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Marianne smiled. “I have never hidden it. My relationship with Henry is wonderful, Jane. But you already know how happy I am with him.”
“Do you miss him a lot?” asked Jane, biting her lip. “He is so far away at the moment and will not return for quite a while. How can you bear to be apart from him?”
“I miss him terribly,” said Marianne, her face solemn. “Every day is hard. Scotlandisvery far away. But we are each our own person as well as being a couple. He knew that I would be miserable there and wanted to spend time with you and Papa. We can endure the separation because we know that we will be together again soon and that we are true to one another.”
Jane frowned. “Do you miss his…physical presence?”
Marianne raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean, sister?”
Jane flushed bright crimson. Her face felt so hot that she swore it was on fire. There was no way she could say it in any way that was decent. She wished that she had never started on this train of conversation. Her sister probably thought she was going crazy, and Jane thought she wouldn’t be wrong. Itwaslike she imagined a descent into madness to feel like. She didn’t feel herself at all, as if her control was slipping away between her fingers.
“I meant nothing,” said Jane, mortified beyond words. “Just ignore me, Marianne.”
There was silence for a moment. Jane stared down at her sketchbook, her face still burning. Marianne coughed.
“I miss all aspects of Henry,” she said. “I miss his humour and his wit. I miss the way he strokes my neck when I am tired. I miss the way he smiles at me when he is happy.” She paused. “I miss his presence beside me in our bed. I think sleeping without him is the hardest thing. I often reach across to find him, and he is not there.”
Jane looked up at her sister. Marianne’s eyes were kind and filled with understanding.
“You like being intimate with him, then?” asked Jane, her face burning again. “I only ask because I know many ladies do not like it. They always complain, saying they are glad when their husbands are out of town because they do not have to worry about…that side of things.”
Marianne laughed. “Yes, I have heard it many times myself. I feel sorry for ladies who do not have joy in that side of their marriage.” She hesitated. “I enjoy being physically close to my husband, Jane. I believe that it is the way it should be, and there is absolutely nothing to be ashamed about it.”
“I see,” said Jane, trying to keep her expression neutral. “How interesting.”
“Is there any particular reason you ask, sister?” said Marianne, staring at her curiously. “I shall not judge you. I think it is good to be frank with each other about such things.”
Jane blinked rapidly. “I have heard that men take their pleasure in that way. But I have never heard of women having the same pleasure. It is always spoken about as if it is a chore.” She paused. “I am speaking about ladies. I have heard whispers that lower-class women, especially prostitutes, are wanton in that regard.”
Marianne burst out laughing. “My opinion is that a lot of gentlemen do not want their lady wives to enjoy it because they believe that she shall become wanton, enticing other men to her bed.” She snorted with contempt. “It is a ridiculous notion. Ladies are just as capable of experiencing pleasure as any woman. It is all about how her husband treats her and if he is a considerate lover.”
Jane nodded, biting her lip. It appeared that her sister took satisfaction in that side of her relationship with her husband and perhaps even experienced what Jane had felt last evening with the Earl. Perhaps she wasn’t the freak she imagined herself to be. Perhaps—with the right man—it was all perfectly normal and nothing to be ashamed of.
She would have liked to ask Marianne more questions, but at that moment, Lucy burst into the room, interrupting them. Jane tried to shake off her irritation.
“I know I am back early,” said Lucy, the golden ringlets that framed her face shaking slightly as she spoke. “But the carriage ride with Mr Ingles and his mother was not as long as I was expecting. The old lady grew tired and complained that she needed to lie down.” Lucy rolled her eyes.
“Never mind,” said Marianne. “At least you got to go. Do you like Mr Ingles?”
Lucy shrugged, flopping down into a chair. “He is tolerable. At least he is devoted to me. His eyes follow me around everywhere.”
“You could do worse,” said Marianne, smiling wryly. “Mr Ingles is becoming vicar with his own parsonage soon in an outlying village. You would be the queen of the village if you became his wife, Lucy.”
Lucy didn’t look impressed. “A vicar’s wife? I would rather do better than that.” Suddenly, she fixed her eyes upon Jane. “Cousin, you must stop encouraging the Earl. I am getting rather cross about it. It is most selfish of you, considering you wish to remain a spinster and have no intention of marrying him.”
Jane reddened. “I am not encouraging him.”
Lucy gave a bark of laughter. “You are a liar, Jane. You danced with him at the ball last evening, and he couldn’t take his eyes off you. A fact which bewilders me, but there you have it.” She frowned. “You need to stop and give other ladies a chance. Ladies who would dream of the chance to become a countess if only you would let them.”
“Is that all it is about with you, Lucy?” Jane’s voice was sharper than she intended. “Do you care anything for the man himself?”
“I could grow to like him,” said Lucy in a hard voice. “It hardly matters. I know I would make a good wife to him and fulfil the duties of countess very well indeed. He would have no reason to be disappointed in me. Why should I not aim as high as I can?”
“No reason,” said Jane, her heart beating hard. “But do you not think that perhaps he is tired of ladies like you, who are so obvious in their ambition? That perhaps he might appreciate someone who likes him for himself and not his lofty title?”
There was an icy silence. Marianne coughed into her hand.
“You are so patronising, Jane,” said Lucy eventually, her bottom lip wobbling. “You think you are so much better than the rest of us. I swear the Earl’s attention towards you has gone to your head. Do not forget, Cousin, that you were just a wallflower before he appeared. You havealwaysbeen jealous that I receive more attention than you from gentlemen and now you are taking your revenge.”
