Once Upon a Tower
Page 24

“May I inquire why not?”
“The duke isn’t the man I believed him to be.”
“That is not true,” Edie protested. “Gowan is precisely—”
“Gowan? You address him by his given name? That is outrageous.” Her father’s mouth flattened into a thin line.
She wanted to snap back at him, but it would only hurt her cause. “I did not mean it in that fashion,” she offered.
“I am expected in Parliament,” her father stated. He bowed, and left.
He did not come home that night for supper. “You know,” Edie said at the table, “I think you treat my father altogether too kindly, Layla. Here you are in the house whereas your husband is out gallivanting, doing whatever he pleases.”
“What would you have me do? Flirt with Gryphus? I don’t even like the man. He’s too young.”
“Of course not.” Edie put down her fork. “But why should your life be so miserable? I’m not saying that you should flirt, Layla. I’m just saying that perhaps you should build a routine so that you aren’t so gloomy when Father fails to return home.”
Layla looked dubious.
“I know that I gave you something of an excuse, since I didn’t debut until this year, but there is no reason for you to stay at home these days. Yet you rarely leave the house.”
“That’s what a wife is supposed to do.”
“But her husband is supposed to join her at home. Not to mention the fact that he is supposed to escort her to balls and plays. My father is rarely here, and when he is, he’s so cold you could chill an ice by him. Where would we be going tonight, if Father hadn’t accepted Kinross’s offer? If I were still searching for a husband, in other words?”
“Almack’s, I suppose,” Layla said. “It’s a Wednesday night and you were sent a voucher after your debut.”
“Right,” Edie said. “That’s where we’ll go tonight.”
“But why? Your father won’t know where I am, nor will he care. What if he doesn’t come home all night, as he didn’t last night? He maintains that he sleeps in his chambers at the House of Lords.” She said the last with a patent lack of belief.
“Then you will have had a lovely time dancing, which is important, too. There is no reason for you to sit about twiddling your fingers while I bore you silly playing the cello.” Edie stood up. “I will ask Mary to dress me for dancing.”
“All right.”
Edie pointed at her. “You, Mistress Stepmother, shall be happy tonight.”
“I suppose.” Layla looked willing but incapable, her smile wobbly.
“Tell Willikins that we want champagne before going out. We’ll both get bosky and then dance with anyone who puts a hand in our direction. Let the gossips tell Father that!”
Edie came down the stairs a while later looking somewhere between maidenly and seductive. She’d had no word from Gowan indicating that he had returned to London, but of course one didn’t dress merely to please a man.
Though that was what she had done.
Mary had used the curling iron to straighten her hair, and then had managed to make most of it stay above her shoulders.
Layla gasped. “Oh, Edie, darling, you look utterly delicious!” She looked down at herself. “You’re so slender, and I’m getting fat.”
“You are not fat. You are delightfully curved, Layla. There’s a difference. And I am not slender, either.”
“You’re slender in comparison to me, probably because you don’t take afternoon tea. Every one of these curves is made from crumpets. Your champagne awaits.” Layla waved a glass in her direction. “Perhaps I have too many curves for your father’s liking.”
“Layla, dearest, are you bosky already?” Edie accepted a glass from Willikins, who bowed and left.
“I believe I am a bit tipsy. It’s my new slimming regime; I’ve decided to eat only grapes after three in the afternoon. No more tea. It’s my downfall.”
“Absurd!”
“If I manage to stay on this regime, I might be able to win your father back from Winifred.”
“Winifred? Who’s she?” Edie sat down opposite her stepmother and took a sip of her champagne. Then, after another look at Layla, she took a proper gulp. She might as well get in the spirit of things. “Are you saying that you have found out the name of Father’s mistress?”
“No, but I’ve named her Winifred. It’s a name I’ve always loathed, so that makes it easier.”
“Makes what easier?”
“Loathing her, of course,” Layla said. “For wrecking my less-than-happy home. I also consider her responsible for the fact that I have eaten too many crumpets. And for the fact that the only reason my husband gets up in the night is to use the chamber pot.”
“Ha,” Edie said, giving that jest precisely its due and no more.
“What I need is inspiration. I shall use Winifred as a spur to reduce. I’m sure she’s slender and sylphlike and utterly gorgeous.”
“You are utterly gorgeous,” Edie said, watching as Layla quaffed half her glass of champagne.
“More importantly, the time has come,” Layla said, pausing dramatically, “to tell you the secrets of the marital bed.”
“I know them,” Edie assured her hastily.
“No, no, not the basics. What I’m about to tell you are secrets that are passed from mother to daughter.” Layla paused and then frowned. “Do you know about the petit mort?”
Edie was pretty sure she did, so she nodded.
“It’s just like us to have no word for it ourselves,” Layla said a bit crossly. “We have to resort to French, as if Frenchmen were the only ones able to give a woman pleasure. I could tell you—” She caught herself. “You wouldn’t appreciate the details, as it’s your father in question.”
“No,” Edie said. “I would not.”
“Well, the most important thing to remember is that anything a man asks you to do for him can and should be reciprocated.”
Edie frowned. Granted, her understanding of intercourse was at a rudimentary level, but she couldn’t imagine any reciprocity.
“No, not that,” Layla said, waving her hands. “You’ll know it when you see it. I mean, when you are asked to do it. Just take my word for it.”
“All right.”
“I have to say that I consider this extremely unlikely, but should Kinross prove to be able to maintain his tool for only a few minutes, or if he can’t get it up at all, I can help. There are potions for that! So just tell me, darling, and I’ll get my hands on the right medicine. I could even send one to you by post.”
“Thank you,” Edie said, wondering whether women informed their husbands of the potion’s effects or administered it secretly.
“And here’s the big secret, though I never thought I’d need such a thing.” Layla’s eyes filled with tears. “But I have.”
Edie was starting to feel bewildered. “Does it have to do with virginity?”
“That? Oh no. That didn’t hurt much at all. Don’t let those old wives’ tales frighten you. There may be a few drops of blood, which will make your Scotsman happy. Men are absurdly proud to think they’re plowing a virgin field.”