Start your review of The Marriage Bed Write a review Shelves: hr-americana , february , romance-historical , snarky-troll-lives-here That inner snarky troll that I have has been sleeping quite comfortably for about the last 4 books that I have read. All good things must come to an end, and the troll woke up with a vengeance this morning after I finished this ridiculous book. Where to start, says the snarky troll. How about the cover? Without a doubt the worst I have ever seen.
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How did that little rhyme Kirsten had taught the children go? Star light, star bright, something about the first star at night. Nearly that, anyway. I wish He glanced over at the woman nestled beneath the covers just inches from his side. Outside, the few dried leaves that still clung tenaciously to the dormant lilac bushes scraped against the glass panes. Wind whistled through cracks in the painted white frames of the windows.
She shifted slightly, the mound of covers moving like a snow drift in the wind, and a tiny whimper escaped her lips. I wish I was dead. You all right? She sounded bewildered, confused.
Of course she was. So was he. Not that she needed to see him to know how mortified he was. He told himself once again it was just too much wine, too many toasts drunk to a newly wedded pair.
The white mound moved again as she extricated a hand to lay softly against his arm. When a man and a woman. Or was she simply being kind? Could she be so naive she actually thought that what they had done was all there was? No, she must have felt him suddenly grow soft inside her.
With no small amount of regret, he conceded as much. Certainly it had been different with Kirsten. After all, it had been more than two years since he had lain with Kirsten. In truth, it had been all right. Better, maybe, than just all right. The sadness just welled up in him and ended his wedding night almost before it had started. Do you suppose we might have made a baby?
A mess of which, thank the good Lord, she seemed blissfully unaware. At least there was that to be grateful for. There would be no child from their aborted union. Oddly, the idea gave him solace and he warmed to it, even in the face of his failure. Surely you must realize that, at least.
Peter and Margaret—" He interrupted her. My children are dead and so is my wife. The way she had cried when her mother died.
The Marriage Bed
How did that little rhyme Kirsten had taught the children go? Star light, star bright, something about the first star at night. Nearly that, anyway. I wish He glanced over at the woman nestled beneath the covers just inches from his side. Outside, the few dried leaves that still clung tenaciously to the dormant lilac bushes scraped against the glass panes.
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