Sophie's Voice (Sex and the Season Book 4) (5 page)

“My dear Sophie, you are a rare treasure indeed—the voice of an angel, and a woman so responsive to my every touch. You are something special.”

As she came down from her high, she processed Zach's words. Special? She was far from special. A rare treasure? Zach Newland had obviously gone dotty.

“Let me up, please.”

Zach helped her into a sitting position. “Absolutely, my dear. I will never make you do anything you don't want to do.”

“Then why do you persist in asking me to sing on your stage?” Sophie asked, hastily pulling her chemise over her exposed skin.

He smiled, a gleam in his eye. “A fair question. I keep asking because you auditioned for me. And the fact that you auditioned means singing is something you want to do.”

“I auditioned because I lost a bet with my conniving younger sister.”

“Lady Xavier? Yes, I know of her. Quite the beauty.”

Sophie nodded. So much more striking than she would ever be.

“However,” Zach continued, “I find you infinitely more beautiful.”

Sophie rose and fiddled with her corset. “You smacked my bottom when I lied to you. Should I smack yours now?”

Zach let out a laugh. “I might enjoy that, actually. However, whatever makes you think I'm lying to you?”

“Ally is far more beautiful than I. You
must
be lying.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, sweet, and as I behold you, I see beauty as infinite as the stars in the sky.”

Sophie warmed all over, turning her back to Zach so he couldn't see her blushing. “Could you please help me with my corset?”

Zach stood. “Of course, though I must say you're far more enchanting out of it.”

Quite the charmer, this one. Quite the fabricator as well. Once her corset was tightened, Zach helped her into her gown and buttoned it up in the back.

She said little as he walked her back to the house. What had gotten into her? Zach Newland was no gentleman. She would never be alone with him again. And she certainly wouldn't sing in his production.

How could she have been so self-indulgent? And how could she have let herself be so aroused? Gratified? A lady wouldn't…

No use crying over a broken teacup. It had happened.

But it could never happen again.

A
fter a brief nap before supper
, Sophie strolled to the library of the Brighton estate. Ally was still resting, and Sophie didn't want to disturb her because of her condition. However, Ally had told Sophie many times about all the reading she had done…about…

Gracious, Sophie. You were just nearly nude in front of a man, and you can't even think the words to yourself?

Well, she didn't have to actually think the words to find the books, did she? The Brighton library was vast, and Sophie hadn't ventured into it often—only when she wanted a new novel to read. She read mostly from her own private collection of novels, and occasionally she would borrow from Ally, Lily, or Rose. She adored having her nose in a book, and she frequently reread her favorites.

Where to begin? This room was wall-to-wall books, literally. She inhaled. The crisp scent of parchment and the rich aroma of leather bindings wafted toward her. Burgundy brocade chairs sat in each corner, flanked by tables and lamps. She drew a match and lit a lamp.

Where exactly did one look to find books on…those words she couldn't bring herself to form in her mind?

Novels… Yes, she knew where those were, as she had borrowed some previously. Books of history, religion, philosophy… Giant leather-bound tomes filled the shelves. However, those weren't what she was looking for. Biographies… Memoirs… A giant book of maps—an atlas… All fascinating, but not what she needed.

The sciences—botany, chemistry, zoology… Human anatomy… That might be a start. She grabbed the book off the shelf and began perusing it, finding only graphic depictions of the circulatory system and skeletal system. No, clearly not what she had in mind.

Yes! A book sat just out of her reach on one of the higher shelves, but she could read its spine.
An Introduction to the Marriage Bed
by Lady Margaret Mead. Sophie stretched, standing on tiptoes—

“Oh!” She lost her footing and fell.

“
M
y lady
!” One of the downstairs maids hovered above Sophie. “I was walking by, and I heard you take a fall. Are you all right? Can you get up?”

Sophie gathered her wits. “Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for asking. I'm afraid it's my own clumsiness. I was trying to reach a—” She could say no more. She couldn't very well admit which book she'd been reaching for. Of course, this maid was taller than she and perhaps could…

No. Absolutely not. Gossip among the servants traveled faster than the rail.

“Were you trying to reach a book, my lady? Perhaps I could help.”

“Oh, no. Thank you for your offer, but I am no longer interested in reading material this afternoon. Do be on your way now.”

The maid curtsied politely and left.

Should she try again? Why not? Sophie grasped the shelf for support this time, stretched upon her toes, and grabbed the book from the shelf. Now, how to get it to her chamber without anyone seeing her? Ally was still abed, and she didn't know where Evan was. Her mother and the earl had gone out for the day although they would be returning soon. If only she had a shawl with her to hide the book in.

Well, it couldn't be helped. She'd have to put the book back. As she stepped toward the shelf to return it, she dared to open it in the middle.

The sage wife will permit no more than one or two sexual experiences per week. Little by little, she should make every effort to reduce this frequency. A wife should not allow her husband liberties at all during the week of her courses.

Confusion muddled Sophie's brain. Sexual activity should be reduced? But Ally, Rose, and Lily seemed to like it so much. In fact, Ally had told Sophie many times that women had just as many desires as men. Was Ally mistaken? Or was Lady Margaret Mead?

Sophie closed the book and hugged it to her chest. She had to read more. She stole out of the library and down the hallway to the servants' staircase. As quietly as she could, she ascended and walked swiftly until she finally reached her own chamber on the second level. She silently closed her door and flopped onto her bed.

The book sat next to her, beckoning. Each time she reached for it, she drew her hand away quickly, frightened.

Oh, for goodness' sake, Sophie. It's a book. Just a book.

She opened it to the first page.

If you are reading this book, may I congratulate you on finding a husband. You have begun fulfilling your ultimate duty as a woman. Your duty now is to serve your husband, bear his children, and raise them. Your sole reason for existence revolves around this new man in your life. His needs are now your needs, his goals your goals, his likes and dislikes are your likes and dislikes.

The marriage bed is, unfortunately, now a part of your life. Do not delude yourself into thinking it enjoyable. Perhaps some women find it such, but most do not. But you must succumb to your husband's baser desires. To understand the male human, think of animals copulating in the wild. The male human is not unlike his creature counterparts. He has urges, urges that must be met or he will become violent. While you may have been lucky enough to find a man who is gentle in most areas of his life, he may not be gentle in the marriage bed. You must lie back and allow him to do as he wishes, especially this first night. Get through it by hoping that he gives you a child. Once you are with child, he will most likely sate his desires elsewhere until you have given birth.

Sophie shook her head, confounded. This sounded nothing like what Ally talked about. And what in the world was that phenomenon that had happened to Sophie today in the alcove—with feelings so intense and pleasurable she thought she must be drifting into the heavens?

She closed the book. She would wait and talk to her sister. Perhaps Ally could show her some of the books she had read.

She startled at a knock on her door. Quickly, Sophie threw the book under her bed and then casually—or so she hoped—walked to the door and opened it.

Her maid, Hannah, stood there. “Supper is served in ten minutes, my lady.”

“Very well. Thank you, Hannah.”

Sophie was far from hungry. Her body was… She couldn't find the words. Perhaps Ally would be at dinner. Of course, their parents and Evan would also be there—not the opportune time to speak of what she needed to speak of.

She descended and joined her family for dinner.

“
S
o have
you all heard the good news?” Ally asked.

“And what good news would that be?” Her husband, Evan, cocked his head.

“Yes, by all means, Ally, tell us,” the girls' mother, Iris, the Countess Brighton, said, smiling.

Sophie groaned inaudibly. She knew exactly what was coming.

“Our own Sophie auditioned for Mr. Zachary Newland for his upcoming musicale, which was written by our esteemed cousin, the Earl of Thornton. Mr. Newland was so impressed, he wants to make Sophie his new lead soprano.”

Evan smiled broadly. “Why, Sophie, that's excellent news. I've always wondered why you keep your angelic voice to yourself.”

“Indeed,” the earl said. “Congratulations to you.”

Iris simply smiled, nodding.

“When do you begin rehearsals?” Evan asked.

Sophie swallowed a mouthful of potage. “I don't.”

“What do you mean?” Iris asked.

Sophie opened her mouth to respond, but Ally was quicker.

“Sophie doesn't want to take the post. She wants to give up this amazing opportunity.”

“Ally, I'm still a lady of the peerage, and I shouldn't be singing for an audience.”

“I agree,” Iris said. “Of course, if it were something you wanted to do, Sophie, I would support you. But as it's not, I think, Ally, that we need to support Sophie's decision.”

“Evan, you agree with me, don't you?” Ally batted her eyes at her husband.

“I think Sophie would be wonderful, but I'm sorry, love. I have to agree with your mother that it's her decision. Not yours, and not mine.”

Sophie gulped. “Thank you, Evan.”

Ally pressed her napkin to her lips. “Sophie, you sit in the house all day. Don't you want something more? Wouldn't it bring joy into your life to know you are bringing joy into others' lives with song?”

“Ally, I would faint away on that stage, and you know it. Performing is simply not in my nature.”

“You're being silly. You made it through the audition, and Cameron said you were brilliant.”

“I nearly lost my breakfast during that audition,” Sophie said. “If I have to feel that way every time I get on stage, I may starve to death.”

“Don't be so melodramatic,” Ally said.

Sophie ignored her sister and continued with her dinner, saying little. Part of her—a part of her she hadn't known existed until a few hours ago—longed to take the role. She had taken a risk this afternoon, and she had found pleasure unlike she'd ever imagined.

“Goodness, Sophie, you're blushing,” Ally said. “What is there to be embarrassed about now? You got through the audition.”

Sophie locked her gaze on the second course the footman set in front of her—salmon croquettes, one of her favorites. Yet she had no desire to eat. The warmth in her cheeks rapidly spread to her neck.

“Leave her alone, Ally,” Evan scolded. “Let her eat in peace.”

Conversation rambled on around Sophie, but she didn't join in. This day had turned into a conundrum. She'd auditioned for a musicale, gotten her first kiss from a man, and then let that same man molest her in broad daylight!

All very out of character for her. Who was Sophie now?

She did love singing, and if her voice could bring joy to others… But dear Lord, she would be ill every time she went on stage.

But being on stage… When she'd finally started singing, nearly forgetting anyone was watching her, and then the thunderous applause that followed—all of that had been truly heaven.

When supper had finally concluded, Sophie did not retire to the porch for tea with her mother and sister. Instead, she went back to the library. Surely she could find another book. Ally had told her of volumes that spoke of a woman's sexual desire, and the book about the marriage bed certainly did no such thing.

Sophie slowly perused the books again, taking in each one in the sciences section. Finally, she found one with promise.
Physiological Mysteries and Revelations in Love, Courtship, and Marriage
by Eugène Becklard. Perhaps this would be more interesting. She grabbed the book off the shelf, nearly losing her footing once again, wrapped it tightly in her arms, and stole up the back stairway to her chamber.

She sat down on her bed, opened the book, and began to read.

C
hapter
One

M
ust man be born
of a woman?

Indeed not. Adrastus contends that every living species the world contains has been from all eternity; and hence, that the time has never been when there was no man or woman; so that, according to his system, the human race cannot be the offspring of one general mother. And he further insists that the meanest reptile that crawls, is the representative of an equally everlasting line of ancestry. The last assumption, however has been set at nought by experiments in modern chemistry, though without showing the necessity of original parents for they not only argue that living animals of perfectly original construction may be produced at pleasure, and independent of the usual modes of generation; but they have actually so produced them.

That was about as clear as tar. And who was Adrastus? The author couldn't be referring to the legendary king of Argos, could he?

Sophie flicked through the book quickly, looking for something, anything, to help her understand the physiology of men and women and their love. She stopped when the word “childbearing” caught her eye.

Period of Child-bearing.—Women may be ten, eleven, and even twelve months in a certain condition, the ignorance whereof, causes much domestic trouble, and has occasionally been the means of divorces. On the contrary, full grown children may be born in the seventh month after conception, and some say in the sixth, or even less, but I doubt them. At least, out of all my experience, I never had personal knowledge of a case of the sort, but one, and then I had my suspicions, grounded on various circumstances, apart from the main one, which were rather unfavorable to the lady's character. The law, which rarely, if ever, suffers itself to be guided by exceptions, holds it a proof of illegitimacy if the period of child birth is delayed until the tenth month after the husband and wife have lived together.

Even she wasn't so naïve to think a human pregnancy lasted anything other than about nine months. Those who came early were most likely conceived out of wedlock, and those who came late were most likely the result of a feigned pregnancy.

Still no help. She continued leafing through the book.

Marriage and Poetry.—Marriage blunts the imagination. A married writer of fiction must hold Hymen in check, or weary his readers; and poetry is almost irreconcilable with the state of wedlock. Schiller observes, that one cannot woo his wife and the muses; and there is, no doubt, much philosophy in the assumption. Thus it would seem that poetry is the escape of love when not otherwise directed.

Marriage blunts the imagination? This man was making marriage sound terrible. Sophie continued reading.

Ideas of Beauty.—Men of poetical or sanguine temperament prefer the beauty of the face. Those of stronger animal propensities, the beauty of form. The latter make the most attentive husbands, as they are most content with the realities in life.

Beauty of face? Of form? Sophie sighed. Ally had both. Sophie, though, was plain, in face and in form. Her hair was a dull gold as opposed to Ally's lustrous chestnut brown. And her body? Ally was tall, with curves in all the right places and a voluptuous bosom. Sophie was shorter, her breasts not nearly as large, and her figure lean, not curvy.

If what this book said was true, no man would want her.

Violation.—Conception cannot take place under feelings of horror or disgust. Hence, no woman ever became pregnant from a rape committed on her against her inclination.

Odd, that statement. Sophie knew of women who had become pregnant after forced encounters. Did this mean that those women had actually wanted the encounter? This man had written it, and although she knew nothing of his qualifications, the book had been published. She would have to ask Ally about that.

Matrimonial Regret.—Men are liable to regret their marriage on the morning after its consummation, and to sigh for the freedom they have lost. But this is only an evanescent feeling, partially attributable to the fact, that, at the commencement the realities of love are usually found to be unequal to the anticipations. A week corrects this uneasiness, and contentment mostly occurs before the end of the honey moon.

Matrimonial regret… Why did men marry if they were going to regret it afterward? Was it possible for women to regret marriage also?

Transfer of Passion.—Love is partially the effect of mental, but more so of physical feeling. This is especially the case with men; and hence, when they despair of the consummation of one passion, they can always relieve it, or escape from it altogether by nourishing another.

Physical feeling? Physical feeling had dominated Sophie's afternoon with Mr. Newland. Did this mean she was falling in love with him? This book was not answering any of her questions. In fact, it was only giving her new ones.

Longing for Marriage.—Young unmarried ladies, from the time they arrive at the age of puberty, think and talk about little besides love, and its attributes. Young men, however, though they have other objects of pursuit, are more carried away by the passion. When crossed in love, a woman becomes melancholy, a man insane.