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“She lived in Paris for some years. Lady Del’Fino.”

“Ah, yes.” The tea stirred faster. “Henri took some pleasure in her company.”

“As does every man,” Jemma said. “Yet Isidore has waited patiently for her duke to return from his excursions about various continents.”

“I have never heard otherwise,” the marquise allowed.

“Cosway is not in love,” Villiers said. “In fact, I believe there may be a question about whether he will go through with the wedding.” The marquise put down her spoon, and sadness fled her eyes immediately. “The marriage is, of course, unconsummated.”

“Ah,” the marquise breathed.

“Though I tell you this in the strictest confidence.”

“Of course!”

Villiers leaned toward the marquise. “I really mean that, Louise.”

Jemma blinked in surprise, but Louise—the marquise—merely rapped him on the hand with her spoon. “I beg you to tell me the details, Villiers. I am quite languishing for something interesting to think about.”

“I noticed,” Villiers said, sitting back. “You must practice putting your husband out of your mind, my dear marquise.”

My dear marquise? Louise? Jemma couldn’t remember ever hearing a shred of gossip to do with the Marquise de Perthuis and the Duke of Villiers.

The marquise started giggling. “Do you know what I thought when I entered the room?”

“If only the duchess would grant me an indiscretion,” Villiers said with a comic emphasis. But there was something serious in his voice, and the marquise’s eyes narrowed. “The dear Marquise de Perthuis is my second cousin twice removed,” Villiers said, turning to Jemma. “We were thrown together on more than one occasion as children.”

“Hardly children,” the marquise said, shrugging. “Infants more like. My mother never let me near him after I reached a certain age.” She smiled, and Jemma realized that she was likely quite beautiful when happy.

“Base rumors,” Villiers said tranquilly. “May I trouble you to pour me another cup of tea, duchess?’

“Rumors!” the marquise said, chortling. “Since we are so very intimate, my dears…you were rumored to have a by-blow at the tender age of eighteen, Villiers. It cannot be so many years ago that you have quite forgotten?”

“Rank gossip,” Villier replied.

“How old were you when you had this child?” Jemma asked curiously. It fascinated her, the way men sprinkled illegitimate children around the countryside.

“Something over two-and-twenty. A distasteful subject, and redolent of my many youthful stupidities,” Villiers said. “Please, may we speak of other subjects?”

“Yes,” the marquise said. “You can tell me why the Duke of Cosway wishes to dissolve his marriage. After all, Lady Del’Fino is quite lovely. I cannot conceive of the man who would not wish to marry her.”

“I’m not sure that Isidore wishes to marry Cosway either,” Jemma said, feeling that she should defend her side of the conundrum. “He picked up some disagreeable habits while living abroad.”

The marquise wrinkled her nose. “Did he lose the inclination to bathe?”

“No, but he trots around the countryside in a pair of short trousers,” Jemma said, “and no stockings.”

“Does he display himself for a reason?” the marquise enquired.

“I believe he considers himself to be taking something of a constitutional,” Jemma explained.

“I look forward to seeing it,” Villiers put in.

“At any rate, Cosway is being a fool. Of course he must consummate his marriage,” Jemma said. Her tea was cold and she put her cup down untouched.

“I don’t agree,” Villiers replied. “If he feels no touch of partiality for the lady—and he has suggested to me that he does not—then it would be better for both of them if they seized the opportunity to dissolve their union, such as it is.”

The marquise opened her mouth to say something and thought better of it.