Chapter Text
Stewjon, April 24th
Dear Ben,
I confess I was most surprised by your proposal, given how our correspondence began, but I have given it much thought
Rey pauses with her pen over the blotter so as not to leave drops of ink on the page. It is true she has given much thought to Ben’s unexpected proposal, but she knew from the moment she read his sweet, awkward, generous words that she would accept. He was correct: it was a fine solution to both their predicaments. She could, of course, have accepted his other offer and gone to Alderaan as a guest—and if she were technically the duchess’s guest and not Ben’s, she imagined it would not cause much gossip—but what then? Surely she would outstay her welcome in a month at most, and then she would once more be seeking work as a governess or throwing herself on the mercy of Lord Kenobi’s distant cousin, who would undoubtedly wish to see her married off as soon as possible.
Besides, she suspects it would be dreadfully awkward to be a guest at Aldera Hall after turning down Ben’s offer of marriage. Maintaining a friendship through correspondence would be one thing; unfortunately, Ben was also correct that any prospective employers would disapprove of their governess exchanging letters with a man who was not a relation. And finally, given the choice to ride those fine horses upon occasion as a guest or to be mistress of the Alderaan stables … well, that was no choice at all.
Yet all those practical considerations, the logical arguments, the philosophical rationale, were a mere whisper compared to how the phrases indeed, I have grown quite fond of her and I would be honoured if you would have me for a husband echoed in her mind every hour of every day.
Her chief hesitation in accepting Benjamin Solo’s hand in marriage, for the few seconds of deliberation her heart affords her head, stems from her comprehending that she is almost certainly in love with him. And even if she is not quite yet in love, she expects she will fall headfirst into that undignified state the moment she glimpses a smile upon that serious, handsome face.
She has pictured it often enough, looking at the miniature of him she keeps on her bedside table. If merely receiving one of her letters can make him smile, surely she could draw forth the same reaction in person, could she not? Furthermore, she has given great consideration to the potential details of his smile; namely, whether the corners of his eyes will crinkle (she imagines they will) and if his full lips will pull up more on one side than the other (assuredly, but which side will it be?).
In sum, to accept Ben’s proposal of marriage is to risk her heart, for the phrases quite fond and a solution to both our predicaments do not mean Benjamin Solo is in love with her. It is entirely possible he regards her as a dear friend (above all else, I should hate to lose your friendship), and sees the benefit of having a wife to manage household affairs—and to give him heirs, though he had not outright mentioned that matter in so many words. (At the thought of creating those heirs, Rey presses her thighs together tightly, for her imaginative mind has now far outpaced her physical innocence in such matters.)
Yes, Ben might not love her, but he certainly wants her (the line I find myself envious of the candlelight which has the good fortune to caress your flushed cheeks and parted lips springs to mind). Is the combination of friendship (the truest friend I have ever had) and attraction (I imagine you beneath me) likely to grow into romantic love? Is there a difference in the first place? She has no experience to draw upon for wisdom, but—for Ben, with Ben, because Ben signed his latest letter hopefully yours—she, too, is willing to hope.
Rey dips her pen again in the inkwell and continues, though a girlish, hopeful, potentially foolish—and yet utterly irrepressible—smile appears on her lips as she writes.
I have given it much thought and I accept your offer of marriage. I am counting on your declaration that you are motivated by neither desperation nor pity, for I should not like to be proposed to for either reason, but as far as I know you have always been honest with me—indeed, honest to the point of rudeness and impropriety, though I have long since forgiven the former and find that I quite enjoy the latter.
Is it excessively forward to tell Ben that she looks forward to exploring various improprieties with him? Likely so. She should not like to appear desperate or give him leave to anticipate their wedding night before the banns are even read. Instead, with colour rising in her cheeks, she continues:
Will discussing such matters still be improper if I am your wife, do you think? Or, I suppose I should say, “when I am your wife,” assuming that you have not changed your mind by the time you receive this letter. I do agree with you that conducting a proposal by letter is not the ideal format, especially when the post between Alderaan and Stewjon takes nearly a fortnight.
In point of fact, due to that frustrating delay, I shall take the liberty of proposing (no play on words intended, though you may deem it witty if you wish) the handling of some practical considerations, that we might sort through the logistical matters before another month is past.
Lord Kenobi was overjoyed (and blessedly not too smug, at least outwardly so) to hear that you have proposed and I have accepted. He wishes you to know that I have a dowry of five thousand pounds and that he gives us his “whole-hearted blessing and deepest wishes for a long and happy life together.” Oh! and Kestrel, too, is to be part of my dowry, or perhaps my trousseau—can a horse be categorised among napkins and bedsheets?
I confess I was not certain when and where a wedding might take place, since I imagine neither of us wish to quit our homes while our relatives are unwell, but my great-uncle has what he believes to be a most excellent solution. He is insisting that he accompany me to Alderaan despite his poor health, that he might see me married and visit his old friends one last time. The enclosed letter addressed to your mother is one I have transcribed on his behalf.
If this plan is agreeable to you and your family, we could have the banns read in both our parishes and arrange for travel as soon as possible, before Lord Kenobi’s health declines any further. In that event, we would arrive in Alderaan at the end of May. I do not require any grand to-do or lavish celebrations, &c., but I know Her Grace may have something particular in mind for the wedding of her only child, so I shall defer to her wishes (especially as I recall her as a woman of good sense and taste), so long as they are not bothersome to the groom!
I confess it feels quite odd to go from resisting attempts at matchmaking, to planning a life as a governess, to scheduling a wedding. All that I have written above seems practical and straightforward, or so I hope, but in truth my mind is awhirl.
Truly, the oddest part is not thinking of a future as a wife and mother, for her former objections had been founded on lack of desire to be saddled with a husband (who would no doubt be onerous and overbearing), not distaste for running a household nor raising children. But it is a different matter to comprehend that she is now to be Benjamin Solo’s wife and the mother of his children, not to mention the future Duchess of Alderaan.
Rey remembers Her Grace Leia Organa Solo as a poised, regal woman: a force of nature with impeccable manners, intricate braids, and a warm smile. She is unsure if she can manage to live up to the example set by her future mother-in-law, but surely Ben knows that she is more spirited than graceful (in temperament as gentle as your hawks). And surely the duchess approves of Rey merely by the recommendation of Lord Kenobi, or she would not have encouraged her son to write in the first place!
I hope you and Their Graces are as well as can be, and most especially I hope you are not fretting overmuch about their health, my reply, or your future responsibilities. If you are unduly fretting, I beg you might cease, for I shall need my future husband to have occasionally glimpsed the sun outside in addition to the inside of his study, and slept more than occasionally in the weeks preceding our wedding, that he might be in good health and of sound mind to take his vows.
The flush Rey can feel upon her cheeks grows warmer. Ben’s declaration that he had grown used to spilling all his thoughts upon the page rather applies to her as well—much as she endeavours to be witty in her replies and sparing with her compliments, lest he think her an overeager schoolgirl mooning over him like the kitchen lads who make eyes at the dairymaids.
Quite understandably due to the length of your letter, you did not have the opportunity, I noted, to petition me for a more familiar address. So, I shall grant it here (you may think of it as an early wedding present): kindly address me as Rey in private or among family (at your discretion, for I do not wish your parents to think us overfamiliar), and Miss Kenobi in public, for I am a most proper young lady. It is possible, that once I am a married woman, propriety in private with my husband will be quite absent, should he enjoy such a custom—but I suppose only when the time comes, shall I truly discover just how improper I can be.
For now, I am,
Rey Kenobi
—
Alderaan, May 6th
Dearest Rey,
How did you know I was fretting overmuch? In truth, I did not expect my wife to begin hounding me before the banns had even been read—but then, neither did I expect how little I would object. So, I thank you for the reminder that I should step away from the ledgers and invoices while the sun still shines; moreover, I will endeavour to sleep in my own bed rather than upon the chaise in my study, for I imagine that the latter was not what you meant when you delivered your chastisement.
For the last three months, Ben has carried a letter from Miss Kenobi—Rey—in his waistcoat pocket, the one in which she called him quite charming and declared that his parents and the people of Alderaan were fortunate to have him as heir to the estate. In retrospect, it was rather sentimental behaviour, especially if one considered how often he brushed his fingers over the place where her letter was secretly tucked away; however, carrying the letter with him at all times had begun as a simple matter of practicality, that he might easily unfold the creased paper to reread her words at any time. He did so at least once a day, focussing alternately on her reassurances about his capabilities (usually while in his study), and on the lines I did not know humans could perform the act in so many more ways and I must forthrightly admit to equal—or at least equivalent—improper imaginings (usually while in his bedchamber, and once or twice in his study with the door locked so as not to risk anyone entering when he took himself in hand).
The creases of that letter are currently being pressed out (by placing it under the first five volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica) and will be added to the wooden box containing the rest of Rey’s letters, organised by date. Naturally, her most recent letter—in which she calls him Ben, willingly accepts his proposal, remarks that she enjoys his occasional improprieties, grants him permission to address her as Rey in private, and furthermore refers to him as my future husband and to herself as your wife—has gained the place of honour in his waistcoat pocket.
He likes being Ben, though he is unaccustomed to it. Ben is a name that is only for him and Rey. Ben is the man who fell in love with a young lady with a razor-sharp wit and lovely eyes and generous spirit, a man he can be regardless of title or station. To the world he is Mr. Solo, a future duke; to his mother he is Benjamin, or, occasionally, Benji; his father still refers to him as kid, notwithstanding that he is a full-grown man nearing his third decade of life. And on the subject of his parents—
My mother is perhaps a good deal more outwardly smug than Lord Kenobi, but I suppose I cannot fault her for it when her idea that I should write to you turned out to be such an excellent one. (I beg of you, do not tell her I said that, or she shall become insufferably smug). But, most of all, she is overjoyed threefold—nay, I think fourfold—that you have accepted my suit, for it means that, firstly, her son is soon to be happily married; secondly, it was thanks to her idea; thirdly; such an excellent lady is to join the family; and fourthly, though she is well aware that such things will only occur in due time, that she may have grandchildren soon.
Ben hesitates over including the last, but he would otherwise have to invent some other point to merit the use of fourfold, and it is best that Rey be prepared for his mother to talk of grandchildren. He hopes she is not averse to such a thing; though he would not mind having her all to himself for a while, he does, for his part, wish for children—preferably more than one, that they might not grow up lonely for lack of siblings, as he (and it seems, Rey) both had.
There is the necessity of an heir, of course, but he also hopes he and Rey can raise their children in such a way as to emulate the finest aspects of his own childhood (such as his father teaching him to ride at a young age; he is pleased with the knowledge that Rey will also wish to be involved in their children’s riding lessons), but not the disagreeable ones (for example, that his parents were too occupied by their own lives, to write to him more than once a term throughout his long years at Eton and then Oxford).
Although Rey is possessed of an independent nature and bluestocking sensibilities, she has mentioned how she enjoys the company of children and always longed for siblings, so his hopes on that score are not unfounded. Still, he tries not to be overhasty by thinking on actually getting her with child; he has already, repeatedly indulged in day-dreams of undressing her (or perhaps, bold creature that she is, she will wish to make a show of undressing herself in front of him?), making her fully and completely his wife on their wedding night, exploring with her all the ways in which they can perform the act, discovering what sweet noises she shall make….
Yes. Well. In any case, Ben has quite enough fantasies to make colour rise in his cheeks and his cock throb in his breeches in the midst of writing this letter. He had better get on with it so as not to delay posting his reply, and perhaps after he has given the letter to a footman, he can take himself in hand, though it has not even been a full day since he last did so. He adjusts himself and continues:
Both Their Graces and I are well (my father is newly motivated to eschew vigorous sport and rich foods, that he might be in good health at our wedding), and I—as I alluded to above—slept soundly in my own bed for nearly nine hours last night.
Ben does not mention what activity he partook in just prior to that sound sleep in his own bed, but he likes to imagine that Rey may speculate on the matter without prompting. On the other hand, he hopes that her newly awakened interest in bedsport is not foremost among the reasons she accepted his suit. In point of fact, his prior concerns that Rey might rebuff his proposal have been transmuted; he is now vexed by the thought that she accepted only because a future duchess is assured of a far more comfortable future than that of a governess, or because of his fine stables—or because he had inadvertently sparked her curiosity about sexual matters.
There was nothing wrong with her accepting for those reasons, of course—when he had written his clumsy proposal, he had been counting on the practical concerns being sufficient to convince her—but it would be dreadfully awkward if Rey were only moderately fond of him, for it will surely be obvious to everybody around them that Ben is moments away from throwing himself at her feet and professing his undying love. It will be a miracle if he can keep his parents from mentioning the words love match—indeed, that is likely too much to hope for, which is a quandary he shall have to untangle at a later date.
I discussed the wedding arrangements with my parents this morning—in truth, your initiative in commencing with the planning is greatly appreciated by all parties, and we are in agreement with all your suggestions. I understand my mother will be writing to ask you about a few details, but she has assured me that she is not planning anything “excessive.”
We shall have the banns read in Alderaan the next three Sundays, and perhaps we can set Friday, June 3rd as the wedding day, if you still think you shall arrive by the end of May? It is likely (though not guaranteed) to be reasonably fine weather in Alderaan by then, and we might have the wedding breakfast out-doors.
I am having my lawyer draw up the settlement papers for yourself and Lord Kenobi to review. I hope pin-money of four hundred pounds per annum is satisfactory? And I shall see to it that Kestrel has a fine corner stall prepared for her; I have explained to the other horses that they are soon to have a new equine friend and human mistress, but I fear they shall not comprehend the magnitude of these events, until your arrival in person.
He is also arranging for a small mews to be built and candidates for a falconer to be interviewed. Though it is unlikely that the structure will be fully complete by the time Rey arrives, he means to make it something of a wedding present, to demonstrate that her interests are as important as his. And if she is amenable to instructing him in falconry, then it shall be yet another activity they can enjoy together.
For myself, I likewise can scarce comprehend that I am to have such an accomplished, beautiful, keen-witted wife. I count myself lucky indeed and know not what I have done to deserve this good fortune.
Moreover, like yours, my mind is awhirl, but fortunately we both have plenty of preparations to keep us occupied. I am hoping to be done with these blasted ledgers before your arrival, that we might enjoy a honeymoon without so many responsibilities to distract us from other important matters. My mother is insistent that she and my father shall repair to London for the month following the wedding, that she might be present for the rest of the Season and thereby grant us a measure of privacy. Thereafter, we can join them in Town if you wish, or eschew the Season all-together with the excuse of being recently married.
I must admit that I am torn between joy, that you have given me leave to call you Rey, especially when you are soon to have a new surname, and consternation, that I shall have to remember to address you as Miss Kenobi when others are present for some time yet. I do not think my parents should object, for their part, but I do not wish to give them—or your great-uncle—any reason to suspect us of having been over-familiar in our correspondence. It is a dilemma, especially as you have such a lovely name, that I think I shall enjoy saying it often.
Your soon-to-be-husband,
Benjamin Solo,
Or simply,
Your Ben
P.S. In answer to your question, I do not know if it is improper for husbands and wives to overtly discuss bedsport; I suppose it might depend on whom you ask, except the very asking of such a thing would certainly be improper. In any case, I do not think propriety need have any say in what we do in private, much as the words in our correspondence are not anyone else’s concern.
And since you have remarked how you so enjoy when I transgress, I should hate to miss such a clear cue: I do look forward to discovering how improper you can be when freed from the constraints Society has deemed necessary—and likewise freed from any garments that constrain you and conceal your beauty from your husband’s admiring eyes.
Ben does not wish to make Rey think his interest is only a matter of lust—but surely she can discern that, if so, he would not have proposed to her when he has only seen a small portrait of her and never met face to face. Moreover, he devoutly hopes he will not disappoint on their wedding night, after all the expectations he has inadvertently built up around bedsport. He has some experience—enough, he hopes, to keep from embarrassing himself and to feel reasonably confident he can make his wife reach her peak at least once.
His father had impressed upon him at a young age—too young, in his opinion—that even if he were to withdraw before spilling his seed, such a method was not infallible. And when he had gone off to Oxford at eighteen, his mother had vowed to disembowel him with a hatpin should he get a young woman of any social class with child out of wedlock. If he were lucky, she would not act so rashly, but instead hold a pistol to his head while he drew up a marriage settlement with an exceedingly generous jointure, that the woman and child would have their future comfort assured in the event of his untimely death, at which point she might then freely threaten to disembowel him at any later date. Duchess Leia Organa Solo took a militant as well as philosophical approach to the vindication aspect of A Vindication of the Rights of Women, which she had read aloud to a young Benjamin during his sixth year.
In any case, though Ben is certainly not without interest in performing the act, as Rey had referred to it, his experience is perhaps not so great as she might suppose; his encounters involving hands and mouths, while pleasant enough, had not inspired him to venture into more risky territory. But between his scandalous words in their letters and the mere fact that he is a man of nine-and-twenty, he fears that Rey no doubt expects him to be a connoisseur of carnal pleasure.
Then again, so long as he does not spill like a green lad at the first glimpse of her naked body, Rey’s curious nature will gladly admit an additional layer of experimentation on both their parts. Or so he tells himself, to keep from fretting overmuch, for that is precisely the habit she warned him to avoid.
In order to prove to himself his restraint, he rereads the letter to Rey without touching himself as he does so, deems it satisfactory, and rings for Mitaka to post it. Normally he would take the opportunity to stretch his legs and go find a footman himself, but his tailcoat will not conceal his erection, so remaining seated is his best option at present.
When Mitaka has departed with strict instructions to post the letter without delay, Ben rises from his seat, locks the door, and repairs to the chaise with Rey’s portrait in hand. Only then does he unbutton his breeches and stroke himself to completion while imagining the eager hazel eyes and breathlessly parted pink lips of his wife when he takes her for the first time.
—
Stewjon, May 17th
Dearest Ben,
It is quite strange to write a letter and know that there is no time for a reply to arrive before we depart for Alderaan, so I suppose anything you have to say in response to this must be said in person! I may write you a longer letter from the road in order to more thoroughly reply to your divers points, for I do not expect we shall be able to truly talk privately until after the wedding.
For now I must be brief, for we plan to set out to-morrow (allowing additional time to travel slowly for my great-uncle’s sake) and there is much to do. I think our housekeeper Mrs. M——, who appointed herself in charge of my trousseau, means for Alderaan to be using table linens made in Stewjon well into the next century. It is a good thing I was obliged to remain in-doors for much of the winter and had ample opportunity to sew. I suppose, in retrospect, Lord Kenobi did seem more than usually interested in my needlework; perhaps he was tacitly encouraging me to finish some pieces that had sat neglected, that I might have a respectable assortment.
Look at me spilling my thoughts upon the page as you have rendered me wont to do, when I know you must have no interest in table linens and embroidery! Shall we say it is an opportunity for you to practise a gentlemanly response despite your lack of interest, and in return I shall endeavour not to prattle on about such things in the future?
Speaking of respectable amounts and gentlemanly behaviour—my goodness, Mr. Solo, I should think that four hundred pounds per annum is more than sufficient! I have no idea what I might spend such a sum on unless you mean for me to be attired in Venetian silk at all times, which I would think rather excessive, even for a future duchess. That is to say, your generosity with regards to the settlement is noted and appreciated, including the income set aside so any children beyond a firstborn shall not find themselves in the predicament I was in—though I maintain that I would have made a fine governess.
I must dash, for Mrs. M—— is calling for me to try on my wedding dress once more before it is packed away. You may expect us at Aldera Hall on the 31st of May, if all goes well, and I shall of course write you in the case of any delays.
Though I am at sixes and sevens with packing, &c., I remain,
Rey Kenobi
—
Yorkshire, May 19th
To one who enjoys the company of horses and hounds, but may yet become a husband:
Now we are on our way south and I do not know if this letter will arrive before us; in a race I should normally bet against the mail carriage, but our pace is slow to minimise my great-uncle’s discomfort—though he complains not a jot of the aching bones and stiff joints I would surely possess if I were not able to ride Kestrel often throughout the day. Since you have attributed such advanced cognition to your steeds, I am now imagining that Kestrel thinks this a grand adventure, though she no doubt pities the carriage horses with their heavy tack and ungainly burden.
As I mentioned in my previous letter, I wished to respond to yours at greater length, and with greater privacy than we would be afforded when speaking aloud in the company of others. I was very glad to read that your father is well, and your mother wrote me the loveliest note to welcome me to the family and ask about cake flavours (I selected orange sponge, unless you would prefer lemon).
I was also pleased to learn that you are endeavouring to sleep in your own bed. You mentioned said bed a curious number of times, and I cannot help but wonder if that was a deliberate tease. I suppose I shall have to wait and see, just as with your sense of humour (though my hypothesis on that score is a positive one). It seems we shall have much to discover together, so it is all the better that we are of one mind about having the freedom to say and do as we wish when in private.
If we join Their Graces in Town following our honeymoon, would we remain there for the rest of the Season, or are you supposing we might attend a few events, conduct any business you must see to, and then repair to Alderaan once more ? In truth I do not know what I would prefer—I should like to see London at some point, of course, but by your account it has not nearly so much to recommend it as the fields and forests of Alderaan, which I am eager to explore!
That said, I shall be glad to accompany you if you wish (or are obliged) to spend the rest of the summer in Town. Perhaps I shall consult with your mother once we arrive in Alderaan, for I should not wish to embarrass my new family if my gowns or manners are not fine enough.
We must be up again early to-morrow to continue our journey, and I can see my maid stifling her yawns, so I suppose I ought to finish this letter and undress for bed, that she might depart for her own night’s rest. If only I had a kind and helpful husband to assist me instead! Though, in that case, it is possible we would become quite preoccupied and get very little rest indeed.
If you are my Ben, then I must be,
Now and most especially after Friday next,
Yours,
Rey