“Irequire your assistance,” Effie said to the boys that night after dinner as they settled themselves in the drawing room with a bottle of port. They were alone. Julianna, pleading a headache he suspected was not real, had excused herself.
“I’ve already written to Stanhope as you asked,” Simon said.
Effie had forgotten that he’d asked Simon to inquire about a hand press. That conversation, conducted before Julianna’s arrival on the scene, seemed a lifetime ago. “Not that, though I do appreciate it. I require your assistance in . . . matters of a more delicate nature.”
“All right.”
Effie brushed an imaginary piece of lint off his sleeve. “I think Miss Evans and I will lie together this evening.”
The boys whooped and made predictable, good-natured jeers. He had expected nothing less.
“Yes, yes. Now that you’ve got that out of the way, help me!”
Archie refilled their glasses. “What seems to be the problem?”
“I . . . don’t know how to do it.”
“What do you mean you don’t know how to do it?” Simon asked.
“I never have,” Effie said.
It took the boys a moment to absorb that fact. To their credit, neither laughed. Simon set down his newspaper, and Archie said, “I suppose that makes sense, given what you told us the other day about your history with love and desire.”
“I am acquainted with the mechanics of the act,” Effie said, “but I feel certain there is more to it than mechanics.”
“Thatis certainly true,” Simon said, and Effie was surprised. He would have expected such a declaration from Archie, who was utterly besotted with his wife.
“So? What do I do?”
“She may have some advice,” Archie said.
“Really?” He had not considered that.
“Well, she is a decade older than you, is she not?” Archie asked.
“You think she...?”
Archie shrugged. “If she has, you ought to take her advice over ours. She will know what would be most . . . expedient.”
“Is expediency what I’m to aim for?”
“No!” Archie said rather vehemently.
“All right. Should I tell her I am a virgin?” Effie asked. “I get the impression it’s something I’m meant to be ashamed of, but I don’t understand why. We prize virginity in ladies; why not in gentlemen?”
Archie chuckled. “You and Clementine ought to talk.”
“What do you mean?”
“She and I had many discussions over the concept of ruination when we were trying to shield her and Olive from that same fate last year. Why is it when a woman lies with a man to whom she is not married, she is ruined yet that same man is not?”
“An excellent question,” Effie said, feeling a mite frustrated. Thinking about poetry was so much easier than trying to puzzle through these sorts of thorny societal questions.
“As an aside,” Simon said, “perhaps our fixation on protecting the Morgan sisters from ruination last year explains why we were so invested in the idea of protecting Miss Evans’s reputation this year.” He smirked. “These trips do, of late, seem to be plagued with women on the verge of ruination.”
“Don’t they, though?” Archie said. He turned to Effie. “As to your dilemma, will you allow me to give you some advice?”
“Allow you? That is why I am here.”
