Free Cressida's Dilemma by Beverley Oakley

had come to Mrs. Plumb’s seeking what he could not get at home? Had Cressida any right to despise him if he did? After all, she was hardly honoring her side of the bargain. As part of their marriage contract, she was obliged to fulfill her conjugal duties, yet not once had Justin persisted in an act that clearly was distasteful to her these days.
    She glanced at Miss Mariah, disappointed, though not surprised, to see the shock on her face.
    So this woman thought Cressida gravely remiss, too. Quickly, she rose, wrinkling her nose at the smell of cheap perfume and staring at the faded, drawn curtains, wondering if the moon was out and how fast she could be back in the safety of her own home. “I’m wicked, I know! You have every right to look at me like I’ve failed my duty. I know what I must do now. I have to win him back. I have to be the wife he wants and needs.” She only realized how hard she’d been shaking when the woman put her hands on her shoulders to push her back down into her seat. Cressida welcomed the comfort in the gesture, the soothing smile. Closing her eyes, she whispered through clenched teeth, “Even if it kills me.”
    Her companion’s words had the comfort of a caress as she deflected blame away from Cressida, letting in hope like the sun into her dark, dull mind. “My poor child. Surely you don’t think I condemn you for such an understandable fear. If you only knew how easy it was to be helped, and yet women like you are kept in ignorance. Truly, you may hold your husband in thrall, or submit, or whatever it is that makes you feel you’re doing your duty, but please understand there is no reason for you to make sacrifices.”
    In all her life, Cressida had never discussed the intimacies of marriage. To do so now felt like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She raised hopeful eyes. This woman didn’t think Cressida a disloyal wife? No reason to make sacrifices?
    Her companion cleared her throat, as if understanding the delicacy her approach required for one of Cressida’s innocence and ignorance. She smoothed her cerulean skirts as she began to pace, biting her lip as if she were contemplating a great conundrum. “Lord knows, it’s important enough, but preventing conception is not a subject considered appropriate talk between husbands and wives of your station. It would be safe to assume you have not asked your husband to take precautions?”
    Cressida gasped. “Precautions?” For a moment, she grappled with the meaning, much less the concept. “How could I—?”
    Smiling, her friend turned and walked slowly toward the window. “Of course not,” she said, turning as she grasped the sill. “It is a conversation a man has with his mistress, not his wife. I daresay you do not even know wet nursing your child will lessen the likelihood of conception.”
    Cressida frowned and shook her head. “When I wanted to suckle my children myself,” she said, “my mother-in-law told me it was not the role of a woman in my position. She found me a wet nurse, a healthy, kind woman, who has nursed all except little Thomas, my only son, a sickly child who needs all my care.” Her voice broke. “I should be with him now.”
    “Little Thomas no doubt has a devoted nursemaid. But, my dear, abstinence is not the only answer. If you still harbor such a tendre for your husband, surely he is sufficiently in tune with your feelings to have remarked upon your withdrawal from the usual intimacies?”
    They had ventured too far for Cressida to feel embarrassed. It was even a relief for her to relive her awful exchange with Justin some months before and again just after Lady Belton’s ball. “My husband did ask me,” she managed, twisting her hands in her lap, “after yet another of my excuses, whether I was afraid of conceiving a child.”
    There was a pause. “And your reply?”
    Miserably, Cressida admitted, “I adamantly denied it—”
    “Good Lord, child, why? Not every husband