And the answer, she realized, was yes.
Of course she wanted to. Thomas Hayward was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on; how could she not want to share her whole self with him?
Resolved, Mary got out of the bath and dried herself off. She thought about what she had brought to wear... only her most comfortable nightgown. It was not the most sightly sleepwear, but it would have to do.
Opening her night bag, she was surprised to discover an entirely different garment packed, the unsightly cream gown nowhere to be seen. There was a ribbon tied around the garment with a small note reading Mary ~ Congratulations on finding a bonnet that suits you so well. Now... go try it on. She recognized the writing as her aunts, blushing a bit at the implication. Unfolding the garment, she was greeted with a much finer (and much shorter) nightgown than any other she had ever owned. It was a light, dusty pink with a slightly ruffled collar and sleeves. Slipping it on, she relished in how soft the fabric was, a flowy satin material that felt as if she were wearing a cloud. The collar dipped quite low between her breasts, a small bow resting in the center. The hem of the gown was extraordinarily short, and if Mary had been in any other situation she might have felt scandalized. Instead, looking at herself in the long mirror, she felt beautiful.
Before she lost her spark, Mary opened the bathroom door and stepped into the bedroom. Tom was sitting in a rocking chair with his spectacles on, reading what seemed to be some sort of pamphlet.
"Did you know there are a few other mountai-" Tom started, his voice cutting off the second that he looked up and made eye contact with Mary. Eye contact may not have been the word exactly, his gaze seemed to be fixed all over her body. She felt almost as though he was drinking her in with his eyes, consuming every inch of her, head to toe, with those lovely eyes.
Mary just stood still, not entirely thinking through what she was supposed to do after having left the washroom. After a moment, Tom set the pamphlet aside and stood, walking slowly towards her.
"Mary..." he said, almost dreamily, "what are you wearing?"
She shrugged, feeling her cheeks go pink, "A nightgown."
He chuckled, taking a bit of the fabric at the hem of her dress and running his fingers over it. "I am quite certain I have never seen a nightgown like this before."
"Well I had hoped so. I had actually hoped you had not seen any ladies nightgown prior to this moment, but that will have to be enough."
She had not meant to say it, and she certainly had not meant for it to come out so harsh. She just also had not wanted it to be confirmed that he had, indeed, seen other women in nightgowns prior to this night. And the thought made her heart ache.
Rather than recoiling from her statement, Tom moved closer to her then, standing almost chest to chest and forcing Mary to crane her neck to look into his eyes. "You misunderstand Mrs. Hayward," the name made a pleasant shiver run over her, "I have only see women's nightgowns in shop windows. And none of those looked as... alluring as the one on the woman standing in front of me."
Mary felt the blush move from her cheeks all the way down her chest. She felt as Tom leaned in, ghosting his lips over her ear, her jaw, and down her neck. She shivered again, her eyes fluttering shut. "Certainly that is not true, Mr. Hayward."
For some reason, she was having a difficult time imagining that Tom had not been intimate with anyone before her. But the idea excited her.
He hummed, and she felt the vibration against her skin, "And why is that?" He asked, mumbling.
"Because," she let out a soft gasp as Tom gently nipped at her neck, "you are a man. And men are more... experienced than women."
Tom paused, pulling away from her. She frowned, almost letting out a juvenile whine at the loss of contact.
"Mary," he said seriously, "are you implying that I have been... intimate with other women?"
"Yes..." Mary bit her lip, "have you not?"
The expression on Tom's face morphed into one of shock, perhaps with a bit of hurt behind the eyes. "I have not been intimate with other women." He said sternly, almost as if he was scolding Mary.
"Not even Ms. Baxt-"
"Stop." Tom said, squeezing his eyes shut. "I do not want you to finish that sentence."
"I am sorry Tom, I did not mean to upset you." Mary said, honestly. "It is just that, based on my study, it is quite common for men to explore prior to marriage, while many women do not even know what is to happen on one's wedding night. I suppose I thought... well I thought that since you grew alongside Mr. Ryder that you must have enjoyed some of the proclivities he was most likely afforded during his youth."
There was now a pained expression on Tom's face. "Proclivities?" He asked, "Is that truly the word you would like to use in order to describe Mr. Ryder's reckless time as a rake?"
A rake. Mary almost giggled. She had never heard Tom use such language, and there was a certain amount of pleasure she derived from seeing him get riled at even the mention of Mr. Ryder.
"I believe you are getting stuck on the wrong part of that sentence." Mary responded. "Am I to understand I will be the first woman you have ever..." she trailed off. She hated not being able to say "have ever had sex with," but it felt too clinical. She wanted it to be closer to poetry than biology books.
"Yes Mary," he practically whispered, "As long as that is what you want."
"Well whether or not it is something I want is irrelevant. It is my duty, is it not?" Once again, she found herself speaking out of turn. She wished she had not said that.
Tom shook his head, taking Mary's hands in his own and stepping towards her again, "Please do not say that. Your wants and desires matter to me... I do not want you to be intimate with me because it is your supposed duty. I want you to want it. And if you do not, I will not press the subject further."
"Do you not want it?" She asked.
"Oh Mary..." Tom sighed, "can I speak freely with you?"
"Of course," she answered, wishing more people would just say what they felt rather than making her guess.
"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon, and it has been incredibly difficult for me to think of anything other than my desire to touch you. To feel you. I felt that I was doing a pretty fantastic job ignoring my desires until you had me read that poem aloud to you in the carriage. Seeing your face... your flushed cheeks and plump lips. Well, to be frank, I wished to take you right there in that carriage."