Chapter Twenty
Robert returned to his home and found his brother and his cousin both present, sorting through sheaves of foolscap, scribbled over. Part of Sebastian’s upcoming paper, from the notations on them.
They didn’t see him enter the room.
“So here’s another thing,” Sebastian was saying. “Why is it that tortoise-shell-and-white cats are nearly always female? Short of running a massive cat breeding program—”
He looked up as Robert came to stand by him.
“You’re going to become a purveyor of cats?” Robert asked with a smile.
Sebastian gestured widely. “I was just telling Oliver about my collection of curiosities. You know, things that I’ve observed that I can’t yet explain. There’s an eighty-year-old woman in London who starts every morning by feeding stray cats in an alley. I had her make sketches of the cats, along with descriptions—weight, sex, eye color, number of toes. All that interesting information. I thought something might come of it.” He cocked his head at Robert. “You look different.”
“I do?” He felt different. It was a newfound sense of wonder, a pleased confidence.
“You do,” Oliver said. “To be perfectly frank, over the last few days you’ve looked…”
“Like something that the cat dragged in,” Sebastian put in. “A six-toed cat. Did you know that six-toed cats have seventeen percent more claw?”
Oliver shrugged. “Like something that was dragged in by all of Sebastian’s strays. And then there was the staring off into space.”
“And the distressed sighs.” Sebastian demonstrated, heaving mightily and then deflating into a sad, stricken ball.
“Distressed sighs!” Robert protested. “Not once did I stoop to distressed sighs! I might have emitted a manly huff of oppression.” He demonstrated, folding his arms firmly and pressing his lips together with a half-grunt.
“Oh? Then what did you call this?” Sebastian stared off into the distance, a look of misery on his face. He gave a little sniffle and then let out his breath in a long, drawn-out sigh.
“I call that exaggeration. I call it perfidy! Death to any man who says such things!”
Oliver laughed. “You are feeling better, I see. So what brings on the change of mood? Did she agree to marry you after all?”
Robert blinked. “How…? But I didn’t even tell you I had asked.”
Oliver’s smile widened. “Ten pounds, Malheur.”
Sebastian gave what could best be termed a distressed sigh.
“Yes,” Robert said quietly. “She agreed to marry me. The ceremony will be in four days. I’ve only to get the license and handle the settlements. I’m glad I found you together, because I wanted to tell you two first. I don’t know if you’ll understand, but…” He trailed off.
Neither of them said anything, and that companionable silence explained the matter more fluently than Robert could have. Sebastian could make a joke out of anything. Oliver was more than willing to mock him. But they knew when to do it and when to stop.
“If I have a family,” Robert said, his voice a little rough, “it’s you two. I was hoping the both of you might stand up for me at my wedding. Sign as witnesses. That sort of thing.”
“Of course,” Oliver said.
Sebastian shrugged. “I am precisely the person I would choose for such an honor, were I you. I applaud your good sense.”
Robert didn’t bother to try to work out what Sebastian meant by that. There was a moment—a very short moment—when Robert felt he might have hugged the two of them. He almost wanted to do it—to reach out and grab them and hold them close. They’d been there for him through the hardest moments in his life—his father’s funeral, the days that followed as he went through his father’s effects and discovered that the man had been even worse than he’d imagined…
In lieu of an embrace, he simply folded his arms. “It would mean a great deal to me.”
“Of course,” Sebastian said, turning away from Robert, “you know what this means, Oliver. The two of us must now organize a wild, debauched party for Robert on the eve of his leg-shackling.” He rubbed his hands together in glee.
Oliver met his gaze calmly. “Wild,” he repeated. “Debauched. I am in complete agreement.”
Robert felt a hint of apprehension. “You know,” he said, “this is very kind, but not necessary.”
They ignored him, facing one another.
“Well, you know. Fit the punishment to the criminal, and all that sort of thing. It is Robert, after all.” Sebastian ran his hand through his hair, mussing it. “Now what will we do for women?”
“Really,” Robert said a little more forcefully. “I know I’ve not yet said my wedding vows, but I must insist that…”
But they weren’t paying him any attention. “I know just the thing,” Oliver said, brightening. “Mary Wollstonecraft. I have a copy of A Vindication of the Rights of Women in my room—I’ll be sure to bring that.”
“Excellent,” Sebastian said, rubbing his hands together. “And there’s this letter I received by this curious woman from the United States—one Antoinette Brown. She wrote the most extraordinary things about evolution and women’s rights. I’ll bring that.”
“I have a pamphlet by Emily Davies.”
Robert’s lips twisted upward despite himself.
“I was thinking I could bring a copy of Thomas Payne,” Oliver said, “but that would make our numbers uneven.”
“Violet,” Sebastian said, with a wave of his hand. “She can be surprisingly handy in an argument.”
“Ah, I suppose she’ll do in a pinch.” Oliver stood, and set his hand on Robert’s shoulder. “Let nobody say that the Brothers Sinister have no idea how to be depraved.”
“There shall be brandy!” Sebastian stood. “And we shall even drink it, although Robert will stop after two glasses because he always does.”
“There will be food!” Oliver declaimed, mirroring Sebastian’s stance. “And we shan’t drink that, because then we would choke.”
Sebastian grinned. “On the eve of your wedding, Robert, we shall offer you the sorts of female delights that you have always lusted after. Philosophical tracts upon philosophical tracts, all of them advocating political change that would result in an upheaval of the current social order. We shall set forth their essays, and then…” He paused, as if for dramatic emphasis. “Then, my friends, we shall argue about them!”
Robert smiled and looked away. “You two will be the death of me. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m not that bad.”
“Speaking of which,” Oliver said. His face went momentarily solemn. “Your wedding. Your father is no longer with us, and your mother does not…ah, does not always know her duties. I thought perhaps we might offer to help.”
Beside him, Sebastian nodded.
And here Robert thought that he’d considered everything already. He’d already decided on a wedding gift. He’d sent to London for attorneys to manage the settlements. But it wouldn’t have surprised him if he had missed something. There was so much about the notion of family that he simply didn’t know. “Help with…?”
Oliver leaned forward. “It’s about the wedding night,” he said earnestly. “About what happens on it. You need to know.” He lowered his voice dramatically. “When a man and a woman love each other, they come together in a very special way.”
Robert jabbed his brother with an elbow. “You,” he said, “are terrible.” But he was smiling, and he couldn’t stop.
“So.”
Minnie looked up from her breakfast the next morning, just in time to see the Duchess of Clermont in the doorway.
Great-Aunt Caro began to struggle to her feet; Eliza had already jumped up. A maid trailed the other woman, wringing her hands ineffectually and trying to convey silent apologies for the intrusion.
But the duchess didn’t look at those other women. Her gaze fixed on Minnie.
“You’re marrying my son in three days. Yo
u know it will be a complete disaster.”
This woman, Minnie reminded herself, was going to be her mother-in-law for decades. It wouldn’t do to have her as an enemy.
It also wouldn’t do to have the duchess think her cowed. Minnie gave her the barest nod, as between equals. “Are you here to dissuade me? Demand a return of your five thousand pounds?” She lifted her chin and returned her attention to the toast on her plate. “I shall rip up your bank draught.”
The duchess snorted, sweeping into the room. She pulled back a chair for herself before the maid could jump to attention and then sat at the table expectantly.
“Well?” she demanded. “Pour the tea.”
Minnie did and then, at the duchess’s direction, added sugar.
As she did, her great-aunts stole looks back and forth, as if silently arguing with one another about whether they should intervene. But the duchess paid them no mind. She took a piece of toast—slightly burnt—and set it on her plate.
Minnie handed her the cup and saucer. She took a sip and then set it down, as if by so doing she’d satisfied the demands of good manners. “And here I thought you had some sense, Miss Pursling.”
“I do. Are you here to browbeat me again?”
The duchess shook her head. “Only the most deluded, romantic woman who found herself in my position would suppose that throwing a tantrum at her son’s bride-to-be would alter the outcome. You know the risks. My son knows the truth. I made my best offer and it wasn’t enough. The world rarely cares for my inclinations. When matters don’t go my way, there’s only one thing to do.” So saying, she lifted the toast and took a dainty bite.
“What is that?” Minnie asked.
The duchess swallowed her bite with a small frown, set down the toast, and then stirred her tea. “Do you like cats, Miss Pursling?”
Minnie blinked at this turn to the conversation. “I am fond of them, although I wish Pouncer would stop leaving mouse livers on my bed.”
The duchess waved away rodent innards with one lace glove. “Have you ever seen a cat apologize, or admit it was in the wrong?”
“Cats don’t talk,” Caro put in, her first words for the morning.
The duchess looked up, glaring at her. “A woman capable of keeping her infamous grand-niece in safety for a decade can surely bring herself to understand a little figurative speech.” She turned back to Minnie. “Have you ever seen a cat attempt to pounce on a target, and miss?”
“Of course.”
“And what does the cat do?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “It acts as if it intended to miss. ‘Yes,’ it says, ‘I let that one go as a warning to all the others. Now I shall lick my paws for the next five minutes, precisely as I had planned.’”
“It says that?” Minnie asked innocently.
“Figuratively speaking. My point is, be the cat. Everyone respects a cat.”
“Well, actually,” Eliza said, “in the time of the Black Plague—”
The duchess extended a hand. “Do not pollute my perfectly acceptable figurative speech with irrelevant facts!” she thundered. “There is no need for those.” She focused on Minnie once more. “Now, I have decided that you and my son must honeymoon in Paris.”
This abrupt change of subject had Minnie shaking her head. “That seems…romantic. Are you sure?”
“Exactly,” the duchess said. “It seems romantic, and as little as I approve of the actual existence of romance, I am well aware that you will need the appearance of it very badly.” She pursed her lips and then looked at the wall.
If Minnie hadn’t known better, she would have thought that the woman looked embarrassed. She finally spoke again—for the first time, not looking directly at Minnie.
“Second,” she said, “you might consider not consummating the marriage.”
“What? Why? So it can be annulled?”
The duchess rolled her eyes. “That is a horrid myth. You cannot annul a marriage for simple lack of consummation. Trust me; I have consulted every lawyer in London as to the ways in which one might end a marriage. I know the law to an inch. I merely think it best if your first child did not come until at least ten or eleven months after the marriage. Let nobody think that you married because you were pregnant. They will talk, otherwise. For decades.”
“Is that more of your figurative speech again?” Caro put in.
“Experience,” the duchess said grimly. “Robert was an eight-month baby.”
Minnie choked and shut her eyes, trying to expunge the implications from her mind.
“He was early,” the duchess said calmly. “First children often are. I have said so every day for the last twenty-eight years, and so it must be true.” She fixed Minnie with a glare. “So you’ll refrain from marital relations for a good two months.”
“I will not,” Minnie said. “I have no inclination to refrain from something I want to do merely because people I have never met might assume the worst about me. Besides, given my past, it’s rather like a murderer worrying that he might go to hell for saying unkind things about a friend’s horse.”
“Hmm.” The duchess frowned and then shrugged. “Well. I was only testing you. I had to make sure that with your background, you took an interest in men. Better to find out such things now.”
She looked certain. She sounded certain. And yet Minnie had the distinct impression of a cat licking its paws. I didn’t really want that mouse.
“Speaking of which, the most important reason to go to Paris.” The duchess pointed at Minnie. “You need a new wardrobe. You cannot do with just acceptable. You must be brilliant. So tell me, girl, do you prefer to dress like a drab little peasant, or do you wear stomach-turning garb simply because your impoverished great-aunts force you to it?”
On the other side of the table, Caro and Eliza gasped in unison. Minnie coughed. “Absolutely. Nothing pleases me more than turning a gown for the fourth time! If my cuffs aren’t falling apart, I don’t feel truly at home.” She glared at the other woman. “I’ll thank you not to insult the women who gave me a home when they were not obligated to do so. Insult me all you wish, but leave Caro and Eliza out of it.”
The duchess didn’t blink an eye at this. “What do you think of my style of dress?”
“Too fussy, too conservative,” Minnie said without blinking. “It does very well for you, I suppose, but for me—”
“Excellent. What would you pick out for yourself? What sort of duchess would you be?”
Years of looking over fashion plates with Lydia hit her with a sharp sense of loss, one that seemed like a staggering blow. She should have been picking out her wedding trousseau with Lydia, who would have been crowing that she was right…
“Well,” Minnie said, “I won’t pretend to be a conventional duchess. I don’t like those layers of lace, no matter how popular they are now. I’d feel positively buried in them. I’d want clean lines, bright fabrics.” She let out a breath, imagining. “Lots of fabric. No more skimping.”
“And you’ll need to learn to cover your scar. My girl will be able to—”
Minnie turned to the other woman and gave her a repressive look. “This?” she said, touching her cheek. “Oh, no. I intended to get that. I consider it a beauty scar.”
The duchess gave a crack of laughter and stood abruptly.
Minnie stared at her.
“Well?” the other woman said crossly. “We haven’t got all day. I’ve all the fashion magazines at my hotel. If we wire your measurements to my people in France, they can do the final fittings the hour you arrive. And there’s still a good deal that can be purchased here.”
“You…came all the way here solely to take me shopping?” Minnie asked.
“Once you are the Duchess of Clermont,” the other woman said, not acknowledging her question, “never let anyone know you could be anything else. If you don’t hear what they say about you, it can’t possibly be true. By the time society discovers your existence, you’ll have to already be a duchess.”
The Duchess War Page 20
