Eloisa James - Duchess by Night (7 page)

Actual y, her legs looked shapely and strong. The truth was that while Harriet always felt smothered in womens clothing, she was starting to think that she looked just right in breeches. Her body was a kind built for endurance, with muscles in her legs that came from the way she walked for miles after breakfast.

Benjamin never liked that habit. He preferred to see her reclining on a couch, waiting to hear about his latest chess match. Not strol ing over to see how the sow was faring with her new piglets. Thats not duchesss work, he would tel her. But then he would laugh. Benjamin was a great laugher. He never truly hated her penchant for walking. Nor her legs.

Though come to think of it, her husband had likely never seen her legs this clearly.

The adjoining door opened and Harriet sat up so fast that her head spun.

Its just me, Isidore said. Im sorry; I should have knocked.

Do come in, Harriet said, lying back again. Im admiring my breeches.

They are lovely, Isidore said, wandering into the room. But if I were playing the man I would want oval-shaped knee buckles.

Ohand perhaps knee ribbands.

Harriet wrinkled her nose. Too feminine. I have to look as masculine as possible.

The odd thing is, Harriet, that you do look masculine. I mean that you look perfectly feminine and delectable in a gown, but theres something, oh, out-doors-ish about you at the moment. I real y wouldnt guess that you were a woman in a mans costume.

I wonder if I could get away with it.

No. Your features are far too delicate.

So are yours, Isidore persisted. You have a little pointed chin, and those big eyes. How on earth did you get your brows to look so dark?

Vil ierss valet drew them on, Harriet said. His name is Finchley, and hes going to help me dress when necessary.

It adds a masculine touch, Isidore said. She peered closer. Did he do something to your chin as wel ?

He put some dots here and there that are supposed to make me look as if I have a beard coming.

Less successful, Isidore announced. Though it looks as if you might have spots, which would make sense if youre a very young man.

Harriet decided to forego the nearly-beard spots in the future.

What are you going to wear tonight? Isidore enquired. I was so disappointed that there werent any Paphians languishing around the entranceway, werent you? I mean, there was that statue, but given that the bottom half was al one blob of marble, you couldnt real y see the relevant bits.

Harriet thought the relevant bit was the look on Venuss face, but she didnt say so. Isidore, after al , was a virgin. Which brought her to something she wanted to say. She propped herself up on her elbow.

You arent real y thinking of bedding someone, are you, Isidore?

I might, Isidore said, pinching her cheek to make it a bit pinker. If there is someone truly delectable. Lets face it: since Im here, ruining my reputation, I might as wel have fun.

Dont, Harriet said, catching Isidores eye. Ive been married before, and I know what Im talking about. Please dont do that.

Why not? Isidore turned around, hands on her hips, and there was a flash of genuine rage in her eyes. You cant tel me that my husband has been parading around foreign parts like some sort of eunuch.

Eunuch? Harriet said, before she realized what Isidore was talking about.

Isidore gave her a wry smile. The truth is that you are far more innocent than I am, Harriet.

Perhaps about some things, but I know marriage. I understand it. Unfair though it may be, your husband wil be sorely disappointed if he finds you are not a virgin.

If he interrupts his travels long enough to return and discover the state of my body, Isidore pointed out. At this rate Il be a withered virgin of eighty.

Harriet shook her head. I think your instinct is right, and the dowager duchess wil force her son to return. But in the longer sense, what you real y want is a successful marriage. Chastity is a very good way to start it on the right foot.

No one is chaste in their marriages these days, Isidore said. Look at Jemma.

Jemma was entirely faithful to Beaumont until she interrupted him making love to his mistress. And I believe she was chaste for years when she first moved to Paris, and was waiting for him to fetch her.

But he didnt fetch her, did he? She was his virgin bride, and he didnt give a damn. Which just shows that your rosy idea of marriage is far from the reality of things.

Harriet didnt think anyone who had survived her own particular marriage could have a rosy view. Jemma gave it her best possible try. If you come to the marriage with experience, you risk not having a chance at success. And then you might wish that you had.

It depends on how you classify success, Isidore said. I define a successful marriage as one in which people live together without too much acrimony, long enough to have children. I would like that. A successful marriage is not necessarily one in which there is no scandal. I would judge Beaumont and Jemma to have a very successful marriage, for instance, although she disappoints me.

How so?

Isidores lip curled. I didnt want to tel her, but its paltry the way she has bowed to her husbands demands. If she wants to play chess with Strange, she should have accompanied us. I am not one to accede to foolish commands.

Harriet looked up at the ceiling. It was impossible to explain the dance of wil and compromise that had been her experience of marriage.

Was your marriage a success? Isidore asked, uncannily echoing Harriets own thoughts.

Isidores maid, Lucil e, pushed open the door. I need to get you into pantaloons for this evening, Your Grace, she said, looking faintly harassed. Mr. Finchley, the dukes valet, has given me a list of what you should wear. Hel be stopping by later to arrange your cravat.

I cant wait to see you! Isidore said, nipping back into her own chamber. Leaving Harriet with her question. Was your marriage a success?

She and Benjamin had no children. Her mother-in-law saw it as a utter failure on those grounds alone.

Then her husband committed suicide. That fact would make most of London unhesitatingly condemn her marriage as a failure.

Surely a good wife, a beloved wife, would be enough to keep a man from shooting himself.

But

Life was so much more complex than markers of that type. Was your marriage a success?

Yes, she whispered to the empty air.

I loved Benjamin. And he loved me.

He didnt love me enough to live. But he loved me. Surely that was the definition of marital success?

Of Mathematical Angles and Men in Flesh-colored Silk

J em was unable to focus on his structural drawings when he returned to his study, and so spent a grueling three hours with one of his secretaries, the one in charge of foreign investments. He agreed to sel a grove of Italian olive trees, confirmed the purchase of two Flemish brigantines (to be used to haul cotton from the East Indies to his cotton mil s), signed a sharp letter addressed to the House of Lords complaining of increasing privateer action, and approved expenditures of twelve hundred pounds in the next year towards armor-plating his trading vessels.

He final y retreated to his chamber with a headache. After a quick bath, he pul ed on some clothing and went to the nursery.

The west wing of the house was, as always, locked away from the greater house. At two oclock every afternoon, al doors leading that wing were locked and guarded, forestal ing the possibility that a drunken guest might wander toward the nursery in a state of disarray or worse.

As he approached, the footman standing at the door bowed and unlocked the door. He nodded at him, and then remembered Eugenias comment. Did he real y not observe people? The footman had a rather shaggy peruke, a bovine look, sweet eyes.

Is your name Roberts? he asked, knowing it wasnt.

James, my lord.

James, he said, committing it to memory. James: the bovine footman with the bedraggled peruke.

Eugenia was sitting in front of the fire, skirts spread out on al sides. May I come downstairs? she asked, jumping to her feet.

Look, Papa!

No, he said automatical y, coming over to look. What are you drawing?

Im ciphering, Eugenia said. Its so much fun, Papa. I learned it in this book. If you take an angle here , and add that outside one together, and divide it by this, it ends up at 360. And it does that over and over. Isnt that fascinating? Im trying to figure out what else comes to 360.

Jem squatted down. She was working on the same angles hed been playing with as bridge supports. Its very interesting, he told her. Heres another fun thing. You take a five-sided shape. He quickly drew it on her foolscap. Now extend al the angles.

What do you think the sum of al five of these outside angles wil be?

360?

Good guess. Try it out and see.

She bent her head over the paper, clumsily moving the brass protractor into place.

Jem made a mental note to have a protractor made to her measure. Wheres your governess, sweetheart?

I told her she could go have her supper downstairs, Eugenia said absently. She doesnt like angles. Shel be back upstairs in a while. Shes reading me Chapmans Homer.

The Iliad ?

We finished that. Its the Odyssey , and I like it much better.

You are frightening sometimes, Eugenia. Do you know that?

Wel , you say so, Papa, Eugenia replied, with complete unconcern in her voice.

He walked out wondering, once again, whether he ought to haveor ought to nowprovide a playmate for his daughter. She never showed any signs of loneliness, but surely children were supposed to play, not sit around splicing angles for fun. But then, she seemed happy.

And, in truth, providing a playmate, an appropriate playmate, would mean sending Eugenia away, to school or to a relative.

Parents of a properly brought up little gentlewoman would never al ow their daughter to visit Fonthil .

The idea of sending her away was impossible, and he shook it off. Stil it was a nagging thought. Eugenia was the dearest person in the world to him. Why was he raising her here? A better man would turn himself into a model of ethical standards, dismiss al his guests and half of the servants, and replace them with puritanical types with pinched noses and pure souls.

The problem was that he didnt value moral qualities as he should. In fact, he thought they were damned boring.

It was a conundrum and made him wish that Sal y hadnt died. If he had a good woman around Fonthil , it would al be easier.

Women were so good at lecturing. Sal y could lecture him into obedience, and he would complain to the fel ows behind her back, and that would be that.

The picture of English marriage.

The real problem was that he was free to please himself. Pleasure was vulgarand general y wickedbut so interesting.

As he entered his study, Povy came forward to give him his nightly report. Jem threw himself into an armchair and grateful y took the glass of wine handed him by a footman.

It was his indulgence and (if he admitted it) one of his passions. He drank sparingly. But he began most evenings with a smal glass of the very best wine. He raised an eyebrow at Povy.

A French claret from Bertin du Rocheret. I wil serve it with the beef. The menu tonight: turtle Madeira soup, fol owed by relevé de poisson , or salmon in champagne. To be fol owed by roast beef, lamp chops, capons with a béchamel sauce, and a plate of roast goslings with puréed apples.

Jem nodded.

Povy turned to another piece of foolscap, though he had it memorized. Some comments on a few guests. Mrs. Sandhurst left this morning, sending you her most fervent gratitude. She wished to speak to you herself, but I indicated that it wasnt possible.

Jem raised an eyebrow. And is she?

Indeed, I believe that she returns to London to seek consultation with an accoucheur; the child is hardly imminent, but natural y she wil need to inform Mr. Sandhurst of the event.

Or not, Jem said. Did she leave Troubridge behind?

Indeed, Povy said. Troubridge declared himself desolé , but he spent the day hunting with one of the Graces.

So far this sounds terribly tedious.

Povy turned the page. Miss Mol Davis and Mr. Cooling are practicing their performance of The Five Hours Adventure .

Monsieur Batelier, Sir Carteret, and Mr. Pedley stay on. He looked up. I believe that Sir Carteret may be drawing Mr. Pedley into an unlikely and improvident endeavor, something to do with the Committee of Tangier.

Hes of age, Jem said. Are the Oxford scholars stil here?

Yes, there was a most lively discussion of glass-making at breakfast, and then they al repaired to the dairy, which has been temporarily transformed into a glass-blowing studio. They are trying the effect of adding lead oxide in combination with a touch of copper. The Spanish ambassador was much taken by the idea, and has spent the day with them in the dairy, though he wil be at the Game tonight, of course.

Excel ent, Jem said, feeling a spark of interest. I shal stop by the creamery tomorrow.

As you know, the commissioner of the navy brought in three wagonloads of prize goods last week; the Duke of Wintersal wrote with the request that he bring the commissioner to the Game in the near future. I took the liberty of replying in the affirmative.

Good, Jem said. These days the Gamethe heart of his house partytended to populate itself.

Tonight is a simple dinner, with a mere thirty-three to sit, Povy said, turning the page. Your valet has laid out your flowered tabby vest and the coat with gold lace at the wrists.

That seems rather grand, Jem said, watching the wine swirl in his glass.

We have a duke and a duchess in the house, Povy said with mild reproach. Although His Grace the Duke of Vil iers is feeling poorly and wont join us. He doesnt have a fever, but is much pul ed. I asked the cook to make him an eau de poulet rafraichissant .

Chicken tea?

For the unwel , there is nothing better, Povy said. Beetroot leaves, yel ow lettuce and chicken, skimmed of course.