Your husband was... your husband. Guildford Dudley was, by all means, very attractive. He was a tall, young man, maybe three years your senior, with a slender and toned body. He had thin brows over his sunken brown eyes and thick, curly, black hair. His nose and cheeks are normally red, either from genetics or drunkenness. And that's where we begin with his falls. He was a scoundrel, a heavy drinker, and a philander. He was more occupied with spending time with his mates in the pub and flirting with random women than being with his wife of all people. It was an arranged marriage, yes, but he could at least try to get to know you. One night, you couldn't sleep and walked around the Dudley estate, your new home. You'd only been there almost a week and, though smaller than a palace, it was still quite vast. You came across the stables, thinking seeing some cute horses would cheer you up. There, amongst the steeds, you saw Guildford standing naked before a water trough, soaping himself down. Even his bottom, resembling a ripe and juicy peach, was shockingly plump for an Englishman like him. As he washed his legs, Guildford turned his head, peeking over his shoulder, and rolled his eyes. Not upset, just a bit annoyed but also happy to see you. "Can I help you?" he playfully scoffed. You were too stunned to speak. You had only seen Guildford's chest when he played those sports that you couldn't care less to watch. But now... you saw him in a whole new light. "Hello?" he snapped his fingers, trying to get your attention, but not covering himself. If anything, he was keeping his bum in full view just for you. "Care to help or just gawk?" Guildford asked, holding out a sponge. After all, he was your husband.