Alcott Hall: Second Sons Book Three

“Madeline Diana Louise, don’t you dare tell me nothing happened tonight!” Rosalie cried. The duchess stood with her hands on her hips at the end of Madeline’s bed, glaring at her.

Returning to Alcott had been just as tempestuous as the night of her first arrival. Madeline was ushered upstairs and fretted over by a trio of maids before being plopped into a hot bath. Rosalie brought in Mrs. Davies to check over her ankle and within the hour she was propped up in bed with a stack of pillows under her ankle, more pillows fluted behind her head, and a cup of hot cocoa in her hands.

“What do you want me to tell you?” she murmured. If she was lucky, Rosalie might assume her blush was from the heat of her bath.

Rosalie swept around the end of the bed, dropping into the empty chair beside her. “I want you to tell me the truth. You proposed to Charles Bray, and then spent the entire day with him. Then you disappeared with him for two hours! Are you really going to tell me that nothing happened? Has he still given you no answer?”

“Fine,” Madeline cried. “I—we—there was a kiss—kisses—we kissed.” She buried her face in her hands, waiting for Rosalie to admonish her, but the admonishment didn’t come.

“And…how was it?”

Madeline peeked through her fingers. “It was a little strange. And wonderful,” she added with a smile.

“Yes, the first few times can feel a bit odd. But you liked it? He was kind to you?”

Madeline nodded, grateful Rosalie was using a pronoun that wouldn’t force her to clarify. Remembering her mission from Warren, she leaned forward, setting her cup of cocoa aside. “Rosalie, I had a strange feeling inside me while it happened…here.” She placed a hand low over her stomach.

Rosalie stilled. “Oh, yes?”

“Yes, and it was a feeling I’ve never felt before. At least—I mean—I’m fairly certain I’ve never felt it before, and it made me feel…odd.”

A smile flashed over Rosalie’s face. “Yes, I’m sure it did.”

“Have you ever felt something similar? With the duke? Like a warm fluttering of bird’s wings trapped low…but also empty, like a vase. I probably sound silly,” she said, shifting back against the pillows.

“You’re not silly, Madeline,” the duchess murmured. “And perhaps you shouldn’t run from that feeling. In fact, if you really think Mr. Bray is the one, you should chase that feeling.”

“Chase it?”

Rosalie smiled, reaching forward to take her hand. “It’s the feeling of attraction, dear. Of the beginnings of a love that is rooted in lust.”

Madeline fought the urge to smile. Lust. She was feeling lust for Charles and Warren. And unless she was very much mistake, Warren had implied that they felt the same for her.

“You and I grew up in very different circles Madeline,” Rosalie continued. “I know how you’ve been shielded from such realities as carnal lust. But feeling passion for the man you’ve asked to marry you is a good thing. It means there’s hope that the relationship could be more than a marriage of convenience. It could be…” She fell silent.

“It could be what?” Madeline urged.

Rosalie placed her free hand over her stomach. “Well, to start with, it can be ever so much fun,” she said with a laugh.

Madeline found herself laughing too.

“Intimacy with someone you love, someone you trust…well, it’s the best feeling in the world,” Rosalie went on. “It’s freedom and safety. It’s pleasure and comfort.”

“I’ve only ever been taught that marital intimacy is meant for procreation,” Madeline said with a shrug. “But more and more I get the feeling that perhaps that isn’t entirely accurate.”

Rosalie snorted. “Well, let me put it to you this way. I have been with child only twice in my life. And yet I have enjoyed ‘marital intimacy’ with my husband more than twice in this week alone.”

Madeline’s eyes went wide. “You can do that? You can be intimate and not get with child?”

“Well, when one is already with child, the risks are not quite the same,” she replied. “Until this one comes out, I am perfectly safe.”

“But—”

“I know what you meant,” she added. “You’re wondering if there are ways to enjoy intimacy without the risk of getting with child.”

Madeline nodded, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks.

Rosalie pursed her lips. “You know, if your mother even suspected that we were having this conversation, she’d try to have me exiled from the country.”

“Oh, Rosalie, please. For the whole of my life, I’ve been kept in the dark. The only thing I’ve been taught about marriage is that a wife’s role is to give her husband children, and that the act of marital union brings forth those children…but no one ever explains the how or the why. It’s infuriating! And now you’re telling me that you perform the act all the time and you’ve only had two children and—”

Rosalie was laughing again. “Heavens, Madeline. I wouldn’t say I perform it all the time. I do the work of a duchess too, you know. And one’s interest in performing certain acts can wane when you are as heavy with child as I am.”

“Certain acts?”

Rosalie groaned. “Heavens, I see I’ve opened something of a Pandora’s Box.”

“Please, Rosalie. Please, tell me something.”

“Alright, fine. But I am not here to be your teacher in all things carnal lusts and appetites,” she added. “I firmly believe that part of the fun of new love is discovering what you like together.”

“I’ll not ask you for anything you don’t want to tell me.”

Rosalie sighed. “Fine, ask your questions.”

Madeline sat back, her mind spinning as she played with the braided end of her hair over her shoulder. “I…do you ever touch yourself? Between your legs, I mean?”

Rosalie considered for a moment before replying. “Do you?”

Madeline shook her head. “No, of course not. Not unless…I mean I go to the privy. But I imagine it must mean something else. It must have to do with pleasure, right?”

“Oh, Madeline,” Rosalie murmured, rising to her feet. “Pandora’s Box is indeed open, and feminine pleasure has slipped the lid. I am going to leave now, dearest.” She leaned over the bed, giving Madeline’s forehead a quick brush with her lips. “I’m glad you’re back safe.”

“But—”

“Not a word,” she said, raising a finger to her lips. “Don’t speak. I don’t think I can do this if you say anything.”

“Do what—”

“Ah. Not a word.” Rosalie jerked on the ties that secured her bed curtains. With a little tug, she closed Madeline in on one side. She moved around to the end of the bed, closing those curtains too. Only one side of the bed remained open, giving Madeline a view of the crackling flames.

Rosalie stood in the open space, one hand on the bed poster. “Right, listen to me now. The source of your feminine pleasure lies between your legs. When you get aroused, your sex prepares the way for your lover. Things will start to feel like they build. You might even start to ache or burn. All the above. Those feelings sit low in your belly and spread outwards.”

Madeline stilled on the bed, eyes wide. Aching? Burning? That didn’t sound pleasurable at all.

“A good lover knows how to tease your body to make it reach a sort of pinnacle,” Rosalie went on. “The feeling will spread until it reaches your very toes. Sometimes it may feel so powerful that you feel like you’re flying and falling in one.”

“But how—”

“Ah. No speaking,” Rosalie said with a shake of her head. “I’m going to leave you now. And if you’re curious, then explore. Start with slow touches—your breasts, your stomach. And let your mind wander. Think of your stolen kisses with Bray. If you let your instincts take over, you’ll find your way all on your own. For that is our power, Madeline.”

“Our power?”

Rosalie nodded. “The Church likes to teach us that sexual pleasure can only be achieved in our husband’s arms for the sole purpose of procreation. That is a lie. No woman has ever needed a man to give her pleasure. We own our pleasure, Madeline. They are guests at our temple, and we are the goddesses. It will be your choice to decide who you let worship at your alter. Just make sure he’s worth it.”

With that, the duchess left, closing the door softly behind her.

Madeline was alone, stretched out on the comfortable bed. The only sound was the soft crackling of the fire in her hearth. The words of Rosalie and Warren rioted in her mind. She had a new puzzle to solve, and the puzzle was her. Lying back, she closed her eyes, placing both hands gently on her stomach. Slowly she brushed them up her sides, over her breasts.

“Oh,” she whispered into the quiet.

In her twenty years, she’d most certainly touched her own breasts before, in the bath or getting dressed. And she’d seen herself naked in mirrors. She’d just never thought anything of it.

But now her breasts felt different. Heavier. Was that possible? She brushed a hand over each one and shivered. Glancing down, she watched as her nipples peaked under her chemise.

I want to see.

She stuffed her hands under the covers, grabbing for the hem of her chemise. She pulled it off, tossing it next to her on the bed. Then she glanced down at the small, curved mounds of her breasts. Her skin glowed golden in the firelight, her nipples a dusky pink. Swallowing her nerves, she put her hands back on her body, letting them explore.

Give those pretty pink nipples a tweak, came Warren’s voice in her ear.

Biting her bottom lip, she took her nipples between her thumb and forefinger and pinched.

“Ah—”

She bowed off the bed, dropping her hands away as she panted. The sensation shot from the tips of her nipples straight to her core. She did it again, smiling as she chased that breathless feeling. Then her hands were moving, looking for the other places that might give her that same shock of delight. She trailed a hand down her stomach, letting it brush over her golden thatch of curls. Spreading her legs a bit, she let a finger slide back and—

“Oh—”

She smiled, nestling herself back against the pillows.

Warren was right. She was wet.