I clasped my hands together, trying to keep them from shaking. I told myself to stop, but my body wasn’t listening to my commands. Branford was my husband, and at some point, he would see me in a far more compromising state of dress than I was currently in. If he chose to tear it from me on sight, I could do nothing about it. I could not compete with him physically even if I were inclined to do something so ridiculous.
While my mind rambled, Branford lost patience.
“Are you planning to sleep back there?” he asked.
“No, my lord.” I took a deep breath and forced myself to move back into the main room. I heard him catch his breath and felt heat cover my cheeks. I stared at the ground and shuffled my feet, not knowing what I should do next.
“You are breathtaking, Alexandra,” he said. “Come sit with me.”
I returned to the stool near the fire and sat before him, still completely unsure of my place, my position, the way I was dressed, and myself. I kept my eyes down, as it occurred to me that I wasn’t even sure if I was allowed to look him in the eye or not. Had I already offended him? He was silent for a few minutes, which only increased my anxiety.
“I told you what I expect from my wife,” Branford finally said, “but there are things you must expect of me as well. Alexandra, as your husband, there are certain things I will promise you. I will always provide for you. I will always keep you safe—protect you. Your needs will always be met, and you will live in relative luxury. Our children will also be protected and educated. You will never have to worry for their care or their safety. I will take care of these things for you. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“Yes, Branford,” I said, glad I remembered to address him correctly this time.
“Is there anything else you expect from me, Alexandra?” When I didn’t answer right away, he prompted me again.
“I honestly don’t know, Branford,” I said. “I had never even considered marriage before yesterday. I’ve never thought enough about it to form any expectations.”
“Then you may consider the question open, and you may res
pond to it when you think of what you wish to say. Is that acceptable to you?
“Yes, Branford,” I said softly. I looked up at him through my lashes and then looked away again. I didn’t know what to ask of him and felt like quite the fool. I wondered what Princess Whitney would be doing at this moment had he chosen her instead. Then I realized exactly what she would be doing with him, and I was dumbfounded by a mix of emotions: disgust at my own inadequacy regarding intimate matters; shame that I did not appear to be able to give my husband what he needed, and—strangely—anger at the thought of Whitney marrying Branford. “May I ask a different question, my lord?”
“Of course.”
“How did you know?” I asked, and then realized he had not heard my own internal ramblings. “I mean, how did you know about the princess?”
“Because I took her virginity nearly a year ago,” he said simply and without hesitation. I gasped.
“Then why…” I stopped, not sure if I wanted to know the answer to my question.
“Why what?” he asked, pressing me to answer clearly.
“Why did you choose me? If you were the one…I mean…you could still have wed her.”
Branford glanced sideways and met my eyes only briefly before looking away again.
“You caught my eye,” he finally said.
“But you could have chosen her or another princess,” I continued, “or a lady, at the very least. Someone worthy of your station—”
“Tell me something, Alexandra.” Branford interrupted and looked back at me. “You obviously make an excellent cup of tea. Can you cook?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Can you mend clothing?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Can you polish silver? Cut hair? Give a man a proper shave?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Can Princess Whitney do any of those things?”
“I don't believe so, my lord,” I said after a moment of consideration.