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“I am not sure,” he shook his head sadly. “Duchess, I must ask you a favor. I do not want her to suffer, on my account. I want to see her well settled, in a good match. I do not want her ruined, so I’ve asked her to come up with her own excuse.”
She pouted which made him try to hide a grimace.
“I was so looking forward to the spectacle, though. Poor girl, I suppose I’m a terribly horrible person. How can I help?”
“Can you help to put the blame on me?” Michael asked, beseechingly. “Tell everyone how you were surprised she put up with me for so long.”
“That would not be too difficult,” she said, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Though, you always have been a favorite of mine.”
“I’ll survive it,” he said. “She may not. You have the power. People seem to be swayed by your influence.”
“That they do,” she sniffed. “I’ll see what I can do. However, your lady must do her share of the work. If she sniffles in the corner all evening, there is not much I can do.”
“That’s all I ask,” Michael said, bowing. “Thank you.”
“You owe me one,” she said, tapping him with her fan.
* * *
By the time Lydia, her sisters, mother, and uncle arrived, between two carriages, many of the guests were already there. The duchess had been catching up with a couple that had arrived just before them, so they waited in the foyer for their turn. Lydia pressed her hands to her stomach, causing Trinity to elbow her.
“Chin up,” she said. “He hasn’t even announced it yet, I’m sure. No reason to look like that yet.”
“My stomach is in knots still.”
“We’ll find you some champagne to calm your stomach,” Trinity assured her. “Just as soon as we can greet the duchess.”
Lydia glanced over to the pretty woman. She had laugh lines around her eyes and a fake mole painted on her lip, her hair powdered white and piled high on her head. She motioned on the couple she had been laughing with, greeting the next guests with an equal amount of fervor.
“She sure does seem to be a friendly woman, does she not?” Trinity mused.
“Yes, quite.”
Lydia looked around the crowded foyer, realizing their turn would be next.
“Where are Marcia and Lucretia?” she asked. Johanna waited quietly next to her mother and uncle, but Marcia and Lucretia had disappeared into the crowded foyer already.
“They were just here, I swear,” she said.
They both jumped when the two girls popped through the other guests behind them. In their hands, they carried a stack of papers.
“You must see this!” Marcia hissed, pressing the stack into Lydia’s hand. Lucretia pressed hers into Trinity’s. The paper looked like a letter, with a caricature of a woman in a man’s arms, half undressed, at the bottom of the page.
Lydia read the page out loud, dropping her voice lower and lower into a whisper as she read.
My dearest Sister,
Once my engagement to the duke is broken off in a public manner, our popularity among society will dwindle, unless one of us can secure an advantageous match – for real.
I must confess how disheartened I feel to think of the day soon when this charade is given up. I am enjoying the duke’s company very much. Now several days into my stay, we have started to confide in each other, and have spent several hours in each other’s confidence. Not to mention, in each other’s arms. However, the intimacy would sensationalize the gossip columns throughout London if we were in the city.
Just yesterday morning I was sitting at my desk, penning my last letter to you, when I noticed a spectacular view out my window. I had an advantageous vantage point to inspect all the secret places unmarried women are not privy to.
I trust you remember the stories we’ve heard or read, how man and woman come to know each other in private. Inspecting this figure, I had shock of wondering how they join together, wondering how such a thing might feel. I did not feel horror or trepidation, but indeed, excitement and curiosity. The experience has me longing for the marriage bed.
And of course, you might wonder, who this figure was. If you guessed the duke, then you would be correct. Shamefully, I watched him swim, unclad, for several minutes. At first, I was merely curious, yet the longer I watched, the more intrigued I grew. I now know the taste of his mouth and long to know the feeling.
Uncle Francis has made himself scarce and is, frankly, a terrible chaperone. He has no idea the rules that are being broken right under his nose.
