The Duchess War
Page 61

In lieu of an embrace, he simply folded his arms. “It would mean a great deal to me.”
“Of course,” Sebastian said, turning away from Robert, “you know what this means, Oliver. The two of us must now organize a wild, debauched party for Robert on the eve of his leg-shackling.” He rubbed his hands together in glee.
Oliver met his gaze calmly. “Wild,” he repeated. “Debauched. I am in complete agreement.”
Robert felt a hint of apprehension. “You know,” he said, “this is very kind, but not necessary.”
They ignored him, facing one another.
“Well, you know. Fit the punishment to the criminal, and all that sort of thing. It is Robert, after all.” Sebastian ran his hand through his hair, mussing it. “Now what will we do for women?”
“Really,” Robert said a little more forcefully. “I know I’ve not yet said my wedding vows, but I must insist that…”
But they weren’t paying him any attention. “I know just the thing,” Oliver said, brightening. “Mary Wollstonecraft. I have a copy of A Vindication of the Rights of Women in my room—I’ll be sure to bring that.”
“Excellent,” Sebastian said, rubbing his hands together. “And there’s this letter I received by this curious woman from the United States—one Antoinette Brown. She wrote the most extraordinary things about evolution and women’s rights. I’ll bring that.”
“I have a pamphlet by Emily Davies.”
Robert’s lips twisted upward despite himself.
“I was thinking I could bring a copy of Thomas Payne,” Oliver said, “but that would make our numbers uneven.”
“Violet,” Sebastian said, with a wave of his hand. “She can be surprisingly handy in an argument.”
“Ah, I suppose she’ll do in a pinch.” Oliver stood, and set his hand on Robert’s shoulder. “Let nobody say that the Brothers Sinister have no idea how to be depraved.”
“There shall be brandy!” Sebastian stood. “And we shall even drink it, although Robert will stop after two glasses because he always does.”
“There will be food!” Oliver declaimed, mirroring Sebastian’s stance. “And we shan’t drink that, because then we would choke.”
Sebastian grinned. “On the eve of your wedding, Robert, we shall offer you the sorts of female delights that you have always lusted after. Philosophical tracts upon philosophical tracts, all of them advocating political change that would result in an upheaval of the current social order. We shall set forth their essays, and then…” He paused, as if for dramatic emphasis. “Then, my friends, we shall argue about them!”
Robert smiled and looked away. “You two will be the death of me. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m not that bad.”
“Speaking of which,” Oliver said. His face went momentarily solemn. “Your wedding. Your father is no longer with us, and your mother does not…ah, does not always know her duties. I thought perhaps we might offer to help.”
Beside him, Sebastian nodded.
And here Robert thought that he’d considered everything already. He’d already decided on a wedding gift. He’d sent to London for attorneys to manage the settlements. But it wouldn’t have surprised him if he had missed something. There was so much about the notion of family that he simply didn’t know. “Help with…?”
Oliver leaned forward. “It’s about the wedding night,” he said earnestly. “About what happens on it. You need to know.” He lowered his voice dramatically. “When a man and a woman love each other, they come together in a very special way.”
Robert jabbed his brother with an elbow. “You,” he said, “are terrible.” But he was smiling, and he couldn’t stop.
“So.”
MINNIE LOOKED UP FROM HER BREAKFAST the next morning, just in time to see the Duchess of Clermont in the doorway.
Great-Aunt Caro began to struggle to her feet; Eliza had already jumped up. A maid trailed the other woman, wringing her hands ineffectually and trying to convey silent apologies for the intrusion.
But the duchess didn’t look at those other women. Her gaze fixed on Minnie.
“You’re marrying my son in three days. You know it will be a complete disaster.”
This woman, Minnie reminded herself, was going to be her mother-in-law for decades. It wouldn’t do to have her as an enemy.
It also wouldn’t do to have the duchess think her cowed. Minnie gave her the barest nod, as between equals. “Are you here to dissuade me? Demand a return of your five thousand pounds?” She lifted her chin and returned her attention to the toast on her plate. “I shall rip up your bank draught.”
The duchess snorted, sweeping into the room. She pulled back a chair for herself before the maid could jump to attention and then sat at the table expectantly.
“Well?” she demanded. “Pour the tea.”
Minnie did and then, at the duchess’s direction, added sugar.
As she did, her great-aunts stole looks back and forth, as if silently arguing with one another about whether they should intervene. But the duchess paid them no mind. She took a piece of toast—slightly burnt—and set it on her plate.
Minnie handed her the cup and saucer. She took a sip and then set it down, as if by so doing she’d satisfied the demands of good manners. “And here I thought you had some sense, Miss Pursling.”
“I do. Are you here to browbeat me again?”
The duchess shook her head. “Only the most deluded, romantic woman who found herself in my position would suppose that throwing a tantrum at her son’s bride-to-be would alter the outcome. You know the risks. My son knows the truth. I made my best offer and it wasn’t enough. The world rarely cares for my inclinations. When matters don’t go my way, there’s only one thing to do.” So saying, she lifted the toast and took a dainty bite.
“What is that?” Minnie asked.
The duchess swallowed her bite with a small frown, set down the toast, and then stirred her tea. “Do you like cats, Miss Pursling?”
Minnie blinked at this turn to the conversation. “I am fond of them, although I wish Pouncer would stop leaving mouse livers on my bed.”
The duchess waved away rodent innards with one lace glove. “Have you ever seen a cat apologize, or admit it was in the wrong?”
“Cats don’t talk,” Caro put in, her first words for the morning.