The Belvedere.

Her mind was in turmoil.

She filled her washbasin with hot water and took a wet cloth over her body to get rid of all trace of him. She put her legs as wide as they would go and washed and dribbled water into everywhere he had touched and kissed, feeling the gentle rivulets of water creeping down over her like his tongue, and into the hair, like his fingers.

Had he been able to smell her there when he had kissed her? If he had, it had not seemed to deter him. She had washed herself carefully there that morning before she had left and had even squatted over a small pool at the edge of the stream and had splashed water up, under her dress and onto herself there after she had peed with only sheep to see her and be shocked. That had been before it had rained. He had not said anything about it, or complained, and it had not held him back from her, so it cannot have been so bad.

She heard the clock booming out the time below stairs. She would appear for dinner with her father and would be inscrutable. She would not argue with him, but would smile, no matter how he might provoke her. Her thoughts would be elsewhere.

She sorted out another dress and prepared herself for dinner with her father as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened to her, even though her world had come crashing down. Should she feel ashamed about what had happened? Should she be crying over her loss of innocence, and of her virtue, which had been removed with her clothing, even if she was still a virgin?

She would think about what had happened to her when she retired that night, if she could remember all of it. She now had a secret that no one could ever know about. Not even Fanny. If no one knew, then how could she have been changed in any way?

Except, Mr. Read knew. And he now knew her name. And where she lived, and he would come to get her tomorrow if she did not meet with him.

She would be ruined only if others found out about what had happened to her, or if she became pregnant. What would he expect of her when they met? She did not know.

She was quiet over dinner, not caring to displace those more recent, and pleasurable thoughts by recalling her father’s thoughtless words that had driven her out of the house, and to what fate? She had almost decided not to return. If she hadn’t, she would never have met Mr. Read. She would not have been ruined, but her life would have changed in another way.

Her father did not complain about her silence, though he had tried to draw her into conversation several times, each time without success as Cook waited upon them both. He regarded her as still being moody and petulant after that morning’s spat.

She retired early, which he did complain about. He wanted her to read to him. He had forgotten his earlier boorishness, but she hadn’t. She ignored him, as she had learned to do. She needed to think.

She opened her bedroom window wide, to let in the cooler evening air, undressed, laying her clothing out for the morning, and then dropped back onto her bed without putting on her nightdress. She would iron her dress out in the morning. Or leave it for the laundry girl, Lucy, to deal with.

Could she be pregnant after the liberties he had taken with her? She began to hope so.

Mr. Read had not kissed her on her lips that she could remember, except that brief touch to her lips before he walked off. Why not? She would not have minded if he had. Would that have been too personal, yet everything else he had done had not been? She did not understand.

Her sister Fanny’s troubles, so she said, had begun with but a single kiss, as it did for most women. Fanny had said how it soon went downhill from there if a woman was unwise enough to give in to his overt entreaties, or his covert pleadings after that, though Fanny had not been clear on what those were, or what giving-in, meant. Harriet had remembered some kind of unspoken pleading, as James had looked at her with a strange look on his flushed face, and sitting beside her. She had responded to that, reaching out to touch, and to grasp him, with all that had followed that. Was that what Fanny had meant by covert pleading?

The kiss was the start of everything, she said. Touching the breasts was next. Before you knew it, your dress was lifted, and then you were flat on your back, entertaining more of him than you bargained for, and then after that, with familiarity came even more familiarity. Off came all of your clothes, even as soon as you met, to make it all easier for him to be at you and getting his stiff c**k as far into you as he could.

With Harriet, her clothes coming off had been the first thing Mr. Read had done, not the last, and she remembered too little after that first hour, or did not want to remember. What little she recalled was not conducive to peaceful rest. Maybe her mind did not want to recall it.

She let her hands move over her body again, to touch as she remembered him touching her, but not feeling the same things. That guilt-laden pleasure was not there.

She could still feel his face in her there between her legs; his stubble upon her soft legs. She brought her legs up toward her, put them wider apart, and tried again to insert her little finger. It was easier now, and she could go deeper into herself, but she still could not go far. She had been aware of different folds of skin there, and of that entrance to her body that seemed to serve no particular function, other than to cause her some embarrassment when she had begun to menstruate.

She had been frightened to see blood coming from her there, at first, but then remembered her mother telling her about that to prepare her for it. She knew that if she did not wash often, and at every opportunity, that she would begin to smell. She washed often, even when she was out walking if there was privacy to do so and clean running water available. She had a handkerchief with her for that, but she had lost it somewhere, or had left it in the belvedere.

He had kissed her all along there, running his tongue up and down, touching different areas that were sensitive for her. She remembered that he had been breathing in a labored way as he had done that to her. She had not known how sensitive that part of her was until then. She used both hands and learned more of herself. She gasped as she touched one small area near the apex of her vulva. He had also caused that same reaction when he had licked and teased at her there with his lips.

She brought her legs together onto her hand and rolled onto her side, still touching herself as she brought her legs up toward her chest.

Why did he want to meet with her again? Could it be to undress her again as soon as they met, and to continue the shocking familiarity that he had begun with her as Fanny had said was the plan of all men? Despite that, she knew she had to go and meet him again, or risk having him come to the door and force his way in, to claim what he may now view as his property. There would be no one to deny him entry.

She barely slept that night, thinking about it, and trying to remember everything that had happened between them. One thing she was sure of; she had been compromised. It was not how she had imagined it would be. She laughed. How could she laugh at thought of such a thing happening to her? What was wrong with her?

There was nothing she could have done to have prevented any of what had happened to her, or to change it. Not only that, but none of it had been unpleasant. She was not sure how she could think so dispassionately of what had happened. Indeed, there had been nothing unpleasant about it, but quite the opposite. He could have done anything to her at that moment after all of the other familiarity and she would not have complained or stopped him. Typical of any man, he had not asked her if he could do any of what he had done to her but had just done it. She would not judge or condemn him for that.

They had been shocking things, yes, but not entirely unpleasant. He had been only kind to her, despite his great familiarity.

And his name was James Read. Where did he live? Although he had said that the belvedere was on his land, so he must live on the Blunt estate.

What relationship did he bear to Mr. Blunt? How old was he? Did he make a habit of doing this with other young women?

No, of course not. She already knew that about him but did not know how she knew it.

She wanted to know more about him but was of mixed feelings about it all. What she did know was that he had taken advantage of her helplessness and had shocked her beyond anything she had ever before experienced. Her senses still tingled. Yes, she had been ruined. Of that, she was certain. It did not feel as bad as it sounded. But what could she do about it except go and meet with him again to stop him coming here to claim her? That was what would ruin her.

Going to meet him was the only way she could find out what had happened to her now that the damage had been done and find out what more he wanted from her.

There was part of her that also wanted to meet him again and perhaps even to explore more of those strangely tingling feelings.