Free Forced Offer by Gloria Gay Page A

absently, her mind becoming increasingly uneasy as she recalled her mother's words in relation to what was to happen this night.
    "It's a nice color, mum," said Bessie enthusiastically, as she undid the single thick braid at the back of Belinda's head and brushed it vigorously, "like dark honey. I wonder you don't arrange it in a style that shows it off more."
    "Because it doesn't curl, Bessie," answered Belinda. "It's as straight and thick as a horse's mane." She repeated her mother’s description of her hair.
    "But pretty—look mum, see yourself in the looking glass."
    Bessie led Belinda to the wardrobe mirror and Belinda looked at herself with little interest, merely to please Bessie, whom she was beginning to like a lot. She looked at her thin face with masses of heavy hair all around it and grimaced.
    "No, Bessie, it looks—wanton, all loose that way. Please, braid it again as it was."
    "Yes, my lady," said Bessie disappointed and proceeded to do was she was told. Then brightening she said:
    "Some other time, my lady, I could perhaps show you some styles my cousin Alice showed me. They take a lot of time to do, of course. My cousin worked with Lady Serelia of Taverling Hall, and Lady Serelia, mum, she had that famous stylist in London do her hair—a Monsieur Debrec."
    "Yes, some other time," smiled Belinda kindly on the talkative Bessie, "I will let you experiment on it, although I can't assure you you will have any luck with it. My mother gave up on my hair long ago. She decided that it was much better braided and out of the way than to have to wrestle with it. You see, it's so heavy it can't even be curled with paper curlers. And around my face it makes my face look even thinner."
    "When there's such a lot of hair like you have, mum, you have to put twice the number of rag curls. That's probably why it wouldn't curl. But I'm sure I can do something with it," said Bessie with conviction.
    And once she had put Belinda's clothes away and brought the covers up over Belinda in the bed, she puttered around still, as if reluctant to leave her mistress and go up to the little garret where she was to sleep, sharing another lady's maid's room.
    "Bessie…"
    "Yes, mum?" asked Bessie, eager to extend the conversation a bit more. She was a buxom young lass with mounds of energy. More than one ostler had cast a glance at her small, curvy figure on their arrival.
    "Does your cousin Alice…I mean…has she…does she speak to you about…about…" Belinda wondered how she could broach the subject of first wedding nights. Perhaps Bessie knew a little more about it. The suspense of not knowing what was to happen to her was making her shake all over.
    "Yes, mum?" asked Bessie when Belinda hesitated.
    "What I wondered is—I mean, first wedding nights—" Belinda closed her eyes and said boldly,
    "Do you know anything about them?"
    "Oh, yes, my lady!"
    "I have been told that it's so terribly painful that I should imagine myself somewhere else so that I will not feel the pain."
    "Who gave you that silly advice, mum?"
    "My moth—" Belinda stopped herself, wondering if it was wise to discuss such a delicate subject with her maid, whom she hardly knew, at that. But the panic that was overcoming her was stronger than the dictates of convention.
    "Mum," said Bessie excitedly, "I promise you you'll not be thinking of any place other than where you are. Lord Berrington, now," added the lusty Bessie with a naughty grin, "he'll fill up the picture right to left and there won't be room for nothing else, mark my words on it!"
    There was a knock at the door. It was the abigail Bessie was to share a room with who had come to show her where the room was.
    "Go on, Bessie," said Belinda, relieved in part that the conversation had been interrupted, and in part sorry that her chance at finding out what was in store for her was now lost.
    The hours crawled and the candle on the bedside table sputtered in a pool of wax. At every little noise Belinda