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James

“Not at all,” Millie replied. “Miss Josephine is always trying to sneak out and find you. It stood to reason that she would succeed one day.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes,” the nurse said indulgently. “She runs circles around me, bothering me to death, she does. I want to go seeMama! I want to go see Mama! Oh my, don’t we hear that often!” She managed to catch the tie on Josie’s dress as she ran past. “Now you sit down, young lady, and show your mama that I’m teaching you proper manners.”

The smile uncurling in Henrietta’s heart was so large that there wasn’t room for it in her body. “I must have my bath now, girls,” she said. “Be good for Millie.”

Josie looked up from where she was putting on a decent imitation of a proper young lady, seated on a stool before a small table. “Will you come kiss us good night?”

Henrietta grinned. “I always do.”

“Story too?”

“Of course.”

She went back to her room and rang for another bath. Soaping her arms and legs had a different feeling, now that Simon was her husband. He had kissed this elbow, and he adored her shoulders. She couldn’t run a washcloth over her breasts without thinking about him.

Henrietta had always prided herself on her logical faculties. She could see to the bottom of a problem. But what was the bottom of this problem? There was something defective with the sheath, that was clear. Would she and Darby never make love again? Should she take the bottle without telling him? That seemed dishonest, not to mention useless. If the sheath didn’t work, she would simply face the same problem again next month. And she could not do that without going mad. Or Darby could take a mistress. They would return to the plan to which they originally agreed, in which she would act as a glorified nursemaid and he would take a mistress. Or Fool for Love

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mistresses. Even the thought of Darby with another woman made her stomach churn.

Yet a life of celibacy was not for Darby. He wasn’t a man to live without a woman. He would grow to hate me, she thought. A pang of anguish struck her heart. He had to take a mistress. He must. Because if he had a mistress, at least she would be able to see him, to live in the same house with him. And those crumbs would be enough—

would keep her alive. If he hated her . . . I’d rather die, Henrietta thought, and the thought made all the air disappear from the room.

It was just as well that she had discovered the sheath’s defective qualities now, since she was about to be introduced to the ton. The season was not truly in full cry, but Darby had explained that London was already crowded, and most everyone would attend a ball being given by the Duchess of Savington this very evening.

But now Darby would likely want her to stay home. Surely a wife would intrude on his search for a mistress?

Given the way he came to her night after night, even (she blushed to think) twice a night, her stepmother had been right. He was a man of fierce desires. He might well take two mistresses.

She tormented herself for a moment by imagining dainty female hands playing over Darby’s smooth chest, touching—

she wrenched her mind away.

< 41 =

Yet Another Love Letter

It was presumably a note saying good-bye. Saying good-bye and mentioning that he loved her. That was the problem with an unopened letter: it might say anything or nothing. Esme turned it over and over and then took her time opening the envelope. Henrietta had mourned receiving only one love letter in her life—that written by herself. Esme had received many, perhaps even a hundred, and yet this one was the only one that had ever mattered. She had told him to go, yes. But she would treasure his letter until she died. But even wishing can’t slow down the process of opening an envelope. The letter was written on rough foolscap, the kind a gardener might use if he were lucky enough to be able to write. The writing was that of a marquess, confident and bold. Esme, it said at the top. Her eyes caught there. No DearEsme?

Esme,

Before I became a gardener, I found it difficult—nay,impossible—to deny a lady’s request. One of the rea- Fool for Love

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sons I never took a mistress was that I scorned myfriends: if they submitted to outrageous requests, theywere fools. If they did not, they were ungentlemanly.Now that I am no longer known as a marquess, I findthis problem much easier to negotiate.I am refusing your request, my lady. I shall not will-ingly leave your employment. I am aware that yourreputation is endangered by my presence on your es-tate. My only excuse is that I have no reputation my-self, and I am thereby well aware of its ephemeralvalue. Reputation is worthless.

I can’t leave you, Esme. Perhaps if you were notwith child . . . but you are. And I am not stupid, Esme.I remember every detail of the night we spent togetherin Lady Troubridge’s house. You said that you had notyet reconciled with your husband; I took advantage ofthat fact.

The child you carry could be mine.

Were you to send your butler to terminate my em-ployment, I shall build a willow cabin at your gates, asViola threatens to do in Twelfth Night. That will causea scandal, no doubt. Perhaps in the aftermath of thescandal you will allow me to whisk you and your babyaway. We’ll find Cerces’ island, and live on pomegran-ates and bananas.