New Elite Chapter 13
You wake to a beam of sunlight on your face and your husband’s arms still wrapped firmly around you. It’s beyond comfortable, and you’d like nothing more than to go back to sleep, except for the fact that you’re suddenly very, very aware of the fact that neither of you are wearing anything.
The realization makes you want to shy away from him and wrap yourself in a cocoon of blankets. It’s ridiculous, you know that. After everything that happened the previous night, there are no more secrets left to hide as far as your bodies are concerned. But after sex being taboo for you for your whole life up to this point, there was still a level of shame that was intermingling with all your feelings about last night. You weren’t going to let him know about that, however. You didn’t want to make him upset, and you certainly didn’t want him to think you had any regrets about what you’d done.
You look back over at your husband, and he still seems to be sound asleep. You’d be fine to let him stay like that, but you had no idea how to summon Nellie to you, and you were also starting to get hungry. Waking him up seemed like the only solution to both your problems.
But even something as simple as that, you were unsure of how to do it. Nellie usually woke you by gently shaking your shoulder, but for some unfathomable reason, you felt far too shy to initiate touch. Besides, what if he became angry with you for waking him early? The last thing you wanted to do was risk his wrath.
Your other option was to find the robe he’d taken off you the night before and attempt to find your room… and pray to all that’s holy that you didn’t run into anyone on the way. If it was scandalous for a man to see you with something as simple as having your hair down before marriage, it was a thousand times worse for anyone but him to see you in this state now. No matter what autonomy you had, the fact remained that you were meant for his eyes only now.
Before you can make a decision, he stirs, yawns, and sits up, stretching his arms out over his head and letting the sheet fall from his bare chest. You don’t want to stare, but you can’t help it. He’s captivating, and the more time you spend with him, the more beautiful he seems to you.
After blinking a few times, he finally looks down at you. “How long have you been awake?” he asks through a second yawn.
“Only a few minutes,” you murmur. “I didn’t know what you wanted me to do… leave or wake you up.”
“You can try to wake me up, but it’s not likely I’ll respond,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m a very heavy sleeper, especially after sex. But I don’t want you to ever think you should leave.”
His words were probably meant to be sweet, but they’re highly bitter to you. While not an outright confession, he had practically confirmed your suspicions that he had experience in sex before last night. It shouldn’t bother you, you weren’t in love, but it did, likely because your own father had died from consorting with prostitutes. You didn’t want the same fate to befall your husband.
Some of your displeasure must have shown on your face, because he suddenly frowns at you. “Hey, are you alright?” he asks in concern. “You don’t… you’re not regretting last night, are you?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that,” you assure. You’re not lying about that, but neither do you want to tell the entire truth about your ire. You quickly decide on a half-truth as a compromise. “This is just a strange place for me, not familiar enough to call it home just yet. And while I’ve received education on how a socialite is supposed to transition into a wife and homemaker, I have a suspicion that you aren’t expecting me to be a traditional wife, are you?”
“You’d be correct about that assumption,” he confirms. “But I think I’d like to address your other concern first. I want you to feel comfortable here. This is not just my home, it is our home now. So, shall I call Nellie to help you prepare for breakfast and give you the tour afterwards?”
You nod your assent, so he tugs a bell pull that rings along the length of the headboard of the bed. Within seconds, there’s a gentle knock on the door.
“Just a minute!” he calls. He gets out of the bed (you hastily avert your eyes), and he finds your robe from last night and tosses it to you. You dress awkwardly, trying to preserve your modesty, as he pulls out a robe of his own from a handsome chest of drawers. “Alright,” he calls again. You can’t help but notice he’s quite informal with his staff. You like that about him.
The door opens as Nellie and the man you saw last night slip into the room. “Nellie, would you take Mrs. Onceler to her room and prepare her for breakfast, please?”
Nellie inclines her head slightly before turning to you. “Come,” she urges. You follow her out of the room, and only two doors down does she usher you into your own quarters. The moment the door closes behind her, she turns to you, a mischievous smile on her normally calm features.
“So? Tell me everything!” she exclaims as you sit down at the vanity that you couldn’t quite see as yours yet. You rub your eyes before answering her. Despite sleeping quite heavily, you still feel awfully tired, making you question how late you were up last night.
“I mean… I don’t know how much there is to tell,” you evade. Talking about it out loud, even to Nellie, brought a burning red blush to your face. “It wasn’t a horror story. It was… good, I guess.” You can’t even look her in the eye. You couldn’t admit the heights he’d taken you to, and even if you could talk about it, no words could accurately describe the sheer euphoria of it all.
Nellie groans in mock despair. “I know that’s all I’ll be getting from you now, but don’t think I’m going to give up. One day soon, I shall get you to tell me about it,” she declares. “But on a more comfortable subject, I drew a bath for you. Would you like that before breakfast?”
You don’t want to keep him waiting, but your selfish desire to skin in warm water wins out. He can eat without you if he wants.
You spend a longer time than is probably reasonable in the tub. You didn’t realize it until you’d gotten in, but you were a bit sore, and the warmth was a perfect balm to your aching muscles. You only ask Nellie to start washing you once the heat of the water begins to die. The soap she uses smells like roses, and you’re certain he bought it specifically for you.
The water takes the curls out of your hair, leaving you with a soft wave instead. You decline Nellie’s offers to both put it up or re-curl it. “He doesn’t care how I wear my hair in the house. It’ll be lovely to keep it down and natural for once,” you explain. Nellie makes a face that you can’t quite read at your statement, but you don’t press her about it.
She instead simply helps you get changes, putting you in a soft green dress, which surprises you a bit. Green wasn’t exactly popular for the daytime–yellow and cream were far more common–but you thought seafoam green was more complimentary for your complexion. You hadn’t been allowed to wear the color for years. It was these little things that were truly showing how different life with Mr. Onceler was going to be rather than life under your mother’s strict eye.
Once you’re dressed, you can find no more reason to stall. Giving yourself a final look-over in the mirror, you deem yourself acceptable and allow Nellie to lead you to the dining room.
Now that the lights are on and sunlight streams through the windows, the whole place seems much friendlier and much less foreboding. While the layout was definitely different from your mother’s and even Mrs. Ryan’s, you felt it would be known to you quickly. You agreed with your husband that thinking of this place as ‘home’ would help your unsteady emotions.
Speaking of your husband, he’s already at the table, but stands abruptly when you enter. “I hope you find everything to your liking,” he says, and you’re shocked to hear a note of anxiety in his tone. “I was told you like raspberries, so I have them here. And no mushrooms at all. I understand they make you ill, so I had them removed from all my dishes…” he trails off, looking at you nervously.
You glance down at the table. You didn’t know how anyone could be unhappy with what was in front of you. Eggs, toast, rolls, and fruit, including the raspberries he mentioned. “This is perfect,” you tell him honestly as you take a seat. “If this is the standard of meals I am to expect, I fear I shall quickly gain fifty pounds and will be unable to fit into the wardrobe you purchased for me,” you say as you spoon raspberries into a small glass bowl in front of you.
He steeples his fingers and watches you intently for a few minutes. “I want you to be happy here,” he reiterates slowly. “I know that I’ve caused you pain, and that you still chose me is… well, let’s just say I did not expect it. So if there’s anything I can get for you, please don’t hesitate to let me know. If it’s in my power, I’ll obtain anything you desire.”
You twist your face as you slowly chew a bit of a roll. What you wanted was an insight into his true intentions, and that was the one thing you weren’t sure he’d give you. At times, like last night, you could almost swear he’d developed feelings for you. He was so tender towards you, cared for you in ways you’d never experienced, from your physical well-being to how mindful he was during sex. And now that you were married, you felt some honesty was due to you. Throwing caution to the wind, you decide to take the plunge.
Of course, you’d still have to be subtle. You didn’t want him to catch on to the fact that your feelings towards him had moved from indifference to… well… you weren’t quite sure what you felt for him. Thus, you choose your words very carefully, keeping your expression as neutral as possible.
“I know why you married me,” you start, causing him to quirk an eyebrow, and you could tell he was giving you his full attention. “I know that you wanted my name–I won’t pretend to know how you’ll use that as an advantage now–and that you’re expecting children from me. But other than that, I’m not sure what you want from me. All I would like from you, at least for now, is clarification, so that we might live as harmoniously as possible together.”
His face is odd. Often, he looked at you like he looked at most things, as though you were a sideshow that was mildly interesting to him, or as if he were amused by you. Not so now. Not only did you have his attention, but he was frowning slightly, his brow furrowed. You’d never seen that expression from him before. Were it anyone else, you’d have guessed they were working to solve a particularly difficult problem. With him, you could never be sure.
He takes a considerable amount of time to answer you. “I would like companionship, first and foremost,” he finally confesses. “I have been alone for much of my life, and while I’m comfortable with my solitude, I did not realize how much I could enjoy the company of others, provided they are intelligent enough to catch my notice. It is… nice.”
Now it’s your turn to raise an eyebrow. “Forgive me, but it doesn’t seem to me that one would need a marriage for something as simple as companionship,” you point out. “Surely something as banal as friendship could accomplish just as much? And none of that would have caused as much trouble as it did to obtain me. I still feel as though there is an element I am ignorant of.”
As you were speaking, his face grew increasingly darker, until he was veritably scowling. “Of course there are things about me that are missing,” he growls. “Just because we are married does not mean you are entitled to every one of my secrets. I’ve given you my reasons. I need an heir and for the most part, I enjoy your company. Is that not enough for you?”
You’re taken aback by his sudden shift in tone. “I am sorry if I’ve offended you,” you start in an attempt to placate him. “But I am simply trying to get to know you. You are my husband. I do not wish to spend the rest of my life married to a stranger.” You almost add something about him being insufferable again, but you didn’t think that would help his temper much.
He runs his hand through his hair, and despite everything, you can’t help but notice how much you like it when he musses his thick, ebony tresses. “I am not trying to antagonize you,” he grumbles. “I meant what I said when I said I want you to be happy. But I also warned you that I am a difficult man to tolerate. For the past year, I have been hounded by people who feel they deserve every detail of my life, every emotion I’ve ever felt, simply because they want to know. I am guarded about these things. Why should I divulge them to anyone? They are mine and mine alone.”
You sigh deeply at the end of his tirade. Whether he had meant them or not, he’d revealed a deeper truth about himself. He’d had no one in his life. He’d admitted he enjoyed the presence of another, but even you were marred by others who had come into his life before you. No one had ever cared for him as a person, they only wanted to unravel the mystery of this man from Georgia who had made his fortune in New York in less than a year. No wonder he treated your prodding with hostility. He’d grown up trusting none, and the elite of New York had only heightened that mistrust.
You wanted to be the exception. Hesitantly, you reach out and grab his hand. He looks up at you suspiciously, but makes no move to pull his hand away. “I’m not like others,” you murmur. “I am not your enemy. I am your wife, and I would implore you to think of me as such. Your burdens are mine as well.”
He huffs out an impatient breath, though you note some of the tension has left his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he says abruptly. “I have put you through far too much in marrying you. You lost everything you knew, and still you stood by me. I know you only did so because you believed in the security that I could give you. I do not wish to add to my many sins against you by forcing you to bear what I have. I have dealt with far more than you know, by myself. I can continue as I am. You need not worry yourself about me.”
“I don’t think there’s anything you can do to stop me worrying over you,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. He raises an eyebrow as you feel a crimson heat rise to your face. “I mean, you’re my husband. It’s my job to worry about you now, isn’t it?” you add quickly in a futile attempt to preserve what remained of your dignity.
“And yet I’m telling you that you don’t need to waste your energy on such matters,” he reiterates, still looking at you quite quizzically. You wish he wouldn’t. You’d much prefer to figure out your own emotions before he came to a conclusion on his own.
But in regards to his insistence on shouldering all his cares alone, that was one thing you couldn’t accept. Nothing could stop your curiosity or your desire to help carry his burdens. Your instinct is to argue with him, but it would likely do more harm than good here.
Still, you wouldn’t completely fold. Forcing yourself to look into his eyes, you say, “Well, let me know if you ever change your mind. I’ll be here if you do.”
He nods slowly before he gestures to your breakfast that, in the depths of your discussion, has gone forgotten. “Eat,” he commands gently. “You’ve been wasting away these past few weeks. I want you as healthy as possible before we head north.”
You freeze with a spoon halfway to your mouth. “I beg your pardon?” you ask as you slowly lower the utensil.
His usual amused look is back. It’s quite incredible how swiftly his moods are able to change. “I do seem to recall that I told you that I spend quite a bit of my time upstate, where my business has its headquarters. Surely you don’t want to be left alone here for the next several weeks?”
“But… it’s winter,” you protest. “The city is cold enough during the winter. Up north must be even worse. Where would we stay?”
“It’s not much colder than the city,” he says. “I would have preferred to go there earlier in the season, but I was rather preoccupied by courting and then planning a wedding with my new wife.” Oh, how you loathe how much enjoyment he derives from teasing you. “As for where we will stay, what do you expect of me? A log cabin in the middle of the woods? I wouldn’t subject you to that. I had an estate built for my use, and I daresay you’ll find it lives up to your standards. Of course, you can pick out rooms for your parlor in both locations, as well as decorate as you see fit. Finances are no object.”
“I doubt I shall have time to change anything here if we are to leave for the north soon,” you sniff. You were thoroughly annoyed he’d answered all your objections satisfactorily. “When do you mean to travel? How long will it take?”
“Less than a day by train,” he answers easily, seeming much more comfortable now that the conversation has turned toward far more mundane matters. We’ll leave within a fortnight. You’ll be comfortable there, don’t worry. And it’s beautiful in the summer; that’s when we’ll be spending the most time upstate. I have every confidence you’ll love it before long.” He studies you for a few moments. “I haven’t managed to distract you, have I? You’re still determined to try and help me.”
Your mouth twists as you debate how honest you want to be. He’d probably see through a lie right away, which was an inconvenience. “You did distract me a bit,” you admit. “But unlike most men, who in my limited experience tend to focus on one topic at a time, I was given an ability to think of several things at once. It’s not something I’m often thankful for, but in this case, there’s not much you can do to discourage me from wanting to lessen your burdens any way that I can.”
He’s inscrutable now, though at least he’s not outright hostile again. “I suppose this is the reason I married you. I do admire that mind of yours,” he sighs. “But please trust me when I say that you don’t want to know me. If you think I’m awful now…” he trails off, though he doesn’t pull his eyes from yours. They’re like icy blue daggers, piercing you straight to your soul. You could get lost in them for days.
You rise from your chair, almost as if you were hypnotized. Without meaning to, you walk so close to him that you have to crane your neck to see him properly. “What are you doing?” he whispers, though he makes no effort to move away.
“I don’t know,” you breathe. And even still, neither of you move. The tension in the very air between you is palpable. Something was going to snap, and you weren’t sure if you wanted him to leave or…
He makes the decision for you. With no warning, he twists his hand into the hair on the nape of your neck, while the other plants itself on the small of your back. His head closes the distance between the two of you, and his lips find yours. It’s a far cry from the mostly gentle kisses you’d exchanged thus far; this one is filled with a kind of hunger from him. He seemed desperate for you, like he’d never get enough of you. It was all you could do to grasp onto his shoulders and go along with the ride.
“You’re too tempting for your own damn good,” he growls against your lips. The hand on your back starts pulling at the laces on your dress. “And you’re wearing way too many fucking clothes.”
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you register the language that would normally make you blush. But the way he says it, all it does is serve to make you feel more desirable. He may not love you, but if you could satisfy him this way, he may not feel the need to frequent brothels like so many other men.
The thought of him doing this with anyone else annoys you, so you force it from your mind. Instead, you just barely manage to detach your lips from his. “Are you really… going to undress me in the middle of the dining room?” you manage to gasp out.
“I don’t have the patience to go all the way back to the bedroom,” he huffs. He grabs your face in between both of his hands, making you look back up at him. Even still, his touch is expertly toeing the line between being forceful and making sure he wasn’t hurting you. His eyes shoot through yours again. “You’re so fucking irresistable. And you’re all mine.”
Those few words, small though they may be, changed the entire mood for you. You feel your brow furrowing and your eyes start to narrow, and when he goes to kiss you again, you bring your hand up to push him back, even though, physically, you want to let him continue. But mentally…
“So were they all just words to you sir? Pretty words to get me to agree to what you wanted?” you hiss venomously. He looks dumbstruck, clearly not able to use enough brain power at the moment to understand why you were so furious.
“What?” he asks, blinking a few times. In his confusion, you wrest yourself from his grasp, holding up the bodice of your dress since he had indeed managed to loosen the laces a decent amount.
“All of your talk about me having my own autonomy! Clearly, that was a promise you never intended to keep,” you lash out, attempting to maintain your dignity even while holding your clothes up. “The first thing you do now that we’re married is tell me things I’m ‘allowed’ to do, and not even twenty-four hours later you’re declaring that I belong to you.”
“No!” he scowled, instantly going on the defensive. “Blast it all, that’s not how I meant it and you know it!”
“Do I?” you scoff. “You only ever corrected yourself after I pointed out the tyranny of your words. I think you’ve become quite good at saying what I wish to hear.” You turn from the table, your breakfast still uneaten. “If you’ll excuse me, sir.” You exit the room in a whirl of skirts, leaving him alone with nothing but the memory of your wrath.
You make it halfway down an unfamiliar hallway before you sink against a wall. God, what a terrible start to your marriage.