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“Actually, my first husband is dead,” Esme felt it necessary to add.

“That’s irrelevant! Sebastian will probably give you five more children if you wish.”

Esme had never seen her friend Helene show a stronger emotion than annoyance and once, when Esme had behaved appallingly, a sharp disgust. Helene’s every motion and thought was effected with a maximum of grace and control. But now the intricate braids that graced the top of her head were tilting slightly to the side. Her pale blue eyes were blazing and her normally pale complexion was pink with rage and grief.

Still, Esme thought she ought to point out that her first husband Miles’s death was hardly irrelevant. “That seems a bit harsh,” she said cautiously. “After all, Miles would far rather be alive than—”

Helene cast her a look that stopped that proper sentiment in its tracks. “Save it for the Sewing Circle,” she snapped. “Miles’s death means that you didn’t have to live with the man.”

The reference to the Sewing Circle stung; Esme had had a brief-lived foray into respectable widowhood before making a scandalous second marriage, whereupon the righteous woman leading the Circle repudiated Esme’s skills with the needle. “Miles and I may not have suited each other, but it isn’t as if I disliked marriage itself. After all, I did marry Sebastian, and I live with him, very happily too.”

“Cut bait,” Helene said impatiently. “Can’t we speak the truth in private? Men are a dreadful aberration of humanity: selfish, disgusting and forever rooting about looking for their own pleasures. Carola may well be besotted with Tuppy’s dubious skills at fishing or whatever skills he claims to have, but will it last? There’ll come a day when she’ll realize that he’s just like all the rest.”

“Why, Helene, I had no idea that you felt this way!” Esme cried. “What on earth did you like about Miles, if you find all men to be selfish beasts?”

“Miles would have given you anything you asked for. He honored the vows of marriage. You wanted a child; he gave you one. You wanted him to leave the house; he did so. And he never bothered you again, did he?”

“No,” Esme said, “yet—”

But Helene had risen and was pacing back and forth. “Rees and Miles are like night and day! Rees threw me out of our house years ago; he hasn’t said a civil word to me since; and all of London knows the depths of depravity to which he has sunk!”

Esme had to admit the truth of that. “Miles did have a mistress,” she put in.

“A quiet, respectable liaison,” Helene said. “No hysterics on either side. Lady Childe is an indubitably respectable woman, and while I can hardly sanction such a liaison outside marriage, it’s infinitely better than taking a woman of the streets and putting her into your wife’s bedchamber. If one more person tells me how much they sympathize with me due to my husband’s proclivities, I shall—I shall scream!”

Somewhat to Esme’s relief, Slope appeared with a tea tray. He didn’t seem to notice Helene’s disheveled appearance, but then he was highly paid to overlook any sort of irregularity. Esme had hired him in the days when she was the toast of all London and doing her best to live up to a reputation as Infamous Esme.

“We’ll think of something,” she said consolingly, as she poured tea. “For one thing, Rees is far more likely to agree to divorce if you actually had a lover, Helene. How can he possibly sue you for adultery? You have one of the most irreproachable reputations in London. We have to change that before divorce is possible.”

“It won’t work,” Helene said dully. “I know that you like creating these little scenarios, Esme. But I could hardly trick a man into my bed. The only person who has shown interest in years was Fairfax-Lacy. That came to nothing, and now he’s married and probably Bea is in a delicate condition already!” She stood at the window, with her back to the room, but Esme didn’t think she was admiring the view.

“You have to trust me,” Esme said, trying to sound confident. “Didn’t I arrange for Carola to bed her husband? Not to mention Henrietta and Darby!”

“You sound like some sort of vulgar matchmaker,” Helene said, not turning around.

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do.”

Esme pressed her lips together. She had a policy of courtesy toward sobbing women, although she was willing to bend the rule if needed.

Helene wheeled about and walked aimlessly to the other side of the room. “I will not be party to one of your absurd schemes. You think that you can manage everyone and everything, just because you’re beautiful and you’ve always had your way and got whatever you wanted—”

“I? I have got whatever I wanted?” Esme threw policy to the wind. “You’re the one who married for love, Helene, remember? So you made a bad bargain. At least you chose the man! I was married off to a man I’d danced with once and with whom I had exchanged exactly five words. A plump, balding man who may have been sweet but he certainly wasn’t the answer to a young girl’s romantic dream. You thought yourself in love with Rees when you eloped, if you remember!”

“Who cares how we got into our marriages?” Helene said, just as hotly. “If I was idiotic enough to elope with Rees, I’ve paid for that mistake in humiliation! Whereas you simply went your own way, and took whatever lovers you wished, and Miles never caused you a moment’s worry. And then when you decided on a whim to have a child, he accommodated you immediately—not to mention Sebastian Bonnington’s contribution!”

Esme could hardly remember being as enraged as she was at this moment. She jumped up and pointed a finger at her friend. “Don’t you dare say that I decided to have my child on a whim! Don’t you dare say that! I desperately wanted William. Otherwise I would never, ever have stooped to ask Miles to visit my bed, not when he was telling all and sundry that Lady Childe was the love of his life. I would never have done it!”

Helene narrowed her eyes. “I would undergo any humiliation to have a child—any! And you dare to complain because Miles loved Lady Childe more than you? Why the devil should he have loved you? You were unfaithful to him the very night before you reconciled! There was a whole nine months when you didn’t even know whose child you carried, if you remember!”

Esme took a deep breath. She and Helene were friends; they had been friends for years. But all friendships end at some point. “I see no reason to discuss your views of my behavior further,” she said. “I fully understand your opinion of me.” She had gone from being burningly angry to icy cold. “Please do not hesitate to finish your tea. I am afraid that I have a headache and shall retire to my chamber.”

“I didn’t mean—” Helene said.

Esme cut her off. “Yes, you did mean it. And you clearly have been thinking it for a long time. I’m glad that you expressed yourself so clearly. Now we both know where we stand.”

“No,” Helene said flatly. She walked around Esme and sat down again. “I won’t leave.”