Work Text:
Lucy Westenra’s diary, August, Whitby
There are some things that I suppose it is not wise for a girl to write down, and yet I must have this written down or I shall simply burst with it. Oh, I am trying to keep a diary in imitation of Mina, and yet I am quite sure that Mina never starts writing in such a silly way. I must start at the beginning, and write from there.
Arthur called for me this morning, as he usually does, and we breakfasted together. Arthur was very pleased to see me eat toast, eggs, and haddock. I think it is the sea air here that gives me such an appetite. I am putting on a little weight, and I fancy I look much better for it.
It was a fine, sunny day, and it was Arthur’s suggestion that we go riding. He is a very fine horseman. He looks so noble in the saddle, like a knight of old. I can almost imagine him as his namesake, and perhaps I could be his Guinevere. This is the sort of nonsense that I fall into when I think of him, but perhaps that is only natural when a girl thinks of her fiancé. We have been engaged for months, but it still gives me such joy to use that word!
Arthur sent for the horses while I changed into my riding-suit. A letter from Mina arrived, just before we were about to leave, and oh, it was wonderful to hear that she had been reunited with Jonathan, and that they are married!! Mother always tells me there are dangers in foreign countries, but Arthur has had so many adventures abroad, and Mina’s letter shows that there are good, kind people everywhere in the world.
I told Arthur all about the news from Mina as we rode. Mother does not like to ride, so we set out alone; she has let us go unchaperoned, now we are engaged. It is a blessing not to have her with us all the time, for she will listen into our conversations otherwise, though she pretends she is not doing it, and I do love to speak to Arthur and only to Arthur.
“It must be a great relief to you to know that she and Mr Harker are well,” he said.
“Not well, exactly,” I said, for poor Jonathan was married in his hospital bed. “But it is good to know that they are together, at least. I should not like to be long parted from you, when we are married.”
“Nor I from you,” he said, and there was such fondness in his expression. “Lucy, you know that now my father has recovered a little from his illness, he wishes our marriage to take place soon. He suggests the 28th of September – my late mother’s birthday. There is enough time to read the banns before then. Would that be to your liking?”
Had I not been on a horse, I would have kissed him! “I would be delighted,” I said. “Only a month more before I may call myself your wife.”
We spoke then of music, and flowers, and the church at Ring, and a dozen other such things. Arthur is so kind. He has ever such good taste, and sensible opinions, and yet he deferred to my choices too, even the silly ones. I should like asters in my bouquet; mother said that they would be gaudy and childish, but Arthur said that they would be bright and cheerful, and at their best in September besides. So I shall have asters in my bouquet, and if mother objects, I shall tell her that it was Arthur’s decision. Then she cannot complain.
I was so distracted with talking that I gave little heed to where we were going. All of a sudden we had left the wide open streets and found ourselves by a quaint little wood. It was so quiet that it felt like there might only have been us in all the world. The ground was uneven for the horses, so we dismounted, removed the saddles for their comfort, and tied them to a nearby tree. They were such good, placid beasts, they grazed there quite peaceably, and we continued on foot.
“We are quite alone,” I said.
Arthur looked anxious, poor dear! “Would you prefer to return to where there are other people?”
I shook my head. “I thought, since there is no one else here, that you might kiss me.”
I ought not to have spoken so freely, and yet Arthur did not hesitate. He kissed me with all the passion that he showed when I first accepted his proposal. I do like to kiss him so very much. I think it shall be one of my great pleasures, as a married woman. He is so tall, and strong, and with his arms around me I feel quite small, yet cherished, and safe.
It was very romantic, except that his moustache tickled my face, and I sneezed.
“I can shave it off, if you prefer,” Arthur said.
I shook my head. I know how proud men are of their whiskers, and it does look well on him. I am sure I shall grow used to the sensation.
I had a funny queer feeling, knowing that we were all alone, and Arthur so close, and kissing me so sweetly. My heart always leaps when I see him, and this was something of that sort – a sort of inner warmth and yearning for him, although he was not half a foot away from me.
I am not sure what came over me, a kind of madness perhaps. Perhaps it was that I had been so daring already, and we were alone, and Arthur smelled so good – no one ever told me that men could smell like that!
I am nervous of writing this, and yet I have promised myself that I should be honest in these pages.
I said to Arthur, “dearest, it is only a little over a month until we are married.”
“Yes,” he said. There was amusement in his eyes. Perhaps because it was so obvious, since we had spent so much of our ride talking of our wedding.
“And you do like kissing me very much?”
His eyes crinkled a little more. I adore that expression. “Yes, my dearest Lucy, I do.”
“A month is very little time altogether,” I said, “and yet it feels like an eternity to wait for you.”
He did not understand me, that was evident. He is so used to me being so correct and so proper. It is the face I usually wear. Yet not always, and not in front of Arthur all the time. He has seen and loved my true face, and I think that made me yet more daring.
Even then, I was nervous to speak frankly. “There is many a babe born eight months after a wedding,” I said. “People think very little of it.”
Then he understood, and oh, I will cherish the look on his face until my dying day. He was surprised – shocked, even – and yet there was such warmth, and passion, and love there. And joy, too. I think perhaps he was overjoyed, and yet afraid of showing it.
“My beloved Lucy,” he said. “Are you quite sure? Men do these things lightly, and yet for women –”
“You do not think less of me for suggesting it?” I asked, for I was suddenly filled with fear.
But he shook his head, and took my hands in his. “I am quite honoured by your trust in me,” he said.
“You do not think that it would be wrong?”
He kissed me, softly and sweetly. “Perhaps a little wrong,” he said, “but as you know I am no great churchgoer, and after all – as you say – we shall be married very soon.”
“Do you know what to do?” I asked him.
He blushed. “I know a little,” he said.
From that point on, he led me as if we were at a dance. We found a little clearing, where he laid down his coat, and checked to make sure there was no one else around. He asked me at least half a dozen times if I was certain, and if I was comfortable, until eventually all I could do was kiss him, and laugh, fondly, at his solicitude.
I laid down, and took off my breeches. My riding-habit is so long, there wasn’t much of me to be seen, but had anyone come near, I suppose what was happening would have been plain enough. Arthur was gentle as a lamb with me. He touched me, first through my dress, then he reached underneath my skirts as he kissed me. The feeling of his hands on my bare skin was quite, quite wonderful.
“May I?” he asked, his hand between my legs.
“I did not think gentlemen used their hands for such things,” I said, for my mother had told me a little about the marital act.
Arthur blushed again. I was coming to enjoy the flush of pink in his cheeks. “This will help you to… to warm up,” he said. “I fear hurting you.”
I felt quite warm already, and then his hand moved and I understood what he meant. It was an odd, almost uncomfortable sensation, but it made the inner warmth I felt before roar up – oh, there is no use in trying to put it into words! It was a strange, marvellous sensation, and I clung to Arthur, relishing the feeling of his body pressed against mine.
“I am sorry to be hurried,” Arthur said, “but the horses –”
I had half forgotten them. “We can hurry now,” I said. “There will be time for leisure when we are married.”
He looked very fondly at me. Before he could speak, I interrupted him. “If you are about to ask me if I am certain again, then I shall scream. You have my word that I am certain.”
“My beloved,” Arthur said. He took off his boots and trousers – an ungainly procedure in the middle of a wood, but one he managed with dignity intact. I looked at his gentleman’s part, and he seemed embarrassed. “Does it please you?” he asked, shyly.
“Very much,” I said. I could not truly say whether I liked it, as it was the only one I had ever seen, but it was part of Arthur and I do love every part of Arthur!
“I will go slowly,” he said. “It may hurt a little. Tell me if it does.”
Then he knelt between my legs and slid himself inside me, and I gasped – quite loudly. For a moment I was afraid, in case there was anyone else around. But there wasn’t.
“Did I hurt you?” Arthur asked anxiously.
“No,” I said. “No.” Then I did not know what else to say, so I kissed him, and he seemed to like that.
He began to move – to thrust, I suppose – though he was still being very gentle, as if I were a china doll. It felt… to tell the truth, it felt wonderful! It was silly of me, but I had not expected the parts of our bodies to be so well fitted to each other, and yet of course they were, the Lord made them that way. It is blasphemous, but I had a feeling then of being like Adam and Eve, created for one another.
As he continued moving, the sensation grew. It was almost like an ache, but pleasurable. Perhaps there was a very little pain, but I barely noticed. I could think only of Arthur: of his hands, of his body, of whether he was as pleased with me as I was with him. My feeling of yearning hit a kind of peak – I don’t know how to describe it – but I moved against Arthur like I was following him in a dance, and he seemed to like that very much. He groaned, and a great shudder went through him. He lay still for just a moment, then he pulled out of me and offered me his handkerchief.
“There may be a little mess,” he said.
There was a little, but my drawers had borne the worst of it. I returned Arthur’s handkerchief to him, and he helped me as I put my breeches on. It took startlingly little time before we both looked quite respectable again. I could not help but kiss him.
“Was that all right?” Arthur asked tenderly.
“That was wonderful,” I said.
“It will be better with practice,” he said. “When we are married –”
“When we are married we shall do that every day,” I said, “and I hope every time it is just as delightful.”
“I love you,” Arthur said, and I almost wept to hear it, for he said it in tones of such sweet, gentle truth.
“I love you too,” I said. “More than ever.”
This is wrong and pagan of me, but I felt we were husband and wife then, that all the joyous plans for the little church on the estate at Ring were only a formality compared to what we had done together in that woodland clearing to seal our union. Perhaps Arthur felt the same, because there was a queer confused romantic look on his face.
My hand in his arm, we made our way back to the horses. I was a little worried we had left them for too long, but they seemed not to have missed us.
“You shall have to stop smiling so much before I return you to your mother,” he said as we mounted up.
“It is simply that I am so happy,” I said, “and so in love with you, my dearest, darling Arthur!”
“Thank you,” he said. “For trusting me.”
“I will always trust you,” I said.
I had so many feelings, I could have burst with them all. But I knew I needed to grow calmer, or else mother would ask all kinds of questions that I could not safely answer. So we turned the conversation to safer things: our small circle of acquaintances in Whitby, and the news from London, and when I might next see Mina again. By the time we returned to the Crescent, I felt almost normal – and yet, utterly changed.
Arthur kissed me a sweet, chaste farewell, and went to return the horses to the stables. I have spent much of the time since then looking out of my window, and thinking about what a marvellous man he is, and how very, very, very lucky I am to be marrying him!
Now I can write my letter to Mina – to Mrs Harker. I will not tell her all of this, lest my letter goes astray. I can tell her once we are reunited, for I know I can trust her with my every secret. For now, it is a secret only for my beloved Arthur and me, and I can treasure it in my heart knowing it belongs only to us two.