The Age of Desire Read Online Free PDF

pretend! I never had to tell the boys a thing. Hand me that hat.” Edith lifted a beautiful black hat off the hat stand, fluffing the osprey feathers before she passed it to her mother. “And now leave me alone,” Lucretia said, pinning the hat to her just refined hair. “You’re tiring me out.”

    The wedding reception was held at the house on Twenty-fifth Street. Through it all, Edith felt as though there were a pane of glass between her and the festivities. She did not take well to champagne, or to any wine for that matter. And her discomfort was heightened because the maid had winched in her corset even more firmly than usual to make her look sylphlike in her gown. She could barely take a breath. By the second hour of the reception, Teddy was not himself either. He had drunk too much, and was loud and clownish. This from a man who could normally drink to excess without evident behavior. He was showing Edith off as though she were a new toy, or a possession. “My wife, Edith. Have you met my new wife, Mrs. Edward Wharton?” he asked the guests, one after the other. Before everyone fled out of sheer annoyance, the newlyweds were tucked into a carriage to wave good-bye and head for their “secret” destination, Pen Craig Cottage, the musty little house that sat across the street from Pen Craig, her mother’s manse in Newport—an endless journey by carriage. There was no money after the extravagance of the reception for a night at a fine Manhattan hotel.
    It was late April, so not yet warm, but with the rocking of the carriage and the bumpy roads, they were soon both asleep. When Edith woke, it was dusk outside and she felt sick to her stomach. Her throat nearly closed with panic. She was alone in the carriage with Teddy Wharton, who was still fast asleep, his mouth agape, looking perfectly absurd. And she was terrified.
    She scanned the landscape out the window, and though she couldn’t tell where they were, she knew they had a long way to go. It would be nearly morning before they’d arrive at Pen Craig. The little cottage would be theirs as long as she wanted, her mother had said, because, frankly, she and Teddy had no money for a place of their own. Edith had never loved Newport. Year after year, she fell ill there. The moldy sea air exacerbated her breathing problems. But worse, at this moment, observing the slack face of the man she’d just married, she was uncertain about whether she loved him. When she’d agreed to marry him, she had imagined a grand life together: travel and beautiful houses and teas with the two of them gazing adoringly. Now he felt like a stranger. And she had no idea what was expected of her . . . intimately. Teddy woke to a weeping wife.
    “Puss, what is it?” he asked. Edith, who often translated for others, could suddenly find no words for herself.
    “A little of the wedding nerves?” he asked. He seemed kindly but foolish to her, with his reddish-gold mustache, his glazed blue eyes. She wished she could go home. Even if it meant going back to Lucretia and the house on Twenty-fifth Street.
    “I don’t feel very well,” she said softly.
    “You just settle back and enjoy the ride,” Teddy said, patting her hand. After a while he added, “You needn’t worry about me, dear,” he said. “You’re lucky, because you’ve married a patient man.” She was stunned he had read her fears without her bringing them up, but also mortified that he was even speaking about it—what she feared, what she didn’t know.
    When they arrived, right before the sun rose, Teddy tucked her into her bed with a pristine kiss.
    “You see, I’m not going to do anything but give you a kiss. Tomorrow night, we’ll see what happens.” She slept with utter relief.
    It was two weeks before Teddy Wharton finally gave up waiting for Edith to give him the signal that she was ready for him. Nearly every night she’d have a full-fledged asthma attack and push him right out of her bed. She’d