Chapter Text
Rey could scarcely recall the moment she met Ben Solo. The moment had been so insignificant to her at the time that, until later, she had contemplated neither the precise place in time nor the man to which the lead role went to. The hindsight, as it was, came to her at the altar, some six weeks after the event in question, with the very same man stood beside her playing the role of her betrothed. As she stood there, holding flowers which were wilting faster than anticipated in the summer heat, next to the man she would spend the rest of her life belonging to, she valiantly attempted to rein in the memory. The vicar’s droll words about God and matrimony became a distant humming in her ears.
The truth of it was that Rey remembered the ball more than she remembered him. Of course, there was the moment his name was announced, and every mother made to pull their daughter aside to whisper insistently that she should make to dance with him paired with the crucial information of how many thousands of pounds his estate brought in every year. However, Rey had not met him yet and truthfully, she had not even bothered to look for him when the announcement was made. No, that was not the moment she had been seeking.
It had been later in the evening when she had been tired out from all the dancing—the gentlemen in her town always lavished her with attention at the balls but none had ever made her an offer of marriage as her family was not the sort of family that other families wished to make connections to, but everyone was in agreement that the young and pretty Rey was the perfect partner in every other way except the most important. Rey had just gently refused a dance with her favorite dancing partner at the time, a Mr. Dameron, due to a need for refreshment and rest. Mr. Dameron had gallantly lead her to a table before rejoining in the evening’s festivities when her uncle and guardian, a garish and mortifying toad of a man, grasped her by the elbow and commanded her to come with him to be introduced to the “wealthiest fellow he’d ever met.” That was the moment. She remembered then that he had hardly glanced at her and exuded the emotion of someone who wanted to escape from their present company as swiftly as possible the whole short time of their introduction. His eyes flickered to the crowd more than once when her uncle had been speaking, and he shifted on his feet in the imitation that he was ready to run. She had not felt loss that a proud, rich man had not wished to know her, she had only felt embarrassment at her uncle’s persistent behavior and exhaustion from a night of invigorating exercise. That was the only thing about meeting her future husband that Rey could recall.
There was, of course, the conversation she overheard between the man and Mr. Dameron thereafter. She had been sitting down when she eavesdropped on Mr. Dameron stating that Mr. Solo should partake in the dancing. He had quietly yet vehemently refused in a tone that was gentle yet allowed not an inch for questioning. Dameron, being the congenial man he was, had implored that there were many excellent young ladies for him to dance with, and Rey had secretly smiled when he named her as the greatest dancing partner in the county. The smile and flicker of pride in her chest was short-lived when the other man spoke up.
Mr. Dameron had just been heralding her, “I have spoken to her on many an occasion and know her to be kind and quick-witted. These are attributes you find appealing are they not, old friend?”
Rey was unable to see his face as he insulted her in the one case for which she was unable to defend herself, “If an old friend I am then you must forgive my skepticism regarding her wit. She has an exceedingly distasteful and rather vapid family.”
“Come now, I don’t recall you ever being such a snob, it’s only the one man. Besides, I thought you were of the belief that family had little to do with the character of a person?”
Rey recalled having heard quite enough of that. It was not so much that Mr. Solo had insulted her family—her uncle, she agreed, was a greedy and dim-witted beast—but rather confirmed her suspicions that no one was capable of seeing her apart from his undesirable connection. Not even Mr. Dameron, kind as his words had been in her defense, truly wished to be in connection with her repugnant uncle. The scene was a disheartening one for the young woman, but she rallied her spirits and carried on with the night’s festivities (it was unfortunate that for her own well-being, she was forced to avoid Mr. Dameron lest she felt the shame of the earlier incident). All the while, it was hard to miss Mr. Solo’s scrutinizing gaze from across the room. Embarrassment, as it is often known to do, had molded into indignation that the man would dare openly critique her with his direct and watchful stare. Looking back on the incident from her position at the altar, perhaps his stare had not been malicious at all, but nevertheless, her feelings had snapped in that same night.
In her efforts to ignore his wandering eyes, she had failed to think that she would have to avoid him—after all, he had been so obviously disinterested in her—but lo and behold, he had spoken her name (she was astonished he had remembered it) and waited for her acknowledgment a step or two behind her. His face had been impassive and difficult to read (a quality she strongly disliked as she really did hate to be surprised).
“Would you do me the honor of a dance, Miss Johnson?”
A brief moment of brilliance and perfected meanness had struck Rey that she could have hardly resisted the temptation of saying exactly what it was that she wished to say—and she did, with a sweet and innocent smile, “Mr. Solo, I am honored by your attention, but I’m afraid I must decline on the grounds that I really must save you the embarrassment of dancing with someone from such a distasteful family.”
There had been no waiting around to see his reaction, it had only been a matter of curtseying to gracefully disengage from any further conversation and removing herself from his presence entirely. Perhaps it had been rather a shame that Rey had not stayed to discover why it was that he was suddenly so keen for her presence, she might have uncovered the secret that had ultimately led her to the chapel in which she stood. As Rey pored over the various instances with her not-so-suitor in the past, she still found herself at a loss. There had been numerous occasions in town when he had attempted to speak to her in passing, but she had always politely escaped from him. Despite his apparent disdain for balls, he continued attending them—perhaps at the insistence of his friend, Mr. Dameron—and his persistence in trying to find her made her nearly wish to quit them. It was for certain a mystery that he could not understand her lack of desire to speak with him. There had been one instance, Rey could recall, in which he had managed to track her. He had not been so terrible.
“Miss Johnson,” he had already caught her and there was nothing she could do but wait to find the opportune moment to excuse herself, “I wanted to speak with you on a certain matter.”
Rey gave her best imitation of a smile, “With me? Why, that is curious, but I’m afraid I have some urgent business to attend to with Mrs. Ha—”
“Just a moment of your time is all I ask,” he interrupted quietly but with an edge.
Rey had given no response, she only stayed in her place to let him know he was free to speak, “I believe we may have had something of a difficult start when I arrived here three weeks ago,” it had only been three weeks that she’d known of his existence, “but I feel that the fault lies with me. It is my wish to apologize for the unkind words you may have overheard the night of our introduction. It is my hope, going forward, that we could be friends.”
Perhaps that had been the warning Rey should have heeded when instead she had only disregarded the words for the sake of making an exit, “Of course, but you must forgive me, I do not know what you speak of. Excuse me.”
Men very rarely meant “friends” when they made the case to a young woman that they wished to be so, and that was a lesson that Rey had learned not three days after when she returned home from town. Mr. Solo had been exiting her home, which caused her to immediately duck behind a tree as a shield from him. Once he was gone, and she had been safe at last, she crossed the doorway that he had just stepped over minutes before to meet the smug face of her guardian.
“I tip my hat to you, Rey, I had no idea the squalling brat your parents gifted me with would turn out to be so useful,” Plutt had told her.
“What do you mean? What was Mr. Solo’s business here?” The lump that had formed in her throat made her loosen the ribbon around her neck.
“I offer my congratulations on your betrothal to that rich fellow, though I suppose it was I who introduced you. You must have bewitched the man; he’s offered to forgo a dowry and pay a bride price.”
Rey’s heart had very nearly stopped beating, her face turned grey, and her bonnet slipped from her shoulders, “I never accepted his hand in marriage. He has never asked me such a thing.”
“You are mistaken,” he had sneered, his toad-like features contorting in nastiness, “you have accepted him.”
“You have accepted him. I do not want to marry him.”
Plutt had stepped closer to her, and she’d been forced to fall back in a retreat for fear of a repetition of a past event (though he had claimed the event in question was a mistake and would never happen again), “This is your one chance, girl, to be of any use to me. I’ve wasted food and room and thousands of pounds on you. This is your repayment, very simple.”
Fury had risen in her chest, but all the sound that came from her was meek pleading, “I won’t do it. I’ll run away if I must, then you’ll never have to pay for me ever again.”
His eyes had narrowed to slits, but a smile curled its way onto his slimy face, “Oh, you very well could, my dear, but if you marry Mr. Solo and your good-for-nothing parents come asking around here for you, I would be more than pleased to point them in his direction.”
After that, it had been no question for her, of course. Ever since she was a child scrounging for meals in Plutt’s smaller estate, she had dreamed of her family returning for her. Plutt had always told her how he had been generous and offered to care for her until they could make a large enough sum to support her. It was a dream so ingrained into her very existence that the thought of giving it up to marry for love seemed incomprehensible. The wedding had come so much faster than expected as Mr. Solo was eager to get back to his estate in his own county, and Plutt was equally eager to be rid of her at long last. Rey had spent the first week in mourning, leaving the dreary, country house for very little. By the second week, Rey had forced herself to rally and became determined to use the last bit of her freedom that she had for walks through town and the woods. It was her last chance to take one more look on the place she was raised in—she had little hope she would see it again in so soon a time. Her friends had taken up much of her time leading up to the wedding on the third week, congratulating her on her greatly advantageous match and wishing the new couple the best. Of all the people who paid her a visit, it was the strangest thing that her betrothed was never among them. For all the agonizing moments she had spent trying to avoid him leading up to his proposal, she had seen not a stitch from him after it.
Then there was the wedding. Rey startled herself from her reverie as the vicar looked at her expectantly, and she could sense an uneasiness from her very-soon-to-be husband that she had paused before repeating her wedding vow. Somehow, she had mindlessly allowed her hand to be led into Mr. Solo’s and missed the entirety of his vow. A blush fanned across her cheeks, but it was thankfully hidden beneath the gauzy veil.
“I, Rey Johnson, take thee, Benjamin Solo,” his name is Benjamin, was an odd thought to have, but have it she did, “to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”
She was relieved when his hand dropped from hers as he pulled forth the ring. The vows rang through her mind, and not for the first time, she grew angry with him. To love, cherish, and to obey, she had vowed to him and God, and there was not a single way that she believed she would be able to uphold her vow. Rey neither loved nor cherished Benjamin Solo, and the thought of being expected to obey the man who had bought her hand in marriage was revolting enough for her stomach to turn.
His hand was then again on hers as he slid the ring ceremoniously onto her fourth finger without ever looking at her through the veil, “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
As one unit, the nearly married couple sank to their knees before the vicar to be led in prayer. Behind the veil, her eyes were concealed, and she was allowed to look freely on the man she was marrying. His features were striking yet soft in a great contradiction, and she could almost mark him as handsome were it not for her insistent feelings of revulsion and wrath. Rey could feel the energy of the room become disinterested in the ceremony; mothers shushing their children, feet tapping just slightly, and Mr. Solo’s eyes fluttering beneath his eyelids.
Once more their hands were joined, and Rey realized that the vicar had said “amen” and she was looking into open eyes, “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”
With haste, her eyes darted down, and she tried to think of other things such as her excitement over being able to eat breakfast at the ceremony’s conclusion. As was customary, she had taken no food in the morning, which it was then unfortunate that she had skipped meals two days in advance (once because Plutt had dined without her and made no other preparations for her and the other because she was simply too nervous). Rey was rather starving.
“I pronounce they be man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
What a simple phrase, Rey mused, that all of a sudden, she should belong to another man. In so many words, a man could give away a woman to another man and Rey would cease to be Ms. Rey Johnson, but rather Mrs. Rey Solo. At long last, the ceremony ended, and Rey allowed for her husband to assist her in rising to her feet. Reluctantly, she rested her hand in the crook of his arm to be led to the church’s registry. It was then confirmed in writing by none other than herself that Rey no longer existed as a free woman independent of any claims.
They were then led to a friend’s, Mr. Dameron’s, house to break their fast and celebrate. The married couple spoke not a word to each other throughout the entire ordeal, and Rey could only muster a smile to Mr. Dameron when he congratulated her and wished her the best—he had been a favorite of hers after all, before. Mr. Dameron had quite a few more things to say to his friend—her husband—that very nearly caused him to smile, but Rey had watched attentively, it had not been so that he smiled throughout the whole of the meal. Almost as soon as the reception had ended, the couple quit the county and entered Mr. Solo’s (hers too, apparently) personal carriage for his estate. Mr. Dameron, upon seeing his friend off from his home, had exclaimed numerous times that they need not rush off in haste, but that he would be happy to receive the two of them, but her husband had merely politely declined.
The carriage ride, which lasted well into the night and early morning, was not an experience Rey was sure she could ever be forced to endure again. Sleep eluded her under his keen stare (though he glanced away each time she turned to look at him) and though the day’s events had exhausted her, she was forced to ignore his silent stare and entertain herself with her own thoughts. Like at the reception, he did not speak to her once, but she breathed a sigh of relief that he had not for she was not sure she would have been capable of remaining civil. In the earliest hours of morning, they arrived at his rather sprawling estate with such a winding road to the main house that she was sure they had taken a detour. Upon pulling up to the front, Rey understood then that she had become very wealthy and lived not in the main house but rather in a mansion. Fires were lit to light their way and servants lined up outside to greet them. Despite feeling his gaze on her as she took in the sight, she refused to acknowledge him.
A slight, mousy servant woman greeted her inside the entry hall and introduced herself as her lady’s maid and that she would lead her to her room to prepare for a night of rest. As she followed the woman, she noticed her husband had disappeared from sight. Rey allowed her shoulders to ever so slightly relax as the implication that she would be sleeping alone settled over her. True to her word, the maid divested Rey of her tight and stuffy wedding dress and dressed her in a soft nightgown which she was certain had not been in the wardrobe sent up by the servants. The maid excused herself and left Rey to become acquainted with the room and promised to give her time in the morning to rest before waking her for breakfast. The exhaustion made itself known, and Rey allowed herself to finally rest in a bed so soft she was not sure she could become familiar with it. Her weary frame sank in, however, and became almost instantly familiar.
She did not wake until the maid, as promised, opened the curtains and announced that she would get her ready for breakfast. After a small time, Rey was dressed in a pale green dress made of muslin as she descended the stairs of her new home. She was appreciative of the maid who stood near to her so she would not be lost on her way to the dining hall through the large home. The smells that wafted from the said room would have been enough to lead the way had her guide not been there, Rey supposed.
Upon entering the dining room, Rey was astonished at the spread of food on the table. Her life with her guardian, Plutt, had not been destitute, they had a cook on staff, but the food she was given was not nearly so lavish as what she saw. Her husband, she observed, was sat at the head of the table reading some papers with a frown on his face—an expression she was beginning to become quite familiar with. Seemingly, he had not noticed her presence until one of the attendants pulled out her chair for her, and he belatedly stood to receive her at the table. He appeared to be nervous from what Rey could gather about the slight flush in his cheeks and the way his eyes darted about the room with nothing in particular catching his attention (everywhere around her, but not at her, as if intentionally looking everywhere but her so that perhaps she would not guess he wished to look at her).
Once they were seated, he surprised her by speaking—though he pretended to be more interested in his papers once more, “Did you sleep well?”
She equally feigned disinterest in his presence and spoke only the bare minimum as she retrieved several helpings of breakfast for her plate, “Yes.”
“Good,” from the corner of her eye, she watched him swallow harshly, but he had eaten no food, “Was your room to your satisfaction?”
“Yes.”
He did not offer to speak again but only picked at pieces of food on his plate until he was all but finished. Rey, too, had neared the end of what she wished to eat and remained astonished at the portions of food remaining on the table.
She surprised herself then by inquiring, “Is all of this food to go to waste?”
“No.”
Rey had somewhat expected an elaboration on his part, but it seemed that her husband had a small sense of humor, “Where does it go?”
He stood and made to exit the room, but he replied while he was in the process of doing so, “To the tenants of the estate.”
Oh, she reluctantly had the thought, that is good of him. She saw him not for the rest of the day until it was time for dinner. Even so, they did not speak, which she was glad of. She would not have been able to bear him asking what she had busied herself with during the day, only for her to respond that she had spent it all in her room in reflection. This then brought the married couple to the night—the night that perhaps had previously been taken up by a carriage ride but was free as of that moment. Her husband made no comment on it (or on anything really), which almost led her to hope he had forgotten of it. The hope was dashed, however, when her lady’s maid—a reprehensible and knowing smile on her small face—and asked if she would like a bath for her special night. Rey had held her shoulders up and agreed, attempting to look pleased at the daunting task that laid before her. As she cleaned herself with an assertive force that would have frightened the maid had she remained with her, anger welled up once again in her chest at the thought of her husband. Truly, she believed she hated him.
Skin scrubbed red and smelling of roses, she was then wrapped in a different silk nightgown and took up her wait in the chair before her vanity in the boudoir. After an hour or so, the sun had set, and she became weary of waiting. Her feet she tucked underneath herself and, refusing to move from the chair she had decided on, curled further into it. Her elbows gave rest onto one of the wooden arms and not soon after her head rested on her closed fist. Eyes drooping and bleary as the clock above her empty shelves ticked away in mockery as her husband still did not show. Each minute she became wearier and more furious that he would make her wait so late and so long. Eventually, she must have dozed off because the knock on her door startled her awake, and she looked up expectantly as the door opened—hours later—to reveal her husband of one day.
Admittedly, Rey was not knowledgeable about how encounters between husbands and wives happened, but she did not expect him to be all but fully dressed. He was only devoid of his outer coat and waistcoat; his shirt was still tucked neatly into his breeches and—God’s sakes—he was still in his boots. For a moment, he stood in the doorway just staring into her tired eyes with the reflection of the candle he held flickering in his own. Her own inexperience and lack of knowledge gave her pause from censuring him, she did not know whether or not if this was normal behavior.
“I am sorry if I have kept you waiting,” he spoke at last, which at least gave her a justification for some of her anger, “I had not been planning on,” he looked at his toes and fidgeted, “coming here tonight.”
“When were you planning on coming here then?” Her tone was nastier than intended, but it made the angry monster in her chest pleased.
“I wasn’t. Not really,” his eyes were truthful and seemed almost guilty in the candlelight, “I am not ignorant of the fact that our situation is unusual. It is my wish for you to know that I expect nothing of you that you are not prepared to give at this time or any time if it pleases you.”
That won’t do, he is already sorry without even a reprimand, a malicious part of Rey’s soul cried. The conditions of anxiety for his arrival, expectations of what would happen when he would do so, having to wait and become tired, only for all the expectations to be incorrect formulated into one black spot in her heart. It was right next to the black spot created by having to marry him in the first place. She often had no occasion for wrath, but when she did, Rey could not help but become beside herself with rage. Delicately, but with cold fury etched in her movements, she untangled herself from the vanity chair. It did not escape her notice that when she set her foot down that the gown exposed her calf, and it furthermore did not escape her notice that it did not escape his notice. He is not quite the gentleman that he pretends to be.
“Did you know that I did not even learn your name until yesterday, when I married you?”
His face flushed a darker red than it had at breakfast, and he attempted to defend himself with incompetent stammering, “I—I regret that. The situation, of course, would have been,” he wrung his hands together and stared at her feet, “It would have been preferable if we had known one another more. On several occasions, I did attempt to make myself known to you, but you seemed to have other preoccupations.”
Rey could feel her face contorting into a sneer to spit out her barbed words, “Perhaps that was your cue not to marry me!”
His expression gave her a variety of emotions. It was disheartened as her words had clearly made some impact on him, which gratified the mean spirit she was harboring within her. However, Rey had been itching to go to war for three weeks, and it seemed that the man she married simply did not have the character for war. She was disappointed in his lack of reaction.
“I—forgive me,” he all but whispered and stepped back over her threshold into the hallway, “I will leave you be.”
The fury in her roared to life and she took two steps forward to his one behind, “It’s much too late for changing minds. If this situation, as you like to refer to it, becomes annulled, my uncle will never have me back.”
He continued to flush and stutter and look everywhere except for her eyes (which was all the more infuriating), “If you truly do not desire an annulment, I would not dream of doing so against your will. There is no need for you to do anything you do not wish to.”
At some point, she had come to stand closer to him, they were almost stood together in the hall, and she whispered hotly, “Then I wish to. You wished to have me for a wife, and so you shall, but not without giving me the security that you cannot retreat from it at my expense.”
It was with certain reluctance that he had agreed. Neither spoke throughout the ordeal, and they only looked at each other for the necessary reasons. One candle was left on in the room, which helped cast shadows on anything she had not reconciled with herself to see yet. The pain was not so bad as she had expected it to be, but she could not stop herself from wincing, and he seemingly could not stop himself from whispering a strained and silent apology. The experience was not pleasant, but she came to understand how under different circumstances it might have been. Perhaps if she had liked him at all, it would have been better. Nonetheless, she appreciated his concentrated effort to end the event as fast as he could without being rough.
Upon the ending of the scene, he withdrew from her bed. She closed her eyes and rolled to her side in hopes that he would leave without attempting to speak to her. Weary though she was, her ears were still alert to every movement he made within her room for any sign that he was leaving. His clothes sliding back on, his footsteps to retrieve them from wherever he had left them, and then there was silence. She had not heard him leave and therefore imagined him standing with a stupid expression on his face in the middle of the room. It was with great bewilderment to her then that his fingers lightly pulled a blanket over her still form, and his lips touched her temple only barely. So much was her confusion that she did not hear him leave the room and close the door to the antechamber. Perhaps she could have lied there for hours in shock, but the hour had been late to begin with, and the night’s many tribulations were exhausting and overpowering to her sensibilities.