A young Charles Rayleigh would have scoffed at the mere thought of marriage. The idea of settling down and promising his love to one woman and one woman only disgusted him in his youth. He was, during those times, a reckless young man, set on the idea that a man of his pedigree deserved any woman he wanted. In fact, he had believed he deserved anything he wanted. It was for these reasons that he filled his days with alcohol, women, and long rides in the woods. It wasn't until a few years ago that he'd been forced to face reality.
Being the eldest, he knew his father had plans to find him a wife before his younger siblings. Regardless, it still came as a shock when he'd been told he would be marrying Harriet Stanford, the youngest daughter of the Stanford family. He pretended for a few weeks that he would simply be able to marry the woman, have the status of being a married man, and continue his earlier practices. Yet, his mother had had the idea to sit him down and address him.
"You are expected to treat her with respect, Charles," she said, her voice strong and unwavering, her eyes boring into his. "What sort of man would you be if you treated a woman poorly, let alone your wife? Like an object? Not much of a man at all, if anything." The proud young man averted his eyes slowly, his cheeks flushing in humiliation. It was one thing to be scolded by his teachers or even his father...but once his mother stepped in to scold him, he might as well have crawled into a corner like a dog with its tail between its legs. Something in Charles changed that night and he courted Harriet for short while, showing the utmost respect toward her, speaking to her as his equal. To his close companions, he seemed like a completely different person and, more or less, he really was a different person. The night they shared his bed, the night they truly sealed their love, he found himself falling irreversibly in love with the woman, even though he had already done so earlier while they courted. A more perfect match had never been observed before, he believed.
Once Harriet was in the carriage and sitting, Charles slowly climbed in beside her. His wife had placed the book on her lap while Charles sat on the seat beside her, closing the door of the carriage. He looked out of the window for a few moments until he felt a delicate hand rest upon his thigh. The young man's eyes widened slightly as he looked back at Harriet, who smiled mischievously up at him.
"Let's retire early this evening...we can try actively to give you an heir," she cooed, giggling as her lips glided along his neck and left a gentle trail of kisses against his tanned flesh. He bit his lower lip lightly as she nipped against the flesh. Meanwhile, her nails made small circles against his trousers. Charles let out a soft grunt subconsciously, biting his lip a bit harder as if to try and stifle it. "Seven hells, let us skip the summit all together and find a quiet, little spring where we can bathe naked and frolic in the grass. " At that moment, nothing sounded better. Charles kissed Harriet's neck softly, his turn now, and ran kisses under her chin all the way down to where the fabric of her dress's neckline began.
"Shame on you for teasing your poor husband so..." he playfully muttered. "How shall I focus now at the summit with such a proposition?" He lifted the book from her lap and placed it on the seat across from them as he ran a hand along Harriet's thigh slowly. "Darling, I would love nothing more than to spend an entire lifetime with you, alone and 'frolicking'..." He trailed off as he left another line of kisses that led up to her lips. Instead of kissing them, however, he pulled away and grinned. He slowly shrugged off his overcoat and laid it on the seat across. Shooting a quick glance at his wife, he slowly undid the top two buttons of his tunic and left them there before glancing back out of the window. With his head turned, she was unable to see his broad, cheeky smirk.