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“Like bagging grouse.”
“Quite.”
“Then it is about defeating other men,” Arabella mused. “Not about his pleasure, or even about the woman.”
“The amusing part is that such men cannot infallibly determine whether or not a woman is a virgin, although they persist in believing they can, and refuse to listen to the midwives, wise women, and courtesans who say differently.”
A strange thrill of excitement streaked through Arabella’s veins. “Is that so?” she said, her mouth shaping the words carefully. “I was always made to believe that a woman’s virtue can be physically proven.”
Miss Ivory shook her head, ever so meaningfully. “I always believed that too. Before I… Well. Before.”
“Then a cunning woman might sell her virginity several times over.”
“It is a good business, albeit a short-term one. A man expects blood and some barrier to break through. One can learn a trick for producing blood, and the rest is performance.” Miss Ivory laughed softly. “In some respects, the practiced harlot makes a more satisfying virgin than an actual innocent does.”
From somewhere came a volley of musket fire. Arabella had stayed too long. She opened her parasol, her hands unusually clumsy.
“Thank you, Miss Ivory. Your knowledge and experience are invaluable.”
Another topic for Arabella to commission from writers, if she could publish it discreetly. Perhaps she could conceal the information amid frivolously feminine subjects where men would never venture.
“A baroness is not as impressive as a marchioness,” Miss Ivory said, a shrewd look in her eyes, “but after your marriage you will wield considerable influence, I daresay. Certainly, your reputation precedes you.”
Arabella heard the invitation. “I would not be averse to continuing our acquaintance, albeit with discretion.”
“I would like that.”
Miss Ivory extended one hand in an elaborately embroidered glove. Without hesitation, Arabella shook it.
“An unexpected pleasure, Miss Ivory.”
“Indeed. I have caught glimpses of you over the years and wondered why Guy was so opposed to marrying you.”
“We never got along, though we were promised to each other as children.”
“Perhaps you would have got along better had you not been promised to each other as children.”
“Perhaps.”
With a nod of farewell, Arabella headed out of the trees and back through the crowd toward Mama and Sculthorpe, her thoughts racing.
The main question was whether she would marry Sculthorpe—and that was no question at all. He repelled her, but for ladies of her station, repellent husbands were merely an unpleasant fact of life, like one’s monthly courses, and boiled fish for dinner, and that odd little toenail that always caught in her stocking. Like her mother and grandmother and aunts, she was a lady born to wealth and privilege, and this was the price she paid.
If she refused? She would lose everything and then what use would she be? As a baroness, she would have the power to help others. How foolish to give that up, simply because she didn’t like the way he looked at her.
She had to marry Sculthorpe. She had to become his in law. She did not have to become his in spirit. She did not have to give any more of herself than necessary. She did not have to go to his bed a virgin.
Arabella stopped walking so abruptly someone jostled her with an explosion of curses. At her look, the curses changed to apologies, but she hardly heard those either.
The notion was shocking. Impossible. Utterly unthinkable. Yet she had thought it. And there, among the chaotic crowd and orderly soldiers, the thought hardened inside her like a shield.
The law declared that a man owned his wife, but Arabella had little respect for the law, because she knew the men who made it. Let Sculthorpe think what he pleased. She would prove to herself he did not own her, and never feel weak beside him again.
Suddenly, she felt revived. That panicked, unknown part of her mind relaxed; the sense of helplessness melted. She would be a baroness. She would raise sons and daughters, and love them equally. She would use her social position to influence politics and help those in need, while her husband bought his virgin whores and left her in peace.
Arabella moved on again, her limbs deliciously light.
The main obstacle, of course, was that she had not the faintest idea how to get seduced. Men never so much as flirted with her. Even the wickedest of rakes took one look at her and scurried off in search of easier prey.
