The Duke and I (28 page)

 Her lips curved—a hint of that wide smile he'd come to adore. Maybe a hint that all would be well between them.

 "How did you know I like emeralds?" she asked.

 "I didn't," he admitted. "They reminded me of your eyes."

 "Of my—" Her head cocked slightly as her mouth twisted into what could only be described as a scolding grin. "Simon,

my eyes are brown."

 "They're mostly brown," he corrected.

 She twisted until she was facing the gilt mirror he'd used earlier to inspect his bruises and blinked a few times. "No," she said slowly, as if she were speaking to a person of considerably small intellect, "they're brown."

 He reached out and brushed one gentle finger along the bottom edge of her eye, her delicate lashes tickling his skin like a butterfly kiss. "Not around the edge."

 She gave him a look that was mostly dubious, but a little bit hopeful, then let out a funny little breath and stood. "I'm going to look for myself."

 Simon watched with amusement as she stood and marched over to the mirror and put her face close to the glass. She

blinked several times, then held her eyes open wide, then blinked some more.

 "Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed. "I've never seen that!"

 Simon stood and moved to her side, leaning with her against the mahogany table that stood in front of the mirror.

"You'll soon learn that I am always right."

 She shot him a sarcastic look. "But how did you notice that?"

 He shrugged. "I looked very closely."

 "You..." She seemed to decide against finishing her statement, and leaned back against the table, opening her eyes wide to inspect them again. "Fancy that," she murmured. "I have green eyes."

 "Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say—"

 "For today," she interrupted, "I refuse to believe they are anything but green."

 Simon grinned. "As you wish."

 She sighed. "I was always so jealous of Colin. Such beautiful eyes wasted on a man."

 "I'm sure the young ladies who fancy themselves in love with him would disagree."

 Daphne gave him a smirky glance. "Yes, but they don't signify, do they?"

 Simon caught himself wanting to laugh. "Not if you say so."

 "You'll soon learn," she said archly, "that I am always right."

 This time he did laugh. There was no way he could have held it in. He finally stopped, realizing that Daphne was silent. She was regarding him warmly, though, her lips curved into a nostalgic smile.

 "This was nice," she said, placing her hand on his. "Almost like it used to be, don't you think?"

 He nodded, turning his hand palm up so that he could clasp hers.

 "It will be like this again, won't it?" Her eyes showed a flicker of trepidation. "We'll go back to the way it was, won't we? Everything will be exactly the same."

 "Yes," he said, even though he knew it could not be true. They might find contentment, but it would never be just as it was.

 She smiled, closed her eyes, and rested her head against his shoulder. "Good."

 Simon watched their reflection for several minutes. And he almost believed he would be able to make her happy.

 *  *  *

 The next evening—Daphne's last night as Miss Bridgerton—Violet knocked on her bedroom door.

 Daphne was sitting on her bed, mementos of her childhood spread out before her, when she heard the rap. "Come in!"

she called out.

 Violet poked her head in, an awkward smile pasted on her face. "Daphne," she said, sounding queasy, "do you have a moment?"

 Daphne looked at her mother with concern. "Of course." She stood as Violet edged into the room. Her mother's skin was a remarkable match with her yellow dress.

 "Are you quite all right, Mother?" Daphne inquired. "You look a little green."

 "I'm fine. I just—" Violet cleared her throat and steeled her shoulders. "It's time we had a talk."

 "Ohhhhhh," Daphne breathed, her heart racing with anticipation. She'd been waiting for this. All her friends had told her that the night before one's wedding, one's mother delivered all the secrets of marriage. At the last possible moment, one was admitted into the company of womanhood, and told all those wicked and delicious facts that were kept so scrupulously from the ears of unmarried girls. Some of the young ladies of her set had, of course, already married, and Daphne and her friends had tried to get them to reveal what no one else would, but the young matrons had just giggled and smiled, saying, "You'll find out soon."

 "Soon" had become "now," and Daphne couldn't wait.

 Violet, on the other hand, looked as if she might lose the contents of her stomach at any moment.

 Daphne patted a spot on her bed. "Would you like to sit here, Mother?"

 Violet blinked in a rather distracted manner. "Yes, yes, that would be fine." She sat down, half-on and half-off the bed. She didn't look very comfortable.

 Daphne decided to take pity on her and begin the conversation. "Is this about marriage?" she asked gently.

 Violet's nod was barely perceptible.

 Daphne fought to keep the fascinated glee out of her voice. "The wedding night?"

 This time Violet managed to bob her chin up and down an entire inch. "I really don't know how to tell this to you. It's

highly indelicate."

 Daphne tried to wait patiently. Eventually her mother would get to the point.

 "You see," Violet said haltingly, "there are things you need to know. Things that will occur tomorrow night. Things"—

she coughed—"that involve your husband."

 Daphne leaned forward, her eyes widening.

 Violet scooted back, clearly uncomfortable with Daphne's obvious interest. "You see, your husband... that is to say, Simon, of course, since he will be your husband..."

 Since Violet showed no sign of finishing that thought, Daphne murmured, "Yes, Simon will be my husband."

 Violet groaned, her cornflower blue eyes glancing everywhere but Daphne's face. "This is very difficult for me."

 "Apparently so," Daphne muttered.

 Violet took a deep breath and sat up straight, her narrow shoulders thrown back as if she were steeling herself for the

most unpleasant task. "On your wedding night," she began, "your husband will expect you to do your marital duty."

 This was nothing Daphne didn't already know.

 "Your marriage must be consummated."

 "Of course," Daphne murmured.

 "He will join you in your bed."

 Daphne nodded. She knew this as well.

 "And he will perform certain"—Violet groped for a word, her hands actually waving through the air—
"intimacies
upon

your person."

 Daphne's lips parted slightly, her short indrawn breaththe room's only sound. This was finally getting interesting.

 "I am here to tell you," Violet said, her voice turning quite brisk, "that your marital duty need not be unpleasant."

 But what
was
it?

 Violet's cheeks blazed. "I know that some women find the, er, act distasteful, but—"

 "They do?" Daphne asked curiously. 'Then why do I see so many maids sneaking off with the footmen?"

 Violet instantly went into outraged employer mode. "Which maid was that?"she demanded.

 "Don't try to change the subject," Daphne warned. "I've been waiting for thisall week."

 Some of the steam went out of her mother. "You have?"

 Daphne's look was pure what-did-you-expect. "Well, of course."

 Violet sighed and mumbled, "Where was I?"

 "You were telling me that some women find their marital duty unpleasant."

 "Right. Well. Hmmm."

 Daphne looked down at her mother's hands and noticed that she'd practically shredded a handkerchief.

 "All I really want you to know," Violet said, the words tumbling out as if she could not wait to be rid of them, "is that it

needn't be unpleasant at all. If two people care for one another—and I believe that the duke cares for you very much—"

 "And I for him," Daphne interrupted softly.

 "Of course. Right. Well, you see, given that you do care for each other, it will probably be a very lovely and special moment." Violet started scooting to the foot of the bed, the pale yellow silk of her skirts spreadingalong the quilts as she moved. "And you shouldn't be nervous. I'm sure the duke will be very gentle."

 Daphne thought of Simon's scorching kiss. "Gentle" didn't seem to apply."But—"

 Violet stood up like a shot. "Very well. Have a good night. That's what I camehere to say."

 "That's all?"

 Violet dashed for the door. "Er, yes." Her eyes shifted guiltily."Were you expecting something else?"

 "Yes!" Daphne ran after her mother and threw herself against the door so she couldn't escape. "You can't leave telling me onlythat!"

 Violet glanced longingly at the window. Daphne gave thanks that her room was on the second floor; otherwise, she wouldn't have put it past her mother to try to make a getaway that way.

 "Daphne," Violet said, her voice sounding rather strangled.

 "But what do I
do?
"

 "Your husband will know," Violet said primly.

 "I don't want to make a fool of myself, Mother."

 Violet groaned. "You won't. Trust me. Men are..."

 Daphne seized upon the half-finished thought. "Men are what? What, Mother? What were you going to say?"

 By now Violet's entire face had turned bright red, and her neck and ears had progressed well into the pinks. "Men are

easily pleased," she mumbled. "He won't be disappointed."

 "But—"

 "But enough!" Violet finally said firmly. "I have told you everything my mother told me. Don't be a nervous ninny, and do it enough so you'll have a baby."

 Daphne's jaw dropped.
"What?
"

 Violet chuckled nervously. "Did I forget to mention the bit about the baby?"

 "Mother!"

 "Very well. Your marital duty—the, er, consummation, that is—is how you have a baby."

 Daphne sank against the wall. "So you did this eight times?" she whispered.

 "No!"

 Daphne blinked in confusion. Her mother's explanations had been impossibly vague, and she still didn't know what

marital duty was, precisely, but something wasn't adding up. "But wouldn't you have had to do it eight times?"

 Violet began to fan herself furiously. "Yes. No! Daphne, this is very personal."

 "But how could you have had eight children if you—"

 "I did it more than eight times," Violet ground out, looking as if she wanted to melt right into the walls.

 Daphne stared at her mother in disbelief."You did?"

 "Sometimes," Violet said, barely even moving her lips, and certainly not moving her eyes off a single spot on the floor,

"people just do it because they like to."

 Daphne's eyes grew very wide. "They do?" she breathed.

 "Er, yes."

 "Like when men and women kiss?"

 "Yes, exactly," Violet said, sighing with relief. "Very much like—" Her eyes narrowed. "Daphne," she said, her voice

suddenly shrill, "have you kissed the duke?"

 Daphne felt her skin turning a shade that rivaled her mother's. "I might have done," she mumbled.

 Violet shook her finger at her daughter. "Daphne Bridgerton, I cannot believe you would do such a thing. You know very well I warned you about allowing men such liberties!"

 "It hardly signifies now that we're to be married!"

 "But still—" Violet gave a deflating sigh. "Never mind. You're right. It doesn't signify. You're to be married, and to a duke no less, and if he kissed you, well, then, that was to be expected."

 Daphne just stared at her mother in disbelief. Violet's nervous, halting chatter was very much out of character.

 "Now then," Violet announced, "as long as you don't have any more questions, I'll just leave you to your, er,"—she glanced distractedly at the mementos Daphne had been shuffling through—"whatever it is that you're doing."

 "But I do have more questions!"

 Violet, however, had already made her escape.

 And Daphne, no matter how desperately she wanted to learn the secrets of the marital act, wasn't about to chase her mother down the hall—in full view of all the family and servants—to find out.

 Besides, her mother's talk had raised a new set of worries. Violet had said that the marital act was a requirement for the creation of children. If Simon couldn't have children, did that mean he couldn't perform those intimacies her mother had mentioned?

 And dash it all, what
were
those intimacies? Daphne suspected they had something to do with kissing, since society seemed so determined to make sure that young ladies keep their lips pure and chaste. And, she thought, a blush stealing over her cheeks as she remembered her time in the gardens with Simon, they might have something to do with a woman's breasts as well.