Ch#34
The couple’s Master Suite consisted of four main areas: an outer drawing room, the inner bedroom, and two separate dressing rooms. These private spaces for the Duke and Duchess to dress each came with their own entrances and bathrooms.
It was there that Rosalyn finally took off her wedding dress. After soaking in a warm bath for a long while, she changed into a negligee and robe. The sleepwear, crafted from apricot silk and lace, had been a gift from the designer who made her gown; apparently, it was the height of fashion among young noblewomen these days.
The garment was so ornate it felt a bit embarrassing, but the designer’s insistence that “the wedding night is special” had a certain logic to it. Rosalyn wanted her first night with her husband to be special, too. After adjusting the fit of the unfamiliar silk several times and taking a series of deep breaths, she finally entered the bedroom.
Despite all her mental preparation, the room was empty.
Someone had left a lamp lit, but there was no one there. Two armchairs sat before a cold fireplace. Rosalyn stared at the pair of chairs, which were clearly brand new, then turned her gaze to the other side of the room. There, too, sat a pair of beds, unmistakable in their newness.
Two beds.
It was common knowledge that a married couple shared a bed. Were husband and wife not often referred to as “those who share a bed”?
She had been told this was the bedroom the Duke had used alone until their marriage, so Rosalyn had naturally imagined a single bed. She had even felt a vague flutter of excitement at the thought of sharing his large, lonely bed. Now, she didn’t know how to process the sight before her.
Which side is mine? she wondered, feeling awkward. She tried to discern a difference, but the two beds were identical. The empty bedside tables offered no clues either. Hesitating, Rosalyn eventually moved toward the vanity—the one piece of furniture that was undeniably hers.
Sitting before the mirror, she wavered for a moment before picking up a bottle of toner. She poured some out and applied it to her face, ears straining for any sound. When she still heard no sign of the man, she hurried slightly, opening a jar of cream. But her haste was in vain; even after she had finished applying the cream, he had not arrived.
Left alone at the vanity, Rosalyn now had to battle her own stray thoughts. Her hands grew cold with a vague sense of dread. It was late June, the height of early summer, yet she felt a chill through her negligee and robe. Her eyes drifted toward the unlit fireplace.
As she sat there, memories of the wedding earlier that day naturally flooded back. she recalled how she had nearly cried when she let go of her father’s hand, and the tension she felt while reciting her vows. She remembered the sensation of the Duke’s finger brushing against her palm as he slid the wedding ring into place.
Rosalyn looked down at the platinum band on her left ring finger. She remembered sliding an identical ring onto his finger. In that moment, she had been overcome by a strange sense of awe. It felt like a mark, a sign that this man was now hers.
She would never forget the moment he lifted her veil with that ring-clad hand, or how her cramped world had suddenly brightened. When their eyes met clearly for the first time, the light behind him had been so brilliant it was blinding.
「You may now kiss the bride.」
Even when she closed her eyes, the afterimage of that light remained. When his lips touched hers, it felt as if her heart had stopped. Everything seemed to freeze for a moment—the warmth of his skin, the texture of his lips.
It was her first kiss.
Just as her thoughts reached that point, the door clicked open. Rosalyn flinched, her shoulders trembling as she turned her head. The first thing she noticed was the man’s damp hair. Saturated with water, his hair looked even darker than usual, making his face appear that much paler in contrast.
Standing tall in the doorway, the man looked toward her. The moment Rosalyn saw his bare legs and the robe that fell just below his knees, she quickly looked away. Her heart began to race frantically.
“You were here first.”
“I just arrived.”
She answered reflexively, forcing a small smile. He stared at her face for a moment, then entered the room without another word. Only then did Rosalyn hesitantly rise from the vanity stool.
Jared walked with long, confident strides, as if moving through a space he knew by heart. It was his bedroom of several years, so it was only natural he was accustomed to it. With a practiced motion, he opened a cabinet on the left wall. Watching him, Rosalyn realized it was a liquor cabinet—and thus, the bed on the left was his.
He overturned one of the neatly arranged crystal glasses, opened a bottle, and asked, “Would you like a drink?”
Rosalyn hesitated as she looked at the man’s back. She thought a drink might help ease her nerves, but the words wouldn’t come. Even from a distance, she could tell the cabinet held nothing but whiskey. She did not care for strong spirits.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
When she politely declined, Jared turned his head to look at her. Their eyes met for a fleeting second, and she thought he gave a slight nod. She thought she saw a faint smile brush his lips, but she couldn’t be sure, for he immediately brought the glass to his mouth.
He drank the whiskey—a rather large pour, half a glass full—almost in a single gulp. He said nothing until the glass met the table with a sharp clack. The only sound was a short, soft exhale.
From that moment, a suffocating silence took hold.
Rosalyn watched the man standing in profile. There was no wedding ring on his left hand. He must have taken it off after the ceremony.
Even though she knew men didn’t typically wear their wedding rings every day, she couldn’t help a small pang of disappointment. In its place was the signet ring on his pinky. Seeing it, Rosalyn began to fidget with her own wedding ring.
Then, Jared turned and approached the bed on the right. Rosalyn sensed that ‘it’ was about to begin—that certain something, intangible yet undeniable, that the two of them had to do together.
He surely knew about ‘it.’ It would be more ridiculous to expect a thirty-year-old man to be a virgin. In a way, it was a relief that at least one of them knew what to do.
And yet, Rosalyn felt a small sting of regret. The fact that she was not his first.
“Come here.”
At Jared’s words, she lifted her eyes.
The woman by the vanity and the man by the bed looked at each other. His gaze as it crossed the room was calm. There was no sign of nervousness or anticipation; only a clear sense of duty and fatigue.
Rosalyn walked toward him, fighting her tremors. Tension, fear, a bit of curiosity, and an even smaller amount of expectation weighed down on her entire body.
He’ll take care of it. He’ll know what to do. Don’t worry, just follow his lead.
She reassured herself with every step. There was nothing else she could do anyway. She had no choice but to stand before him as he had commanded.
As she stood close to him, she caught the faint scent of whiskey. The cologne she always smelled on him was almost gone; he wouldn’t wear perfume to bed. As that thought crossed her mind, he reached out and pulled the knot of her robe.
Startled, Rosalyn looked up. The gas lamp on the bedside table was lit, allowing her to see everything in detail. She could find no trace of agitation in the gaze looking straight down at her. Those eyes. Looking up into his dilated pupils, Rosalyn felt her heart waver.
He said nothing. He didn’t offer a smile or any words of comfort. He simply paused for a moment, giving her a chance to steel her resolve, before resuming his task.
He untied the knot and slid the robe off her shoulders. After the thin silk robe fell to the floor, he reached for the straps of her negligee. When his fingertips brushed the bare skin of her shoulder, Rosalyn flinched despite herself. Now, the lace-trimmed negligee was the only thing she wore.
Jared slowly stripped away that single layer of clothing. Rosalyn couldn’t tell what his expression was when he slid one strap down her shoulder, for she couldn’t bring herself to look at his face. She felt as if she might die of embarrassment just by standing there, motionless.
Why is he undressing me while I’m standing like this? Does he have to take my clothes off? If she hadn’t believed there was a proper reason for all of this, she wouldn’t have been able to bear it.
To overcome this intense sense of shame, she had to believe. She had to trust the man who had become her husband this day. She had to believe he had a good reason.
