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"Perhaps, but Nanette would do it and not feel the least amount of shame."
"Yes, but I am not Nanette. Unfortunately." She wilted down to the blanket to lie back and stare up at the sky, so Marissa joined her.
"Thank God you are not Nanette. I'd not like you at all. It is so much more important that you be interesting and intelligent."
"Is that what you like about Mr. Bertrand?" Beth asked quietly.
Marissa's heart froze for several long seconds.
"It's only that I am so surprised! And please don't take this the wrong way, Marissa, but he hardly seems the kind of man you'd love. You never even mentioned him in your letters!"
"I... yes, I know. It happened quickly. And you're right, of course, he's not the kind of man to catch my eye. He's terribly brutal looking, isn't he?"
Beth's hand found hers and held it. "I fear there's something amiss. You told me just yesterday that you'd never even danced with him."
"There are more important things than dancing."
"Like what?"
"He ..." There were so many things she could say. He was kind and funny and strong, but Marissa knew she was not the kind of girl to jump into a quick marriage based on kindness. Better to take Jude's advice. "He kissed me," she whispered.
"And so have many others, by your account."
"Yes, but he kissed me and I thought ..." She closed her eyes and imagined him leaning toward her. "I thought I might die with the pleasure of it."
Beth squeezed her hand. "Truly?"
"Yes. And he touches me like I'm priceless and ... and base all at once."
Beth turned her head to look at Marissa. "I don't know what you mean."
"It's hard to explain."
"Harder still to understand. I've never been kissed. Not really."
"Perhaps if your morals were a bit looser?"
They both laughed and the tension was broken, and Marissa sighed with relief. Beth seemed satisfied with the answer, and Marissa felt. . . well, she felt strangely satisfied with the answer too. She didn't love him, and she didn't wish to marry him, but at least there were the kisses to look forward too. And the limbs.
"Do you know that men have hair on their chests?" she asked Beth.
Even from the corner of her eye she could see Beth's eyes go wide. "You mean laborers?"
"No, I mean all men. Beth ... do you like Mr. Dunwoody?"
"I do. He's very handsome. And gentle. I think I need a gentle husband. So many men are intimidating, aren't they?"
"Before dinner tonight, I'll come and help you pick out a dress, and then we'll get ready together. I'll have my maid style your hair, and we'll add a little rouge to your checks."
"My mother won't—"
"She won't even know. Nanette's cheeks don't get so pink from high spirits, do they?"
"No," Beth murmured.
"Then come to my room. You can be as shy as you like as long as you are prettier than Nanette."
"There's nothing to be done for that."
