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“I’ve always wished for a sister too.” Minette grinned. “We’ll have the best time together, won’t we? We’ll go to the shops together, and take tea, and go calling on our friends. We’ll share all our confidences and trials, and when we’re feeling down, we’ll cheer one another up.”
“You have a talent for cheerfulness, I think.”
Minette winked at her. “I’m often told I do.”
Either the road had improved, or Josephine had finally grown used to the bobbles and rumbles of the carriage, because she began to feel less tense. She took care not to look out at Lord Warren since it only brought agitation, and instead focused on her sister-in-law.
“If we’re to be so close, Minette, you must tell me a confidence now, to pass the time. What are your dreams? Who would you like to marry? Is there a gentleman of the ton who holds your heart?”
Minette ducked her head, rendered speechless for the first time Josephine could remember since making her acquaintance.
“There is one particular gentleman,” she finally admitted, with a bashful twitch of her skirts. “I’ve admired him forever.”
“Oh, how wonderful. Does he know? Have you declared yourself to him?”
“That isn’t done,” said Minette, giggling. “It’s too forward for a woman to declare her love to a man. And anyway, he would only laugh at me. He thinks I’m a silly chit.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t think that.”
“He most certainly does. He’s said so plenty of times.”
Josephine gaped at her. “I can’t believe it. And I can’t believe you would admire anyone so rude.”
“I wish I didn’t admire him, but I do. He’s strong and strikingly handsome, and he has this way of speaking that’s ever so manly and gruff. He has beautiful, thick, ebony black hair and a fantastic sense of humor, when it’s not turned upon me, of course. And he’s rich and haughty and is to be a marquess someday. He’s perhaps…well…a bit of a rake, but not so very bad that he’s outside the bounds. He’s only waiting for a wife to make him settle down. But it can’t be me. He wouldn’t want me, and I’m too young for him at any rate.”
Josephine thought this gentleman sounded horrible, and was rather glad he didn’t want Minette. “I don’t think you’re a silly chit at all,” she said. “I disagree with this person, whoever he is. I hope you will seek a better match. All the gentlemen seem to clamor around you, so you can afford to be selective. You might even marry for love, if you believe in such a thing.”
“Of course I believe in love,” said Minette. “Someday I’ll find my very dream of a husband. Our eyes will meet and our souls will come together in recognition. Does that sound too much like a romantic novel? Warren says I shouldn’t read them, but they help pass the time until my true love presents himself.”
“Your true love…” Josephine echoed, thinking Minette both naive and adorably sweet. What a good wife she’d make for someone, with her cheery disposition and firm grasp of etiquette. Minette wouldn’t need to be spanked for sulking, or lectured for her shortcomings.
“And he’ll be strong and patient, and loving and kind,” Minette went on, enumerating all her true love’s qualities. “And passionate, of course, when we’re alone.”
“Oh my.” Josephine thought of Warren’s lips, and hands, and the thick, hot part of him that invaded her body. Did Minette know of such things? Probably not. She was still unwed, and seemed as innocent as a pale pink rose. Going by Minette’s requirements, Lord Warren was a “dream of a husband.” He was passionate. He was strong and loving and kind, even when Josephine tested his patience. Even when he turned her over his knee and spanked her, he held her afterward and stroked her hair and comforted her until she felt peaceful again. Josephine looked out the window to find him, but he wasn’t within view.
“Now you must tell me a confidence,” Minette urged as Josephine’s silence drew out. “A secret no one else knows. I promise I’ll never tell anyone.”
Josephine thought a moment. There were so many secrets she wanted to tell. Like, I’m afraid of everything.
I’m afraid of people hating me, but I’m also afraid to be loved.
I dream almost every night about a tiger chasing me, ready to pounce, breathing down my neck.
I’m a baroness, but only of a paltry and run down estate.
I’m afraid of wearing colorful things and being noted, and exposed for who I am. I’m afraid of admitting the reasons behind my fears.
I’m afraid I’m falling in love with your brother.
But in the end, all she said was, “Blackcurrant tea is my very favorite thing to drink.” Because that seemed safer, and had nothing at all to do with her heart.
*** *** ***
When he was a bachelor, Warren had rarely eaten in his formal dining room. He’d sometimes sat with Minette so she would not have to eat alone, but he’d felt no sense of pride or family, only a nagging wish to be elsewhere, in his clubs or pleasure parlors, or calling on his friends.
So it was a novel experience to sit at the head of the table and dine with Minette on his left side and Josephine on his right, in the fashion of a family man. The food was exquisitely prepared, as always, and the servants seemed puffed up with the honor of the house. He contributed politely to the conversation, although it was dominated by Minette. His wife seemed to have taken a liking to his sister; in fact the two of them joined together to oppose him when he brought up the subject of the ball.
“It’s so early in the season,” Minette said. “I don’t see why we can’t wait a while, until Josephine is more settled.”
“You know why we can’t wait,” he replied, looking at both women. “The speculation must be put to rest, for my honor and Josephine’s, and Lord Baxter’s. And I don’t see that a grand entertainment with music and dancing is such a trial, whenever it happens.”
He steered the conversation to safer ground, asking Josephine if she was pleased with her new London residence. She answered politely that it already felt like home. He noticed that she didn’t eat with much appetite, so he hesitated to bring up his next topic—the procurement of her new wardrobe. Four gowns, no matter how beautiful, would not be enough for a countess’s needs. If he had his wish, she’d commission frocks and fripperies in all sorts of sensual colors, dusty rose, sea green, sapphire blue. Such colors seemed most suited to the secret Josephine he knew, the sensual, wild Josephine he coaxed to life during private times.
He cleared his throat and signaled for the dessert course. Now was not the ideal time to recall heated, intimate adventurings with his wife. As the footmen dashed off with the dinner plates, he heard familiar male voices from the hall. It seemed his friends Lord Augustine and the Duke of Arlington had finally returned from Bath.
“There’s no need to announce us, old chap,” said August to Shelton, the butler. “He knows who we are.”
Warren heard Shelton’s quiet tones, saw the butler heroically trying to impede August and Arlington from intruding on their dinner.
“It’s all right,” said Warren. “Let them come. We’re just finishing dessert. Would the two of you care to join us?”
His friends accepted the offer, and tucked into an assortment of sweets and cakes as they seated themselves beside the women. Such goings on were typical in his bachelor household, but Warren could feel the subtle disapproval of the servants at this careless etiquette. There was nothing to do for it. Once his friends were back in town, nothing would stop them from coming to see him. August was a dark and brooding sort of rogue, while Arlington seduced the ladies with impeccable manners and rakishly tousled golden-blond hair. They doubtless wished to invite him out for the night, so they might make their usual rounds of debauchery.
