What I Discovered amid Red Roses
Mon Cher Journal,
It had been only three months into my married life and my husband had pressing business to attend to, as he told me during our morning ride. I was already used to him leaving to attend his businesses, but this time he told me he would have to spend five days in London and that he would be leaving after lunch.
I was so happy that as soon as I returned from our ride, I packed a valise with my most beautiful dresses, arranged my elegant hats on a shining round leather box, and my jewelry in their silk box. I set aside my favorite black hat decorated with large red roses and a black wool traveling shawl which I would need for our ride to London in Joseph's sports car.
I took a long bath, perfumed myself, touched my lips with gloss, and wearing my travel clothes went down to have lunch with my mother-in-law and husband.
Joseph frowned at my attire when I entered the dining room, but said nothing as the footman pulled out the chair at my place at the head of the dining table. My husband helped his mother onto her seat at the middle and walked to the far end of the table and sat himself on his tall chair.
Our mahogany dining table can easily fit two dozen guests. To be precise, it can fit two dozen guests on each side, plus me and my husband at each end.
But I digress.
After we had dessert and coffee, the baron folded his napkin, rose, and kissed his mother's hand, excusing himself to get ready to leave.
Eagerly, I rose too, and said, "My luggage is already packed in my rooms. I'll refresh—"
"You—you're not going," Joseph sputtered for a moment and then said, "You have duties here, Chloé."
I stared at him. "I am not going?"
"No, I will be very occupied with very important business," he answered dryly as a blush reddened his fair skin. "I can't be distracted, Chloé."
"But I won't trouble you." Tears gathered in my eyes at his rebuke. I wanted so much to go to London! "I can go to the modiste and have strolls in the park while you're occupied. And we can have dinner—" I stopped when he shook his blond head. "Non?"
"No, you aren't going," he said more emphatically. "I'll be back in less than a week."
"But Joseph..."
My mother-in-law chose that moment to intervene and started talking about the friends she would invite to make us company and Joseph walked out of the dining room, instructing Mr. Longman, our butler, to bring his car to the front door in ten minutes.
I rushed after him and called out just before he entered his rooms. "Joseph! Are you going to leave me here all alone?"
He turned and watched me for a moment before crossing the corridor to my rooms. Opening the door, he gestured for me to go inside and followed me.
I stopped in the middle of my sitting room, unsure. He closed the curtains and in the dimly lit room, sat on the large and comfortable gold velvet sofa, patting the place beside him. "Come here, my beautiful girl."
I did and he pulled me into his arms, kissing me tenderly. And he kissed me more, and opened the buttons of my blouse and took one of my breasts out of my bra and sucked it. He shoved my long skirt up, bunching it around my waist, and unbuttoned my drawers, and rubbed the place I liked so much. And he rubbed and thrust his finger into me, and rubbed more and sucked my breast. Oh, oh! I liked when he did this.
Soon, I was trembling in his arms, and pulling his hair, and undulating, and gasping in pleasure. "Joseph, Joseph."
And then it was there: that good feeling. Sighing, I reclined onto the sofa. "Merci, Joseph."
He opened his trousers, pulled his member out—which I haven't seen so far—and bending over me, began the part I didn't care much for, but always endured with a smile on my lips as I should.
"Good girl, good girl," he said thirty-three times in tandem with the plunge of his rod in and out of my hole, huffing and puffing hot breaths over my neck, until he stiffened and I felt his seed filling my body.
"Thank you, Chloé."
I patted his shoulder. "You're welcome, Joseph."
When he recovered, he rose, adjusted his clothes and mine, arranged my hips and legs over some pillows and also brought a blanket from the wardrobe to cover me. "Rest now."
I closed my thighs tightly, hoping that his white liquid would work its magic and give me a baby, and smiled at him. "I will."
"I will bring you presents," he said. With a perfunctory kiss on my cheek, he left.
My husband has been gone more than a week now. I dutifully continued to oversee my obligations, such as the goings-on of the house staff and keeping everything in order. I entertained myself riding, and reading a few romantic novels I had brought with me from Paris.
Also, dutifully I have been having breakfast, lunch, tea, and dinner with my mother-in-law while she told me about her past days as the lady's manor and how marvelous her son is. I keep evading her annoying probing questions about my period, which has come and gone in spite of all the good girls that have been thrust inside me.
I have served tea to the dowager's old friends—other dowagers all of them—and listened to their unending talk about sick or deceased husbands and played cards, as days passed by and no news came about when my husband was returning.
A few hours ago, a bouquet of red roses arrived. Along with it, a letter from my husband's secretary, explaining that the baron had to go to Paris and would be back in three days.
Paris! He has gone to Paris and left me here alone. Alone! In this forsaken manor where nothing happens but for old matrons who come, pat me on the hand and praise me about the delicious tea I serve them, and talk about their pasts.
This was not the life the baron promised me when he was courting me. Where are the lunches and strolls in the park? Where are the dinners and parties I would be throwing to receive his friends and their wives? Where are all the good friends I would make?
But that was not all. Non! In his letter, the baron's secretary informed me my husband would be back to perform his marital duties during my fertile period.
I couldn't believe that! His marital duties during my fertile period! Mon Dieu!
To my mother-in-law's and our butler's horror, I threw the roses on the floor, ripped the letter into small pieces, and stomped to my private rooms with angry tears wetting my face.
I wept for a long time. Oh! What a trap I have fallen into: married to an old man who sticks his rod in me just to get me pregnant with his heirs, while he travels around the world and leaves me here to take care of his prehistoric mother.
I don't like to be cynical. Truly. Life is a tricky balance, I know. But when I'm optimistically excited, the disappointment is, of course, worse than when I don't expect much. This is the worst card I have been dealt so far and I feel so foolish and naïve for being happy and hopeful that I was pleasing the baron.
Oh, Mon Cher Journal, what am I to do now?

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From the Baroness's Diary: The erotic escapades of Baron Beardley's wife
RomanceAt the tender age of 18, Lady Chloé de La Fleur was married off to 40 year-old Baron Beardley, a wealthy English peer, and taken away from the whirlwind of Paris and London societies to live in a forsaken manor way out of Warwickshire. Young, beaut...