Duchess by Night

  Nell was giggling madly again. “How well you know us!” she shrilled.

  Jem leaned across Harry toward Nell, which allowed him to rub even harder. Harriet gasped and jumped in her seat.

  “Don’t allow me to bother you, Cope,” Jem said. “I just want to make a point to Nell. Why do you suppose that women wear all that clothing?”

  “To be attractive,” Nell said promptly. She cast a quick look down at her gown in a manner that suggested she felt that she looked very attractive indeed.

  “But think how attractive they’d be if they merely wore breeches. Just think how a man’s eyes would be able to feast on their limbs, on the curve of their—I’m not shocking you, am I, Nell?”

  Hardly. Nell’s eyes were fixed on him the way a baby chick looks at its mother. It was Harriet who could feel herself turning pinker and pinker.

  “You’ll have to forgive me,” she said, scrambling backward and standing up. Jem’s hand fell away. Her knees felt a bit weak.

  “Are you done eating?” Jem asked.

  “Absolutely,” she said. “Absolutely finished.” She was babbling, and tried to pull herself together. “What I mean to say is that I shall accompany the Duchess of Cosway back to London tomorrow, so I should probably supervise the packing of my clothing.”

  Jem looked at her quickly, and she realized she’d forgotten to tell him.

  Nell scrambled into the chair that she had vacated. “Oh dear Harry,” she cooed, smiling at Harriet. “I wish you a wonderful trip.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Jem said, his eyes rather unfriendly.

  “I’m sure we’ll see you here again,” Nell said, taking on the role of the mistress of the manor.

  “Indeed,” Jem said, and he turned back to Nell with a smile.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The Intoxicating Air of Fonthill

  Harriet walked up the stairs thinking about three people she had to say farewell to: Eugenia, Villiers, and Jem. It was astonishing how differently she felt about Villiers than a mere month ago, when she hated him with a vengeance. Last year she had talked Jemma into shaming him at chess; she had spent hours wishing he would die of a loathsome disease. She was intent on revenge.

  And now…

  Now he was the only person in the world other than herself who had apparently loved Benjamin. And she didn’t hate him anymore.

  She walked into his room and was happy to find him clothed and sitting up rather than lying down. She walked over and threw herself into the armchair opposite him and stretched out her legs.

  “Nicely done,” he said, eyeing her. “There is a certain lanky freedom about your legs that certainly bespeaks the male. How is it with the young woman who woos you?”

  “Unfortunately, I had to disclose a sad fact to her.”

  “That you had no equipment to pleasure her with?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Did she tell everyone you’re a woman?”

  “In fact, she thinks I’m a eunuch.”

  His smile was delighted. “A eunuch! How in the bloody hell did you supposedly come to that sorry state?”

  “We left it vague,” Harriet said, grinning back at him. “An accident or some such.”

  “Some such! Most men spend a good part of their waking hours making sure that no such accident comes near their privates.”

  “She wept for me.”

  “Slayer of a young lady’s heart,” Villiers said with satisfaction. “I’ve loosed a monster on Strange’s household.”

  “She didn’t appear at supper at all,” Harriet reported.

  “Pining in her room, unable to eat.”

  “I doubt that,” Harriet said, picturing Kitty’s abundant flesh. “But she may have taken consolation elsewhere.”

  “Any other exciting events?” he enquired.

  “Do you remember that I was wooing Lord Strange on behalf of Nell?”

  “With poetry?”

  “Exactly. I introduced her as the author of the said poetry and left them together at the table.”

  “It will come to nothing. Strange never dabbles,” Villiers said. “Now I am a dabbler. It took me a few years to understand that though he surrounds himself with beautiful women who could certainly be labeled loose, he never takes advantage.”

  “How odd,” Harriet said.

  “He was wild to a fault after coming down from Oxford,” Villiers said. “We were there together and I had some adventures of my own, but nothing like Jem. He was in a fair way to getting the title of the worst rakehell yet to grace London; he belonged to every one of the various clubs that delighted in women.”

  “Were you also a member of those clubs?” Harriet asked curiously.

  “I’m a chess man,” Villiers said, shrugging. “I find an unadorned array of female breasts tiresome, if you’ll forgive my bluntness.”

  “I’m sure I would feel the same about the more interesting parts of males. Although,” she added, “I might gawk for a few nights first.”

  He snorted. “You surprise me. Did you show this side of yourself to Benjamin?”

  “Do you think it would have interested him?”

  He was silent. “No. He must have been a dreadful spouse, now I think it over. Do you suppose I shall be as bad?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “I do wish to marry someday,” Villiers said. “And foolish though it may seem, I would like it to be a happy marriage. So please, give me some advice.”

  “Don’t ever recount a chess game to a woman when you’re in bed together, no matter how splendidly you performed.”

  “My goal in bed is always splendid performance,” Villiers murmured.

  Harriet rolled her eyes. “Pretend that chess is not your life’s breath and blood, the reason for living—” She broke off. “It won’t work, you know. Perhaps you could find someone like Jemma, someone who likes chess too. Then the two of you could sit together and mumble, ‘Bishop to King’s Four,’ when you’re too old for other activities.”

  “I tried to fascinate Jemma,” he said. “But then I found an odd qualm in me about Beaumont, since we were old friends. The end of my sorry tale is that I heroically refused Jemma’s advances, then changed my mind and found myself wounded by her brother before I had a chance to impress her with my charms. I intend to make another foray when I am completely well.”

  “She’ll probably enjoy a recital of chess moves,” Harriet said. “But if you wish to marry—and I believe that is what you said—you need someone else. Jemma is surprisingly married, more so all the time. But I came to tell you that we leave tomorrow morning. Isidore has discovered she is not nearly as prone to dissolute behavior as she believed.”

  “That is true of many ladies,” Villiers observed. “Whereas you, on the other hand, look to have happily settled into life as a rake.”

  “It’s lovely,” Harriet admitted. “I loathe panniers, powder, wigs, and all the rest of it. I haven’t been so happy in years.”

  Villiers narrowed his eyes. “There’s something different about you—” he sat up. “I believe you have succumbed to the intoxicating air of the Strange household. Someone has discovered your true sex.”

  She smiled faintly but said nothing, just stood up to leave. She gave him her best bow, the one that ended with a flourish of her right hand.

  “Not bad,” Villiers said. And then: “Are you certain you wish to leave with Isidore? You’re quite welcome to stay as my ward, you know. I should be on my feet tomorrow, if all continues well.”

  But Harriet was sure. There was nothing real about what had happened at Fonthill, with Jem. It was deliriously wonderful. It taught her things about men and women and her body. But her life was at home, not dressed up in breeches.

  “This has been a wonderful few days,” she said, meaning it. “I was able to finally bury Benjamin, if that makes sense.”

  He inclined his head. “And you’re quite certain you wish to leave whomever it is?”

  “Quite certai
n,” she said steadily. “I must return to real life.” She smiled at him. “I will never dress myself as Mother Goose again.”

  There was an answering smile in his eyes.

  She left.

  Eugenia was building a castle out of pasteboard when Harriet made her way through the footman standing guard and into the nursery. She dropped to the floor next to the castle. It was remarkably good. The walls were cut with fair precision, and glued together. Eugenia had drawn little blocks to represent bricks. And there was a tower and battlements.

  “That’s wonderful,” Harriet said. “What comes next? And how’s your rat bite?”

  Eugenia looked up. “It’s you! I was hoping you would visit. Look what I’m making.”

  “A castle,” Harriet said.

  “I made the castle before,” Eugenia said impatiently. “But I’m going to have a battle, so I’m making the soldiers now.”

  She was cutting out little men and placing them around the battlements. “I was going to have the Saracens attack, but I changed my mind.”

  “An army of dogs?” Harriet said, seeing what was arranged outside the castle.

  “Rats!” Eugenia said proudly. “See their tails? It’s hard to cut out tails. I had to set up a hospital for all the wounded rats because my scissors kept slipping.” Sure enough, there was a careful little pile of mangled rats off to the side.

  “How’s the bite?” Harriet asked.

  Eugenia held out her hand. “Almost gone, see?”

  Sure enough, the puncture wounds looked as if they were healing nicely.

  “I have to go home tomorrow morning,” Harriet said. “I came to say goodbye.”

  “My governess went home too. And the footman. People are always going home.” She turned back to the rat she was cutting out and her hair swung before her face.

  Harriet gently brushed it back. “Would you like to pay me a visit, if your father agrees?”

  “I never leave Fonthill,” Eugenia said. “Papa doesn’t really let me out of these rooms, you know.”

  “That’s not true!” Harriet said. “He just worries about you.”

  “That’s why he brings all the actors here, because he doesn’t want me to go to London to the theater,” Eugenia said, still not looking. “He says someone might steal me, because we have too much money. He won’t allow me to visit you.”

  “I’ll ask him,” Harriet said. “But you don’t really think that your father wants you in your rooms all the time, do you? He merely worries about your safety.”

  Eugenia gave her a little crooked smile. “It’s all right. One of the maids said that our house is full of monsters. When I was little, I believed that, but now I don’t.”

  “Monsters!” Harriet exclaimed. “Were you afraid?”

  “Yes, but now I’m more afraid of rats,” Eugenia said. Her face brightened. “But Papa is going to get me a puppy—the kind of puppy who can kill a rat! And it can live with me here, in the west wing.”

  “I will speak to your father tomorrow morning. I promise you that, Eugenia. There are no monsters in this house. I will ask him to let you run free occasionally. And pay me a visit.”

  Eugenia hopped to her feet and dropped into a curtsy.

  “If you would do that, Harry, I would be tremendously grateful.”

  Harriet bowed to her, but the simple kind, with no flourishes. And then she kissed her goodbye.

  And finally she gave her a hug.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  In Which Harriet Joins The Game. Finally.

  He caught up with her as she was walking down the corridor, away from Eugenia’s room.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said without preface. “Come on, it’s time for the Game to begin.”

  “Game? What game?”

  “Primero. It’s perfect for you.”

  Harriet trotted a little to keep up. “Perfect how? I need to pack.”

  He just glanced over his shoulder and said, “I’ve been holding the Game almost every night for the last seven years. You’re the first woman ever invited.”

  Harriet ran a little faster.

  She walked into a study on the second floor to find that there were two tables set up—and Villiers was seated at one of them.

  “What a pleasure,” he murmured, as she sat down beside him. He looked at Strange and the corner of his mouth quirked into a smile. “Sometimes you actually show signs of common sense, Strange.”

  Harriet looked around. The room was hung with dark silk. Four or five men stood next to the fire. The room held no furniture other than two small square tables and a number of comfortable chairs.

  “It’s an honor to be invited to join Strange’s Game,” Villiers said to her. “We all refer to it with a capital G, in case you’re wondering. And it’s a point of honor to mention the Game to no one except a man who has participated, so I had to leave you in the dark.”

  “And where does the honor come in?” Harriet saw that the most interesting of the Cambridge professors was there, and the man who played the lead at the Hyde Park Theater. He had told her the other night that he hated Hamlet, and then explained all its stupidities so that Harriet felt she would never enjoy it again.

  “It’s famous. Some nights there are four people, and sometimes eight. No one dares complain if they are excluded for a night—or forever. But I’ve known people to stay at Fonthill for weeks, longing for just one shot at the Game.”

  Harriet looked around again. Povy was handing out small glasses of ruby-colored liquor. There was a happy buzz in the room. “Do we play for money?”

  “High stakes,” Villiers said. “Very. Does that bother you?”

  “Benjamin always said it was paltry to play for money rather than for love of the game.”

  “Cards,” Villiers observed, “are different from chess.”

  “What sort of game is primero?”

  “Oh, a game of power. Of bluffing and lying.” He said nothing more. “Look at this,” he murmured a moment later. “It seems that your arrival has occasioned some interest.”

  She looked up to find a wolfish man staring at her. “Young Cope, is it?” he barked.

  She rose and bowed. “Indeed, sir, you have the advantage of me.”

  “Lord Skipwith.”

  “Lord Skipwith,” came Villiers’s measured tone, “is the senior man in Parliament on the question of the Irish Resolutions. You do well to meet him, lad.”

  Harriet bowed again. Skipwith eyed her from head to foot, seeming to pause, narrow-eyed, when it came to her legs. Harriet held her breath.

  But Skipwith turned away with a snort, and Harriet sat back down.

  “He’s decided you’re a molly,” Villiers said.

  “What does that mean? I keep hearing the term.”

  “A man who prefers to sleep with other men, rather than women. They are sometimes effeminate in their presentation. Skipwith is quite conservative in his thinking.”

  Harriet uncrossed her legs and stretched them out in front of her in a careless, manly fashion.

  Villiers eyed her. “You might wish to belch,” he suggested.

  “You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Harriet retorted.

  “That’s the funny thing about coming near death,” Villiers said. “I am finding life to be a great deal more tolerable.”

  “You came to Fonthill to join the Game, didn’t you?” Harriet said. It had puzzled her why Villiers had decided to come to Strange’s house party. He seemed to have no interest in the various women being offered, nor had he showed any interest in scientific experiment or dramatic productions, the two forms of entertainment.

  “One cannot live by chess alone. Ah, there you are, Strange. And Lord Castlemaine. How splendid that you join us. Do you know Mr. Cope?”

  Harriet stood up and made a leg to Castlemaine. He was a youngish man with a close-clipped beard and a pair of spectacles.

  “Castlemaine is one of the top men at the Exchange,” Villiers said.


  “The Financial Exchange?” Harriet asked.

  Castlemaine had a slow, toothy grin. “Indeed.”

  “I suppose you are up to your neck in this business between the king and the pursers,” Jem said, dropping into a seat.

  Castlemaine pursed his lips. “I’m afraid there will be certain charges made to the crown that His Majesty will not be happy with.”

  “In that case, His Majesty must provide the victuals.”

  Castlemaine glanced at Jem. “Is that your word on the subject, Lord Strange?”

  “Indeed,” Jem said, rapidly passing out cards. “Now, Cope, in the game of primero each man has two cards. You may look at yours.”

  Harriet looked. She had two queens, which struck her as a very nice hand.

  “We shall go about the table. Your choice is to pass, in which case you must discard and draw. Stake, by putting some money down, or bid,” Villiers said. “I, for instance, will bid one hundred pounds with a forty-seven.”

  “Who has forty-seven?” Harriet asked, confused.

  “No one,” Jem put in. “Villiers wants you to think that he has it.”

  It took a few minutes to catch the rhythm of the game, but quickly thereafter Harriet realized that the bets were much larger than she had realized. For example, Castlemaine staked, and unless she was mistaken, what he put down was the right to provision the pursers. For all England.

  Villiers raised an eyebrow, but passed.

  Jem bid a huge amount of money against the contract and it was Harriet’s turn again. She looked at her hand. She was starting to know Jem’s face. He didn’t have all those points he was pretending to have. So she could win. But—but provisioning the pursers? She knew nothing of pursers. On the other hand, it was clearly a lucrative contract. And perhaps they would play again.

  She won.

  “You throw your heart into the game in a reckless fashion, Cope,” said Castlemaine, looking slightly displeased.

  Villiers leaned forward. “Cope is young but not foolhardy, Castlemaine, and there is play to go this evening. Perhaps more importantly, his estate could certainly manage the pursers, many times over. He is my relative.”