Page 68 of The Favourite

“But how thoughtful of her. Did she write it herself?”

“She would hardly be qualified, my lord.”

He looked amused. “She is perhaps, a bad wife?”

“She is no wife at all,” she corrected him.

“Ah,” he said and reached out to flick the strand of herbs extending from Aunt Maud’s letter. “And what is this?”

“I neither know nor care,” Jane replied, wondering if she looked as sour as she felt.

“That is hardly filial of you, Jane,” he said in mild reproach.

“They are from my aunt, not my mother,” she responded tartly. “You are heartily welcome to them, if you would like them.”

He smirked but reached over and unfolded the page, extracting the stem of dried leaves and tentatively sniffing them. He recoiled at once, dropping the offending item.

“What are they?” Jane asked, mildly curious.

“I have no idea.” He picked up Aunt Maud’s letter and scanned the contents. “Well, apparently,” he said with growing interest, “if they are steeped in water and left to soak for a twelve hour, they will make an efficacious broth that can then be fed to your unwitting husband, causing his manhood to lose its lusty vigor.”

“It does not say that!” Jane choked, feeling herself turn red. “You are teasing me.”

He passed her the first page and Jane gazed at her aunt’s matter-of-fact phrasing in fascinated horror. “She—she has always been interested in the study of botany,” she said feebly.

“Along with methods of fornication, apparently,” he murmured, his eye traveling over the second page.

“I beg your pardon?” She had surely misheard him, but he seemed too absorbed with the rest of the letter to answer. Jane was almost afraid to ask what it contained. Instead, she glanced down to the bottom of the first page and read: If he will not be denied, then on no account must you indulge him in any of the following positions, which must be considered lewd and ungodly in the extreme.

Jane shut her eyes a moment in despair. Aunt Maud could not have … With feelings of dread, she dragged her gaze up to find Alisander’s steadily upon her and containing a decided gleam. Jane swallowed and he flipped the page to show her a series of woodcut images which made her gasp aloud with horror. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head at the bizarre tangling of limbs depicted thereon.

“I think I’ll keep this,” he said, even as she made a snatch for it.

“Let me throw it on the fire!” she begged.

“Certainly not! And waste such a valuable resource?”

“Alisander!” She jumped out of her seat and half-rounded the table. “Please, give it back!”

“Not a chance,” he said, re-folding the page and slipping it into the neck of his tunic. “Though you ask so prettily.”

“Please?” she appealed, taking another step closer, her eyes darting to the unfastened lacings at his neck. Could she attempt to extract the wretched document, herself? No, she realized with frustration. She could never do such a thing. His chest was likely naked under that ridiculous tunic.

He leaned forward. “Not even if you promised me one hundred kisses,” he pronounced with relish. To Jane’s discomfiture, his gaze dwelt on her mouth the whole time, as though he was imagining it.

Embarrassing heat traveled up her neck. She was going to come over all blotchy again. “There is little chance of that my lord!” she choked out.

“We’ll see.” He glanced down at the table. “You may commit the pizzle-wort to the fire with my blessing.”

“I’d be more likely to stick it in your soup!”

He laughed. “Now, don’t be cross; I’ll give you this back,” he said, tapping his breast, “once I have had occasion to study and commit it to memory.”

Jane wrestled with the impulse to demand why he would waste his time on such a task. She was too afraid of his answer. The amused look on his face told her he was fully aware of the fact. She could strangle him!

“Why don’t you try it?” he asked softly.

“Strangling you?” she asked in startled tones.