“Unkind,” Olivia said, laughing. “I think the bite to her tail proved more detrimental to her beauty.”
“Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but one would have to be blind to praise Lucy.”
“She has very sweet eyes,” Olivia protested. “And it’s rather adorable the way her ears turn inside out when she runs.”
“That is not a characteristic I ever considered essential to an attractive dog.”
“Mother doesn’t admire it either. In fact, she was truly vexed by the idea that I might be seen with the dog by anyone of consequence.”
Georgiana raised an eyebrow. “Lucy isn’t going to Portugal? I thought Rupert was never separated from her.”
“He believes the trip might be dangerous, so he asked me to care for her in his absence.”
“Most people do say that about battlefields. So where is Lucy? She certainly wasn’t in the drawing room by the time I joined you. Is she in the stables?”
“In the kitchens, being bathed,” Olivia said. “Rupert demanded that she remain with me at all times. Of course, Mother was entirely sweet to his face, but she flew into a temper the moment the door closed. She considers Lucy to be an utterly inappropriate companion for a future duchess. Which makes her the perfect companion for me, you have to admit.”
“Lucy does not have an aristocratic air. It’s the rat tail, I think.”
“Or that long waist. She looks like a sausage with legs. But she will smell like an aristocrat. Mother sent her down to the kitchens to be bathed in buttermilk.”
Georgiana rolled her eyes. “Lucy may be enjoying the buttermilk, but the idea is preposterous.”
“Mother also suggested that bows or some sort of embellishment might make her more suitable as a lady’s companion.” In the whole, long, rather horrible day, the only bright spot was the expression on their mother’s face when Rupert, a tear rolling down his cheek, put Lucy’s leash into Olivia’s hand.
“Lucy with bows on her ears—or that tail—does not appeal,” Georgiana stated firmly.
“Do you know what’s bothering Mother the most? I think she’s afraid that everyone will call Lucy a mongrel and then think the same of me. Bows for Lucy and ribbons for me, if you see what I mean.”
“You can squash any such pretentiousness. Mother may despair of you, Olivia, but you and I both know that if you feel like playing a stiff-rumped duchess, you can do it with more flair than almost anyone.”
“It’s not always possible to disguise the truth,” Olivia said. “Look at poor Rupert and his celery stick, for example.”
“I think your experience in the library was unusual. All the conversations I’ve had with married women gave me the strong conviction that men needed nothing more than a woman and a modicum of privacy.”
“Rupert obviously needed more than a captive woman and a sofa. But I’m not sure his experience says much about the rest of mankind.”
“What did you say after you left the room?”
“Nothing. I promised Rupert that I would never tell—you don’t count. His father should have known better than to think a duck could rise to the occasion, so to speak.”
“Did Rupert obey you?”
“In every detail,” Olivia said, with a flash of triumph. “He was a bit unsteady on his legs—I think he should probably stick to cider in the future—but he managed to bow without falling over, and then to leave without revealing the fact that neither of his two most important organs are functioning.”
Georgiana sighed. “You really mustn’t.”
“I’m sorry. It just came out of my mouth.”
“Jests like those should never come out of a lady’s mouth.”
“If you’re casting aspersions on my claims to propriety, you’re not saying anything that Mother hasn’t concluded long ago,” Olivia said. “Enough about my character deficits. In all the excited talk of your aptitude for the position of Duchess of Sconce, did Mother mention Lady Cecily Bumtrinket?”
“What an extraordinary name. No.”
“Well, as Mother told you, the Duchess of Sconce, author of the Mirror for Mooncalves, apparently agreed with Canterwick’s suggestion that you are a suitable match for her son. And Lady Cecily, who I gather is the dowager’s sister, has been recruited to introduce us to His Grace. The only dark lining to this silver prospect is that we have to actually meet the grand arbiter of propriety herself, the duchess of decorum, the—”
“Stop!”
“I’m sorry,” Olivia said, wrinkling her nose. “I start to babble when I’m miserable. I know it’s a fault, but I can’t bear to cry, Georgie. I’d much rather laugh.”
“I would cry,” Georgiana said, scooting over and tugging gently at a lock of Olivia’s hair. “The very idea of Rupert’s taking down his breeches makes me feel tearful.”
“It was worse than I had imagined. But at the same time, Rupert is such a good soul, poor cluck. He really—there’s something very sweet about him.”
“I think it’s wonderful that you are able to respect his merits!” Georgiana said, with rather more enthusiasm than called for.
Olivia shot her a sardonic look.
“At any rate,” Georgiana added hastily, “I suspect that such intimacies are always embarrassing. Most of the dowagers refer to the experience in the most disdainful terms.”
“But think of Juliet Fallesbury and her Longfellow,” Olivia pointed out. “Obviously, she didn’t run away with a gardener because of his horticultural skills. At any rate, since Rupert is off to the wars at the crack of dawn, you, Lucy, and I will be taken to the country to meet the Duke of Sconce and his mother.”
“A lovely prospect,” Georgiana said, her eyes darkening. “I can’t wait to see the duke’s eyes roll back in his head from the utter tedium of sitting next to me.”
Olivia gave her a tap on the nose. “Just smile at him, Georgie. Forget all those rules and look at the duke as if he might be likable. Who knows, maybe he is? Just smile at him as if you were a pig and he the trough, promise?”
Georgiana smiled.
Six
Her Grace’s Matrimonial Experiment Commences
May 1812
Back in his study following the evening repast, Quin was dimly aware that his mother’s house party had commenced. There had been a great deal of commotion in the entryway shortly after the meal, which suggested that at least one prospective wife and her chaperone had arrived.
He had a reasonable amount of curiosity about the young women his mother considered suitable candidates for matrimony. But just at that moment a cascade of giggles bounced its way up the stairs and into his study.
The giggler would surely fail his mother’s tests regarding enjoyment, innocent or otherwise, so it would be a waste of time to greet her. He pulled off his coat and cravat, threw them over a chair, and sat back at his desk.
He had discarded polynomial equations for the moment, and returned to the problem of light. He’d been puzzling over light since he was a boy, ever since he’d met a blind man and realized that to him the world was dark. He had asked his tutor whether that meant that light existed only because we have eyes; the man had guffawed. He hadn’t understood the larger question.