~ Two ~
SO IT WAS IN THE fall of 1782 when Godwin brought to Ravensbury a new and bright-eyed wife.
Sara, now eighteen, seemed nothing more than a child to most of the servants at Ravensbury, but she held herself erect and demanded respect with a stature she had learned from her mother. She had the confidence of knowing that she came from good and respectable English gentry, and she had married into better.
Her wedding night saw her restless, agitated, and unable to meet her new husband’s eyes.
He took her hands. “My darling…so shy? You needn’t be nervous, we can take this slowly.”
She was in a flimsy nightdress and took his hand and put it on her breast. He looked surprised, but the desire took over and he fondled her, teased her nipples, bent his head as he exposed her lovely young breast and licked the rosebuds into pertness.
“Come, Sara,” he said as he led her to the bed and took the straps of her white nightdress and dropped the gown to her waist.
She said nothing. She couldn’t tell him that what had her nervous wasn’t shyness, no, but the fact that she wasn’t a virgin. Would he know? She had to pretend she was a virgin. Would he wonder if he didn’t see blood? Could she cut herself somehow where he wouldn’t notice and leave a stain of blood for him to witness? How would she manage?
He laid her gently on her back as he rubbed her leg slowly and murmured praise. He found the tuft of dark gold hair between her thighs and expertly cupped her there. Her body responded to him. She discovered she liked his touch.
“There, love, does that feel right?” he said softly as his finger played with her sex. “You are my wife, my treasure…one day you will be the mother of my children.” He bent and kissed her long and passionately.
She threw her arms around him. He was gentle with her, and she wanted it rougher, but she had to control herself. She couldn’t be too forceful. He believed her a virgin.
He had to believe that. It was all important that he believe that.
Oh, but she liked his hands on her…could he make her forget Raoul?
Perhaps? Sara had found the more time she spent with Godwin, the more bored she became. He was good and he was steady, but she wanted wild and exciting.
“I’ll try not to hurt you, precious,” he said as his clothes vanished and he climbed onto the bed to straddle her. He positioned his manhood at her gateway. “Sweetheart, you are so open, so ready,” he said, sounding slightly surprised.
“Because I love you and have been waiting for you to make me yours,” she said as she tensed.
He entered her slowly at first, rubbing his erection against the walls of her opening before he worked his way inside of her. She could feel him hold back and knew he was being careful because he thought her untried. Oh, but this was so different than being with Raoul. Raoul had taken her roughly, boldly, and made her his in an instant that very first time.
Oh, but she preferred Raoul’s lovemaking.
She moved towards Godwin, pressed into him until he had no choice but to drive deeper into her, taking her completely, and she could see he was caught up in his passion and the ardor he exhibited. Would that be enough to distract him? She was so worried. She had to make him unaware that he was not the man who had broken her maidenhead.
“My bride, my beautiful bride,” he whispered, absolutely taken with her beauty. He seemed not to notice anything but that she received him, pumped against his movements, enjoyed him as she worked him into a frenzy. He found her so willing and that willingness excited him. All at once he was slamming into her as he climaxed.
Later, when she lay in his arms, she feigned soreness and managed to cut herself with the little scissors on her nightstand. She made only a slight incision while he slept, just enough that she could drop the blood-lets onto the sheet.
He stirred, suddenly awakened by her movements and warmly snuggled her. “Are you…uncomfortable?” he asked.
“Oh, a little sore…nothing of consequence, but I am afraid…” she lowered her lashes. “I have ruined the sheets with…my…blood.”
“Indeed, my dear, you have ruined naught,” he said, sounding satisfied. He got to his feet and returned with a wet rag. “Here, this is cold, but it might serve to soothe your soreness.”
“You are too good,” she said, and realized that she would never love him. She liked him well enough, how could anyone not like Godwin? He was a decent man, but she had not been satisfied during their lovemaking, and she knew he was not the sort who ever would satisfy her.
* * * * *
Sara was the Lady of Ravensbury Castle in every imaginable way.
She was still young, eighteen, but she had the stature and the will to command her household, and she did. While her servants did not hold her in affection, they did respect her ability to run the inner workings of their beloved lordship’s estate.
Sara had all she desired—position, clothing, jewels, the tender attention and love of a good man whom she held in mild affection. What more could she want, she asked herself. It should be enough. It wasn’t, and she knew it wasn’t.
Godwin had been tricked that first night, their wedding night. He had thought her a virgin and now she had one more situation to handle, one more trick she had to manage.
She was with child.
Everyone beamed and fussed, chatted and laughed, pleased that their lordship was ecstatic and happy there would be a little one brought into the home.
She was not due yet, for by her husband’s reckoning, if he had impregnated her their first night together, their child would come in the spring, three months hence.
Her concerns had greatly affected her appetite and she was thin, Godwin said too thin, so she didn’t show for the actual reality of her pregnancy. If only the baby would be late a few weeks…she could manage to fool them all when it was born looking like a full term infant.
She stared out the window of her bedroom and whispered, “Please let my reckoning be wrong. Let me have a few weeks, and then the baby would be seven months…yes, that would work.”
Time was not on her side and by her reckoning the baby was only a week late. Would that serve or had her luck run out?
As she saw the storm raging outside and felt those first awful pangs, she knew her baby was on its way.
The midwife fussed over her as Sara grabbed her wrist and said, “It is too soon…it isn’t right, the baby won’t be right…not due yet. Perhaps it will die.” She put on an act as best she could as she grabbed hold of the sheets and screamed in agony of mind and body.
“Whist now, m’lady, babies have no care for nature, they don’t hear the winds harshly blowing over Cornwall…baby says ‘tis time,” the midwife said gently. “Now don’t fret, you’ll do and so will the baby. I have birthed many a babe before it was due.”
His lordship had already been sent out of the room and paced with a frenzy he had never known before, but before he left his wife he asked the midwife, “It is scarcely seven months…scarcely…will our child survive?”
“There is no telling until the child is born. Out with you now,” the midwife took command.
Hours went by and finally he could stand it no more. He burst into the room and demanded, “My wife…how is she?”
“Fine, fine, her water broke and as this is her first, it will be a hard birth…and there is naught we can do but keep her comfortable ‘til the little one decides to join us. Now whist with you, m’lord.”
When he had left, the midwife said quietly, “From your size, m’lady…I think this babe is as close to full term as ever I have seen.”
“Yes, yes, it is obvious his lordship had me before our marriage then,” Sara improvised.
“Aye, but,” the midwife shrugged as though she had her doubts. “Well then…we’ll manage if keeping this quiet is what you be wishful of.”
Six more hours passed and a healthy son finally made his debut. He was a large, albeit wrinkled, boy child. The midwife roundly spanked him on his rump and he wailed with his objection. Godwin and all the household turned to one another with joy as they watched their lordship race up the stairs.
Commotion at Ravensbury turned into the sounds of a festival. The male child had given them what they needed, another Ravensbury to carry on.
* * * * *
Godwin’s son was brought to him and as he held the boy in his arms, all his dreams were shattered. Godwin was not only a good man, but a knowing one.
“But…he is so large…larger than most newborns at seven months. How can he be seven months?” he said out loud.
Dawning took hold. He was too worldly not to realize.
He had been used as a fool. He had believed himself Sara’s only love. He had believed no other had her…she was so young, how could anyone else have bedded her already?
He had waited all these months for his child, and this child was not his!
A lie…it had all been a lie!
He went to his wife’s room and looked at the midwife. “Leave us,” he said.
He waited for her to close the door at her back and turned to Sara, unable to go near her, he clasped his hands at his back and asked, his voice scarcely audible, “Whose babe did you birth today, Sara?”
“Godwin, he is gone…you are here. ‘Tis yours. You felt its first kick, you cared, you care still. He is your son.”
Her words ripped him apart. His eyes met hers and he knew in that moment she had never loved him. How had this happened? What had he done wrong? Why was he being punished so wickedly?
“Whose son is he?” he asked still, and felt his teeth grind.
“What does it matter?”
“Because he should know he has a son!” Godwin growled.
She lowered her eyes. “He was a gypsy and I was so young. I fancied myself in love with him…but he didn’t love me and he left. I was a fool,” she answered.
“As you have made me.” He shook his head. “This is probably the first truth you have ever spoken to me.” He paced a moment and when he returned to look at her, the words were wrenched from him. “I was there, wasn’t I? Ready to play your game…ready to believe every word you uttered.” He had not yet even raised his voice, but it cracked, as did his heart, as did his spirit.
“Try to understand. I needed you…a name for my child. I could not bear to wear the scarlet cloak before all society. You drove all thoughts of him away. You have been my husband, strong and wonderful, and I was pleased to be your wife.”
“But you do not love me. How could you love me and not have confided in me? You didn’t trust me to understand…and I can no longer trust you,” he said, turning on her as the words burst out of him.
“Godwin, no one need ever know,” she said. “Your pride need not come into play.”
“You are beneath contempt! Is that what you are thinking…that I am worried about…my pride?” It hadn’t even occurred to him what his circle would think.
“But, Godwin, we can manage this whole thing…let them know we made love before our wedding night…a forgivable offense, you see,” Sara hurried to explain.
He eyed her, absolutely stunned, and said, “Did I ever know you? What did I see? How could I have been so blind to who you really are? Did you laugh inside yourself and think how clever you had been? Did you laugh as I declared my love for you? Did you laugh when I was so hesitant, so gentle on our wedding night? Did you?”
“No. I was worried that you would discover I wasn’t a virgin…there, there is your truth you treasure so much. Does that make it better?” she snapped. “Oh…leave me be…I am weary and hurting.”
His pain had festered into anger and he slammed his fist into his other hand as he shouted, “You have hurt me, Sara, but you shall never do so again!”
“Godwin…please, understand…I was young, seduced…and then desperate,” she pleaded.
He had turned to leave her, but this stopped him in his tracks. “And what act is this? Sara, you knew me, or I thought you did. Don’t you know that had you come to me and told of your predicament I would have loved you still and protected you? I would have loved your baby as though it was my own.”
“You can still do that,” she cried.
“No, I cannot,” he whispered as he left her room and made his way to his library and locked himself within. He took down a bottle of his finest brandy and poured himself a stiff drink, swallowing it in one shot. He then poured himself another and another.
He was in his cups—his brain was fuzzed with drink, but not so much that he did not hear when Sara screamed.
He was followed by the midwife, who had been in the kitchen having some tea while her ladyship slept.
They found Sara on the floor in a pool of her own blood. It had soaked through her gown, down over her thighs.
Sara tried to raise her head as Godwin came hurrying over and he cried as she slipped into unconsciousness, “Sara, oh, my god, what have I done?”
It was not until the next day that the doctor could be found and brought to Ravensbury. He was able to stop the hemorrhaging, but there was infection.
The doctor kept Sara alive over those next few days, but at the end of the week when he pronounced her no longer in danger, he took Godwin aside and said, “I am sorry, my lord, but she’ll bear you no more children.”
Godwin stared at him. No children? Her sin against him, he had nearly forgiven, or was dealing with it, but this?
The doctor tried to assuage his lordship’s apparent grief. “Look here, my lord, you have a fine strapping child in the nursery. Count yourself fortunate.”
Godwin closed his eyes and said nothing.
A fine lusty bairn to carry his name, but it was a lie…all a lie.
His house would never be filled with Ravensbury children.
The child was an innocent and so he went into the nursery and stared at another man’s son. He stroked the babe’s cheek and felt a wave of pleasure. That surprised him.
He picked up the babe and cradled him in his large arms. “Aye then,” Godwin said. “You are a fine lad.” He named him Roderick of Ravensbury that day, and the one woman who could have told the countryside a tale, the midwife, had been sent up north to family.
Roderick was accepted as a true Ravensbury and Godwin, because of who he was, found he loved the boy.