Candice Hern (2 page)

"Besides," Penelope continued, smiling, "it would do each of you a world of good. I guarantee it. Am I not correct, Wilhelmina? You know what I'm talking about."

The duchess chuckled and shook her head. "I do not think I should comment, if you please." Instead, she reached for a sweetmeat and took a bite.

"And what about you, Marianne?" Penelope asked. "David was a remarkably handsome man and I have no doubt he treated you well. Don't you miss him? In that way, I mean. Don't you miss having a man's arms around you at night?"

Marianne missed David in every possible way. Theirs had been an extraordinarily happy marriage, even though it had been arranged when they were both children. David had been the best of men, the best of husbands. But after she had suffered a series of miscarriages, he had feared for Marianne's health and had allowed their sexual relations, which had always been more tender than passionate, to dwindle into the occasional cautious coupling.

Having little or no hope of children — Marianne was quite sure she was unable to carry a child to term — was one more reason a second marriage had never been a consideration. Most men wanted an heir. David had, but when she could not provide one, he'd loved her anyway. One could not expect such compassion, such unconditional love, twice in a lifetime.

But to take a lover? Frankly, she did not see the point. Though she had enjoyed physical intimacy with David — for the most part, anyway — it was not the sort of thing she wished to repeat with someone else, just for the sake of doing so.

Not wishing to reveal the nature of her relations with David, Marianne simply shrugged in response to Penelope's question. She lifted the teacup to her lips, took a dainty swallow of tepid Bohea, and prayed Penelope would not press her on the matter.

"And what about you, Grace?" Penelope said, blessedly turning her attention away from Marianne. "Though the bishop was so much older than you, and ever so proper, he may have been a randy old goat in the bedroom, for all we know."

Grace gave a little shriek and her blush deepened to a dangerous shade of purple. It was too much. The image of the late, great Bishop Marlowe, orator extraordinaire, champion of the oppressed, frolicking in the bedroom with his young wife sent Marianne into whoops of laughter. The other ladies were equally amused, and poor Grace had to contend with several minutes of uncontrolled merriment.

Finally, wiping her eyes, Penelope looked to Lady Somerfield. "And you, Beatrice. You cannot tell me Somerfield did not teach you the pleasures of the bedroom. He was a notorious libertine in his youth. Surely you must miss his lovemaking."

Beatrice took a deep breath and her countenance sobered. "Not that it is any of your business, Penelope, but I do miss it. I miss
him
. I do not miss having a man rule my life, to be sure. But when he wasn't making me want to throttle him, I was quite fond of Somerfield and I will confess that I often miss the closeness we shared, the intimacy, the warmth. It simply never occurred to me to ..." She shrugged and shook her head.

"It never occurred to any of you," Penelope said. "Wise Wilhelmina excepted. Frankly, it never occurred to me, either. Until Dumfries. And I tell you, ladies, we have been fools to ignore that aspect of our lives. We can keep our financial independence as widows and still find fulfillment as women. I stand before you as proof that it can be done. I've never felt better in my life, and I can promise you that I will no longer be so quick to rebuff a gentleman's advances. If it's the right gentleman. And because you are my friends and I wish for your happiness as well as my own, I must encourage you to follow my example."

"You want us all to take lovers just because you did?" Beatrice scowled as she stared at the cup of tea she seemed to have forgotten about, and retrieved the silver tongs again to reach for the sugar. "Will it perhaps make you feel better about what you've done if we all do the same?"

Penelope lifted her chin. "I assure you that I have no guilt to assuage, and harbor no regrets, if that is what you are suggesting. I am only encouraging you to find a lover because I know it will make you happy. It will rejuvenate you, invigorate you, make you feel like a girl again. Don't you want to feel desirable? Don't you want a man to make you feel beautiful again? Yes, of course, all of you are very beautiful women, but what good does it do you to hear it from me? How much more satisfying to hear it whispered in your ear while a man's hands caress every beautiful part of you?"

"Penelope!" Marianne said, more intrigued than outraged. "You are incorrigible."

"Am I? Or am I just speaking out loud the thoughts every one of you has entertained at one time or another? Ladies, we are all friends, and as friends, we should be able to speak frankly with each other, even about such private matters. To be honest, I have been burning with the need to talk with someone about my affair. I cannot keep such excitement bottled up inside me. So here I am, confessing my little transgression without the least remorse, and with every hope that I can repeat it again soon. And hoping the same for all of you." She clapped her hands together with glee. "We must find lovers for each of us. Even Grace. Especially Grace."

"I could never do that," Grace said, busying herself with a mote spoon as she cleaned the teapot spout. "Never."

"Don't be so sure," the duchess said. "If the right man came along ..."

Grace shuddered visibly. "Never." She kept her eyes down, not looking at any of them, as she refilled the pot with hot water from the silver urn at her side.

"Poor Grace," Penelope said. "That shudder of yours speaks volumes. The old bishop wasn't so randy after all, was he? A bit of skillful lovemaking from a handsome young man would do you a world of good. But I see you are not yet ready to loosen those tight stays of yours, even for a moment, so I will not press you. What of the rest of you? Marianne? Beatrice?"

"What, exactly, are you asking of us, Penelope?" Beatrice asked. "That we each make a promise to seek out a lover?"

"Yes!" Penelope bounced with enthusiasm and clapped her hands together. "A pact! A real pact this time. A secret pact, just among the five of us."

A secret pact? To take a lover? The notion both disturbed and excited Marianne. Could she ever agree to such a thing? Did she want to?

"Not me," Grace said. "Do not expect me to become party to some sort of improper agreement."

"Yes, my girl," Penelope said, wagging a finger, "even you. Our pact shall be that we give ourselves permission to break out of those self-imposed restrictions of respectable widowhood and truly live as independent women, in control of every aspect of our lives. And that means if an attractive man catches our eye, we are free to act on that attraction. We will, of course, be discreet. In public. But among ourselves, we should feel free to be as indiscreet as we want. In fact, I believe each of you shall be required to share every delicious experience, as I have done. No detail will be considered too intimate."

They looked at one another, all save Wilhelmina apparently as stunned, and fascinated, as Marianne at what was being suggested. Could they really do it? Could they be that candid about things most people never discussed at all? Assuming they actually found lovers. Marianne felt a rush of anxiety, as though she was about to be initiated into a secret society she had no desire to join.

"We once made another sort of pact," Penelope continued, "to lend our support to one another if our families attempted to pressure us into an unwanted marriage. Let us simply extend that pact with a promise not to judge or censure and scold one another about our lovers, but to offer good, solid female understanding and encouragement. Among friends. What do you say?"

Marianne's uneasiness lifted. She could do this. No one was making her promise to find a lover, which she could not imagine doing. "You are only asking us to be open-minded, then. I am willing to do that. Grace, even you could promise as much."

"I suppose so," Grace said, though a skeptical frown marked her elegant brow as she poured fresh tea for everyone.

"So long as we keep it to ourselves," Beatrice said, "
strictly to ourselves
, then you have my promise as well."

"And mine, of course," the duchess said with a wicked smile. "This should be interesting."

Penelope beamed at the group. "Wonderful. But I challenge you all to take our pact a step further. I say we should each
actively
seek out a lover."

"What?" Beatrice exclaimed.

Marianne shook her head.

"You go too far," Grace said.

"Oh, do not worry, Grace. I am pleased enough to have your promise not to scold the rest of us as we dip our toes in sensual waters. Though it would delight me if you did, I do not expect
you
to take a lover. Beatrice, what about you? Are you ready to accept the challenge? To make a true effort to find a lover?"

Beatrice laughed. "It will be a challenge, indeed. Chaperoning my niece, Emily, in her first Season, is a time-consuming enterprise. I swear we must have every evening booked for the next three months. That girl is determined to land a husband before summer. And my two girls are forever underfoot, impatient for their own Seasons. I cannot imagine how I could squeeze an affair into my schedule."

"But you will keep an open mind?" Penelope prompted. "And an open eye?"

"I promise to do my best," Beatrice said, and gave a wistful sigh. "All that talk of stallions and hands and such does indeed remind me of my dear Somerfield and what I've missed since he's been gone. It would be nice to ... well, it would be nice."

"Excellent. And you, Marianne?"

Oh, Lord. What could she say? Stallions and such certainly did not remind her of David. The marriages of Penelope and Beatrice had obviously been quite different from her own. It was a bit of a revelation to Marianne that perhaps the physical intimacy she'd shared with her husband was not as fulfilling as it might have been. Had she in fact missed something essential, something wonderful?

She gave herself a silent scold for such a disloyal thought.

"I am willing to support the rest of you," she said, "if you decide to take lovers. I am not so sure I am ready for that step just yet. It seems ... I don't know. A betrayal of David's memory, I suppose."

"Did you sleep with other men while he was alive?"

Marianne uttered a gasp of outrage. "Of course not."

"Then you have not betrayed him," Penelope said. "Listen to me, Marianne. We all loved our husbands and would never have been unfaithful to them while they lived. But they are gone. We are no longer bound to them. I certainly do not feel I have besmirched the memory of Gosforth by taking a lover three years after his death. And I do not believe David would have wanted you to pine away in cold solitude for the rest of your life."

"You are too young for that," the duchess said.

Despite Penelope's logic, Marianne was not entirely sold on the idea. For one thing, she did indeed still feel bound to David. She always would. But she had never intended for her own life to be a shrine to his memory. She missed him, she grieved for him, but she enjoyed being alive. She had a rich and contented life filled with friends and charity work and Society events. But she was willing to admit it might not be as full a life as it could be. She gazed at Penelope's radiant face.

"I suppose you are right," she said. "I just never thought about it before. It's all so new. You must give me a little time to consider the matter. Besides, I am not at all sure how I would go about it."

The duchess smiled at her. "You must find the right man."

"Easier said than done," Beatrice said.

"Well, it should not be just anyone," the duchess said, her green eyes flashing with amusement. "Pay closer attention to the gentlemen at our balls, for example. When you see an attractive man, look him straight in the eye. If he looks back in a way that makes your toes curl up inside your slippers, he is a likely candidate."

"Oh, my," Grace said.

"The most obvious candidates," Penelope said, "are those men well-known for their amorous adventures, the most notorious seducers. Cazenove and Rochdale." Her eyes brightened with gleeful excitement. "Which of us shall have them?"

Adam Cazenove? Oh, no. Not Adam. He was Marianne's dearest friend in the world. Though he'd had a string of lovers over the years, it seemed odd and unsettling to imagine him with Penelope or Beatrice.

"Have a care, my dear," the duchess said. "Lord Rochdale is a bit too public with his seductions for my taste and not always honorable, I'm told, though it is true he is said to be quite skillful in the bedroom."

Marianne would not be surprised to learn that Wilhelmina had firsthand experience with Rochdale's bedroom skills.

"Cazenove is a much more attractive subject, in my opinion," the duchess continued.

Good heavens. Had Wilhelmina been with Adam as well? An image of his beautiful hands on the duchess, of her beringed fingers in his long hair sent a shudder across Marianne's shoulders.

"He should be a convenient candidate for you, Marianne," the duchess said. "That is, of course, should you decide you want to get into the game after all."

Marianne laughed aloud at the very idea. "Yes, he is conveniently situated in the house next door to mine, but he is also a very close friend. I would never dream of violating that friendship. Neither would he."

Adam Cazenove and David had been the best of friends, more like brothers, in fact. They had bought the adjacent houses on Bruton Street at the same time, shortly after David's marriage to Marianne. The second-floor balconies adjoined, and the two men had made a game of leaping back and forth over the balcony railings whenever they wanted to share a bottle and a bird, or a game of cards, or simply good conversation.

Adam had become as good a friend to Marianne over the years, and remained so since David's death. In fact, he still climbed over that second-floor balcony railing to visit her in her private sitting room. It was as though that boyish prank somehow kept David's memory alive for him. She could not remember the last time Adam had used the front door.