Lady Reluctant

by Maggie Osborne

  Despair flickered behind her blue eyes.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake!” she said, watching Blu with a critical eye, her tone ripe with exasperation. “Walk, don’t run!” Throwing down her embroidery hoop, Katherine rose and took the heavy Bible from Blu’s head then placed it atop her own. “Like this,” she instructed, glaring. “You float.” Moving gracefully, she glided to the door then turned. “Do you see? This is how a lady walks. A lady strolls, she drifts, she floats. She does not proceed as if anxious to reach her destination. She does not exhibit purpose. She does not run, rush, or bob up and down.”

  Blu ground her teeth. In another life, she recalled Beau Billy claiming a lady talked with her bottom. After observing Lady Katherine, Blu decided her father erred. A lady talked with her chin. Lady Katherine’s unyielding chin spoke volumes. At present the angle of her mother’s chin clearly stated that Blu was a clumsy oaf, that she could never pretend to the inbred superiority of a true lady.

  “All right. Give me the bloody damned—” She caught herself and drew a disheartened breath. “I should be pleased to attempt it again,” she said between tight lips. Monsieur, who stood behind Cecile’s chair, beamed as she accepted the Bible from Lady Katherine and replaced it atop her head. Immediately the Bible fell to the floor and she cursed and bent to retrieve it. Unfortunately, her hoop flew up behind her. The lowest rung caught the lip of a vase and sent it crashing. “God’s green balls!” She longed for kicks and boots, togs a blowsy could manage.

  “Ring for Mr. Apple, if you please,” Lady Katherine instructed Monsieur. Her cheeks were white with anger.

  “I offer my condolence,” Blu said then clapped a hand to a head crammed with dos and don’ts. “No, that is not correct. Bloody hell! I mean, oh mercy.” Frustration stirred the irritation flaring in her eyes. “Dammit, what am I supposed to say? Should I pay for the scurvy vase?”

  Cecile drew a needle through the linen stretched over her hoop. “You should say you are sorry and apologize for your clumsiness,” she said mildly without looking up. “You do not offer to pay damages.”

  “I regret my clumsiness,” Blu repeated sullenly.

  Lady Katherine waved her fingertips in a gesture of dismissal as Mr. Apple arrived to sweep up the pieces of china and scattered flowers. “Put the Bible on your head and try again.” She gazed at the ceiling, then lowered her eyes to Blu.

  “In a moment. First, I want to repeat this and discover how to avoid a similar accident.”

  “Bend from the knee, not the waist,” Cecile instructed.

  “There are rules for sitting, rules for walking, rules for eating, pissing, dressing, scratching. Now, rules for bending. Lord!”

  Cecile nodded and smiled. “There you have it. How graceful you look, dear Blusette. You’ve made such wonderful progress,” she added, watching as Blu sank to the floor to retrieve the fallen Bible. She returned to her embroidery as Blu paced the room under Lady Katherine’s stern eye. “Now, again. How do you address a duke?”

  “Your Lordship.”

  “Your Grace. A duke is always addressed as Your Grace, unless he is a royal. Then he is addressed as Your Royal Highness. How would you have addressed the Earl of Ditshire, my father?”

  Blu stopped when the hem of her shirt brushed the wall, poised on her toes, then executed a turn, praying the Bible would not topple from her head. When it did not, she grinned with relief and gave Lady Katherine a triumphant lift of the chin. Maybe she was getting the hang of this. “I would have said, How do, Your Lordship. Or, What a lovely daughter you have, Lord Paget.”

  Cecile smiled with pleasure. “And how would you greet the wife of an earl, a countess?”

  “A kiss on the lips.”

  “Never!” Lady Katherine interjected, frowning. “Cecile may kiss a countess on the lips. But a countess gives her cheek to an inferior, never her lips.”

  Blu fixed a steady gaze on her mother. “And I am an inferior?”

  “Of course. You have no title or standing.”

  Blu considered. Beau Billy had raised her to believe she had no superior. To be informed she was inferior to damned near everyone she would meet was an insult of the highest water. For once she did not instantly drop her hand to where her sword should have been, which was progress of a sort. But her gaze narrowed on Lady Katherine and she tilted her chin to an angle intended to state she recognized the offense and promised future vengeance.

  “How do I get a title and standing?”

  Lady Katherine released a breath and spread her hands. “Obviously, you would have to marry a man of title and standing.” Her expression indicated such a marriage was unlikely in the extreme.

  Blu’s chin lifted aggressively enough to send the Bible toppling to the floor. Neither she nor Lady Katherine noticed. “Would it surprise you to know I am well acquainted with a genuine duke?”

  .”Indeed. And who is this duke?”

  “His name is...” Halting, Blu bit her lip and frowned. She didn’t know Thomas’s full name. Nor did she truly know for certain that he was a genuine duke. “He said his name was Thomas. I don’t know the rest.”

  Lady Katherine’s jawline signaled contempt. “I cannot imagine whom you met, but I can assure you he definitely was not an English duke. No duke would allow anyone other than an intimate to address him by his given name. Hardly!”

  “Well, this one did,” Blu insisted stubbornly. “And he said Thomas was his true name!”

  “I believe we have finished this morning’s deportment lesson. Monsieur, you will instruct the young ladies in French today. Cecile, when the dancing master has departed, do take Blusette to your room and try the almond paste. We must do something with her awful tanned skin!”

  Pressing a hand to the headache pounding behind her temples, Lady Katherine lifted her skirts and went in search of Aunt Tremble. Heaven knew what sort of fractured French that peculiar little Monsieur would teach them. Or what sort of words. She shuddered. But the lessons kept them occupied an hour each morning and allowed her a period to fortify herself before her next encounter with Blusette. At least the little Frenchman had purchased a new wig and new spectacles. The new wig was, in her opinion, not a significant improvement over the old one. But at least the new wig was not matted or fuzzy and nits didn’t hover in a cloud above it. Now, if only she could persuade him to do something about his flamboyant wardrobe. She wondered if he suffered from color blindness.

  “There you are, Tremble. Please join me in my closet for chocolate. Perhaps you would be good enough to assist with tomorrow’s menus. I am simply too overwrought to address the task.”

  “You do look pale, dear Katherine. I would be honored... what on, earth?”

  Following Aunt Tremble’s stare, Katherine turned to peer at the linen closet. A peculiar thumping noise emanated from within. With Aunt Tremble close behind, she stepped forward and pulled open the door.

  Mr. Bain, one of her prized six-foot-tall footmen, had Isabelle pressed against the back wall of the linen closet. Isabelle’s skirts were hiked to her waist. Her breasts were freed from her bodice, her pale undulating thighs gripped Mr. Bain’s heaving buttocks. Mr. Bain’s breeches were dropped to his knees.

  “Oh, my God!”

  Aunt Tremble rose on her tiptoes, blinked and stared at Mr. Bain’s hirsute bare bottom, then she dropped to the floor in a dead faint. Katherine slammed the door shut and stared at it. Then she jerked it open again, her face thunderous.

  “Come out of there at once!” Only now aware of an audience, Mr. Bain looked over his shoulder with a startled and stricken expression. Isabelle smiled and winked, then demurely tucked her breasts into her bodice. Outrage quivered in Katherine’s voice. “Mr. Bain, you are dismissed without reference. Senorita Sanchez, you are...” This debauched creature was Blusette’s servant, not her own. She bit her lip in fury and frustration. “You are despicable! Get out of my sight.” She slammed the closet door.

  Mouton appeared out of nowhere, to her gra
titude, and silently bent to lift Aunt Tremble in his arms.

  “Carry her to her room,” Katherine instructed. Despair diminished her voice to a whisper. “By now you certainly know where it is. I’ll be along in a moment.” She raised her head. “Thank you.” Already Mouton had made himself indispensable in a dozen ways. He was the only one of her unwanted guests for whom she felt anything approaching affection. Unfortunately, his menacing appearance continued to adversely affect Aunt Tremble.

  Turning into her own chamber, Katherine leaned over her basin and splashed cool water on her face, then rested her palms on the vanity and let her head fall forward.

  Her pleasant satisfying life had turned chaotic and was steadily disintegrating around her.

  She had people pissing on her roses, people from her household brawling in Covent Garden. A whore conducted a brisk business in her closets. The air in Grosvenor Square was blue with swear words. There was a girl in her sitting room who wore a dagger in her garter. Her reputation would require a miracle to withstand this assault.

  If Beau Billy Morgan had been standing before her now, Katherine would have clawed his seductive dark eyes. When she realized the violence of her thoughts, she covered her face and groaned.

  ~ ~ ~

  “And what are these?” Blu inquired, peering into a velvet-lined box. Cecile’s vanity table was crowded with a mysterious array of pots and bottles, each more intriguing than the last.

  “Mouseskin eyebrows,” Cecile answered, pulling her chair closer to the vanity. “They’re all the go. One can’t be fashionable without them.”

  “You’re flamming!” Removing one of the delicate arched strips from the box, Blu positioned it above her eye, then peered into the glass and burst into laughter. “It has to be flummery. Who would wear these buffle things?”

  “For everyday wear, you comb your brows with these lead combs to darken and give definition. See? But for evening, one wears the mouseskin brows.” Cecile raised her head from the concoction she stirred in her lap. “You didn’t wear eyebrows in Bermuda?”

  “Good Christ, no!” She gave Cecile a sheepish grin. “Good heavens, no. The whores wore rouge, rather a lot of rouge now that I recall it, and sometimes perfume and powder. But no mouseskin eyebrows or plumpers.” Aunt Tremble wore plumpers, little cork balls placed in front of her gums to plump out her cheeks. Plumpers impeded conversation and made eating impossible, so the wearer had to choose with care her occasions for rounded cheeks.

  “And you didn’t wear patches either?”

  Blu laughed. “I never saw patches until Monsieur showed them to me on the voyage.” Marveling, Cecile clicked her tongue. “If they’re supposed to conceal small pox scars, we could have used a hundred boxes on the Mound.”

  “Please tell more about Morgan’s Mound. I never tire of hearing about it.”

  Blu’s expression sobered. “Not today,” she decided softly. “Today it hurts.” By now she had folded her homesickness into a manageable bundle. But some days she looked out the windows at the sun and sky, and she longed for the Bermuda dunes and bright waters.

  “Poor Blusette. I thank God every day that you came to us. But you miss Beau Billy and Black Bottom and Mother Galway and all the others. You’re homesick, aren’t you?”

  “Let us speak about you,” Blu insisted with false brightness. “What do you most enjoy?”

  “Spread this paste on your face and breast and hands,” Cecile instructed, having blended the almond paste to her satisfaction. “We’ll converse as it whitens our skin.”

  “We look like ghosts!” Startled, Blu leaned to the mirror and examined her face, then she looked at Cecile and laughed. Cecile’s blue eyes peered out of gray-white holes. Her smile formed a rosy contrast to the globs of paste.

  “What do I like? Well, let me think. I enjoy shopping, and so will you, dear Blusette, when Mama judges you fit for an outing. I enjoy my music lessons. Once I enjoyed dancing and riding... I like to read, especially the Ladies Diary. And I pride myself on my stitchery.”

  If she hadn’t begun to love Cecile, Blu would have remarked on the dullness of Cecile’s life. Instead, she looked at her half-sister with curiosity. “Do you like to swim? I love to swim.” She turned longing eyes to the sunshine shimmering across the windowsill. A swim off the dive boats would have felt wonderful today.

  “I don’t know how to swim.”

  “You don’t?” Amazement widened Blu’s eyes. “Did you know how before the carriage accident?”

  “No. I don’t think many ladies swim.”

  “Cecile, do you have any feeling in your legs at all?”

  Cecile smoothed her palms over her skirts. “Sometimes I fancy I do, but... I think the notion is only wishful.” She raised her eyes. “The doctors bleed me twice a month, but it doesn’t seem to help. Please don’t tell Mama I said that. She wants so badly for me to walk again.” She lowered her eyelids. “But I doubt I shall.”

  “Oh, Cecile. I truly am sorry. Never to run again. Or sit in a tree. Or fight a duel. Never again.” A shudder of pity cracked the paste on Blu’s face. “How horrible!”

  Laughter bubbled past Cecile’s almond mask. “I never ran or sat in a tree or fought a duel to begin with. But I do miss dancing. I enjoy watching you at your lessons, and confess I wish I could join you.’’

  Blu’s dark eyes peered out of the white paste. “Bloody hell, I just had a thought. Can you... could you roger someone?”

  “Roger?”

  “You know. Could you do it? With a man?” When Cecile continued to appear bewildered, Blu formed a circle with her thumb and forefinger then jabbed her other forefinger through the circle.

  “Oh. Yes, I see.” A hand motion much like that of Aunt Tremble’s fluttered above her lap. “I really don’t know.” Blu suspected Cecile was blushing under the paste, but she couldn’t think why. “I... I don’t care about that anyway. I know some young ladies do, but I never have.” Cecile’s eyes lifted to Blu. “I suppose I should as I’m betrothed to wed, but... A slight shudder of distaste passed over her shoulders. “I know my husband will expect it and I long for children more than anything, but I just...”

  “You are to be married?”

  “The match was arranged when Edward and I were children. The Montmorency country estate adjoins the Paget estate. Everyone agrees it will be a brilliant alliance. And if I am to marry, I prefer Edward above all others.” She lowered a modest gaze. “I do love him.”

  “But how can you be a wife if you can’t roger? Or don’t wish to?”

  “Oh Blusette, I cherish your directness!” Cecile pressed her hand. “No one speaks to me the way you do.” Tears brimmed in her soft eyes. “I cannot tell you what a joy it is. Even before the accident Mama treated me like a fragile piece of china. And since, everyone protects me from anything interesting. I have come to believe young ladies are intended to be shielded from everything. What a pity that is. And how I envy your exposure to life!”

  Blu lowered her eyes to Cecile’s skirts and the wasted legs beneath. “I would just die if I couldn’t roger,” she said slowly.

  A gasp cracked the paste around Cecile’s pink mouth. “What? Have you done it?” Hastily, she looked over her shoulder then lowered her voice. “You speak as one with experience.”

  “No, dammit.” A scowl sent almond flakes drifting toward Blu’s breast. “I can say I honestly tried to get myself cracked—with the prettiest bloke you ever treated your eyes to. But it came to nothing. Worse luck.” A huge sigh dropped her shoulders.

  “You did? What happened?” Cecile asked in a whisper, her eyes wide and fascinated.

  “Knowing Her Ladyship, I doubt Lady Katherine would approve this tale.”

  Cecile clasped her hand. “You must tell it. Oh Blusette, you have lived so many adventures and I have lived none. I doubt I ever shall. My only brush with adventure is through you so you must tell me.”

  What Cecile said was true. Feeling more the older sister than the yo
unger, Blu leaned forward, her voice confiding. “Well, the sap was slow to rise, if you take my meaning.”

  “I’m not certain, but I think I do.” Cecile touched the violent blush pulsing under her almond paste.

  “So, I thought to help things along, as Isabelle says is sometimes necessary. Only I learned later that I did it bloody wrong. I had the proper notion, you see, but not the proper technique, which Isabelle says is all.”

  “Isabelle is—what did you call it—rogering the footmen. Were you aware?” Cecile pressed both hands to her cheeks and blinked rapidly.

  “Well, she is a whore, you know. A very good whore,” Blu added loyally. “Anyway, I squeezed his balls too hard and—”

  “You squeezed his...”

  “—that was the end of that. He trigged it and here I sit as uncracked as the day I was born.” A look of longing came into her eyes. “But oh how I wanted to do it. I know he wouldn’t have soured me forever. And I wanted to see him as naked as I was.”

  “You were naked?” Cecile fell backward in her chair and fanned her face furiously.

  “I wanted to touch him all over and smell him and taste him.”

  “Oh dear,” Cecile said faintly. “I never felt like that in my life. I can’t even imagine it.”

  “Not even with your Edward? Don’t you want to see him naked and jump on him?”

  “Oh my, no.” A shudder rippled through her body. “I grew up with Edward and I love him. But I love him like a brother. I don’t think I love him like... like that! Since we’re sharing secrets—and Blusette, I always wanted a sister with whom to share secrets—if it wasn’t that Mama wished the marriage, and the estate considerations...” She gave Blu a shy look of distress. “As much as I long for children, it doesn’t seem fair to burden Edward with a crippled wife.” She bit her lip. “Especially as I cannot be certain that I can give him an heir.”