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Henrietta said, resolutely trying to ignore her new husband. He was acting in the most foolish manner, pressing his leg against hers and smiling at her as if—as if—She wrenched her mind away from that thought.

The innkeeper bustled in and himself supervised the remove of fillets of turbot with a harrico of mutton.

“It wasn’t terrible.” If Lord Godwin didn’t precisely grunt, he sounded as if he had. Henrietta was beginning to feel indignant. She had been sitting here for nearly thirty minutes, doing her best to make pleasant conversation to the man who claimed to be her husband’s closest friend, and he was being abominably rude. That was the only word for it. Even now, he was showing not a particle of interest in continuing their conversation, but just poking at his mutton as if it were undercooked. She took a sip of burgundy, cautioning herself not to fly into an extravagant comment. It was none of her business if the man was taciturn, and surly, and altogether—

She’d give him one more chance.

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“Lord Godwin, what did you think of Napoleon’s exile to Elba? Do you believe that he’ll remain on the island?”

“Don’t give a hang either way.”

Henrietta spared her husband a glance.

“I wouldn’t even bother,” he advised her. “Rees hasn’t had a conversation with a respectable woman in so long that he doesn’t remember the language.”

But Henrietta was known for her persistence. “Wasn’t this past year tremendously interesting for France, Lord Godwin?”

“For Austria, perhaps.”

“Austria?”

“Beethoven’s opera Fidelio was performed for the delegates at the Congress of Vienna in autumn,” Rees said with perfect indifference. “Mrs. Darby, if you are trying to impress your husband by exhibiting your profound knowledge of international relations, could you please save the demonstration for your private quarters?” He drained his glass and set it down with a thump. “I assure you that I am sufficiently impressed by your abilities as demonstrated by your current marital status.”

Henrietta narrowed her eyes. The man clearly wanted to lure her into a demonstration of temper, likely to prove some moronic point he made to Darby about women’s temperament. She knew that all-male carriage ride was going to incite trouble. She thought about it for a second, then threw Rees a melting look from under her eyelashes. “What a pleasure, Lord Godwin, to see you become so unexpectedly verbal.”

He gave her a guarded look. He probably thought she was making advances to him. Rees is your husband’s closest friend, she told herself. Be kind to the man.

“I’m afraid I hadn’t realized until Darby told me just now that it was quite so taxing for you to speak to married women. Although I did notice that you had some difficulty 268 Eloisa

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making conversation to dear Mrs. Cable during Lady Rawlings’s dinner.” She gave him a kindly smile. “We will make this as uncomplicated as possible. I certainly wouldn’t want to disconcert you, especially now that I realize your topics of conversation are so limited.”

Beside her, Darby choked.

“I am certain that speaking to a respectable woman can be quite a strain. What could we discuss that would make you feel more comfortable? Let’s see . . . I gather that your latest houseguest is an opera singer. How very interesting that must be! Do you two discuss Beethoven on a regular basis?”

Rees Godwin kept chewing his meat, but she could see that she had his attention. Henrietta stifled a grin. She was feeling a rush of exuberance.

“She is indeed an opera singer,” Godwin finally replied. Just as Henrietta glimpsed a calculating glint in his eye, he added, scandalously: “With a lamentable tendency to sing in bed.”

“That must be due to her extreme youth,” Henrietta replied serenely. “There was a time when I was quite given to singing when I first awoke. I believe that ‘Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater’ was my favorite. But let me see . . . what is the second line of ‘Diddle Diddle Dumpling, My Son John’?”

“Something to do with going to bed missing articles of clothing, isn’t it?” said her husband. His voice was ripe with laughter. “Went to bed with his stocking on—or no, I think he had his stockings off. I can’t quite remember.”

“I expect that’s a complaint suffered by Lord Godwin’s friend as well. Ah, what a pleasure it was to be young enough to wake with a song!”

“She’s not that young!” Godwin growled, but Henrietta could see a gleam—just a gleam—of appreciation at the back of those sullen eyes of his.

“There’s no need to make excuses,” she said soothingly. Fool for Love

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“For someone who suffers so mightily during a conversation with a grown woman, I would guess that the separation in your ages is quite reassuring. You must be thirty years older than your companion, no? Children are so diverting.”