The Other Side

by J. D. Robb

  Eight

  They both reached for the coin, but Harry was faster. “I wish that . . . .”

  “Harry, wait!” For once the man listened to her. “Don’t you think we have to word this carefully? You only have to look at us to know the coin has a very whimsical way of granting wishes.”

  “Hmmm” was all Harry said, a sign he was considering what she suggested. After a moment he put the coin on the table. “So what should we say?”

  They debated the wording for a full five minutes, before agreeing that they would both hold the coin and make the same wish. “We wish that our world could be the way it was before our first wish.”

  Nothing happened. Harry released Bettina’s hand, and they looked at the coin. It was a dull, tarnished bronze, communicating quite efficiently that it had no intention of granting that wish.

  They spent another half hour trying similarly worded wishes with no success.

  “Harry, if we do not leave for dinner now, we will be remarked on for being so late.”

  “Bettina! This coin controls our lives. It’s more important than a political dinner.”

  “But we have the coin now. We can deal with it later. If our lives are to go on in this bizarre manner, then we had best go to dinner as is expected. We cannot behave in any way that will attract undue attention.” How many times would she have to explain that to him?

  “Why not? Missing a dinner is hardly a symptom of some depraved disease.”

  “No, but it will be one more proof that something is amiss with us, and the ton will watch us with more interest than either of us wants. I don’t know about you, but I do not want Nick Bright asking too many questions, or, God forbid, Lord Osterman.”

  “Hmmm,” he said again, seeming to mull over the options. “What do we do with this coin? It seems to be able to appear and disappear at will.”

  “That is worrisome. I agree with you on that.” She waited to see what he would suggest.

  “Let’s put it with the jewels,” Harry suggested. “At least it will be locked tight, and if it disappears we will know that no one has taken it.”

  Bettina nodded her head in agreement as that was what she would have suggested. Before Harry could begin a debate, Bettina rushed upstairs with the diamonds and the coin, putting them in the countess’s jewel case. Freeba watched the earl come and go without comment.

  It was a challenge to stop thinking about the coin, but when Harry reminded her that she was hardly an expert on politics, Bettina pushed worries about the coin to the back of her mind and faced the more immediate challenge of a dinner with men she knew only socially.

  Harry gave her a detailed lecture on the issues before Parliament and who was on what side. “I feel strongly, as does Nick Bright, that Wellesley is the man for the task in Portugal. But he cannot succeed without support. Starting with funding, which is woefully inadequate. This is one of the rare times when I think Lord Osterman has the right of it. It’s why I am willing to join him in promoting the legislation.”

  Harry went on and on, and Bettina listened, truly she did, and prayed that the words would come to her as needed.

  They were greeted with effusive welcome at the Daltons’ house, and even though they were the last to arrive, their hosts waited another good while before they were led in to dinner.

  As the ranking gentleman present, the Earl of Fellsborough sat to the right of the hostess, and the countess would be next to Mr. Dalton.

  Those seated around Bettina seemed affable, and one of the older gentlemen winked. “I never could resist the wife when she was dressed for a party. I can guess why you were late.” The men and women around them laughed, and Bettina joined in, wishing for so simple an explanation of their predicament.

  Would she and Harry ever make love again? The body her brain rested in assured her it would happen, but she could not imagine it. Though I am curious. How does sex feel from Harry’s point of view?

  “So what do you say, my lord?”

  “Not much,” the old man spoke for the earl. “He is still not thinking with his brain, are you?”

  Bettina shrugged. Her husband wasn’t the only one who had ways to avoid uncomfortable questions. Bettina looked down the table toward Harry and saw him raise a glass of wine and drain it in one gulp. The sommelier poured more immediately.

  “No oysters for me,” Bettina said when the footman paused at her side with a platter filled with the disgusting crustaceans.

  “Harry, that’s not like you,” Nick Bright said as he slapped down his empty wineglass, which was instantly refilled. “Dalton’s chef is a genius with oysters, and you love them.”

  Oh dear, Bettina thought, Nick is right. Harry loved oysters as much as she hated them. “But as Baron Helder has made clear, I don’t need any oysters tonight,” Bettina answered, and everyone laughed.

  Nicely done, she thought to herself and looked toward the other end of the table where the sommelier was refilling Harry’s wineglass yet again.

  Slow down, she thought. The countess never drinks that much or that fast.

  Bettina sipped the wine to see if it really was that special. A delicious red, but nothing that made her want to drink without stopping.

  Deciding to take the bull by the horns, she asked one of the questions on the list Harry had given her on the ride over. “Gentlemen, what are the prospects for Napoleon’s legacy now that he is married to Maria Therese?”

  And so the political discussion began. Everyone had an opinion on everything from Lord Byron’s bizarre antics to James Madison’s election as president on the other side of the Atlantic.

  The meal passed in a haze of courses, wines, and conversation, and by the time Mrs. Dalton announced that the ladies were leaving, it was well past midnight.

  The gentlemen stood as the ladies gathered their reticules and fans. They all laughed while Bettina cringed when the Countess of Fellsborough finished off the last of the wine before standing.

  “Mrs. Dalton, you must give the countess the name of your vintner. I have never seen her enjoy the wine so much.”

  “I am among friends, am I not?” Harry responded with just the right coy note. “I cannot decide which wine was better. My compliments to the sommelier and our hosts.”

  Harry gave a graceful if overdone curtsy to both and was heard to whisper, “I wouldn’t mind some brandy.”

  Bettina hoped that Mrs. Dalton did not have any in the salon.

  The ladies were no sooner out of the room than the baron jumped up to relieve himself in the chamber pot behind the curtain. As soon as he sat down, another took his turn.

  If Bettina had thought that the political discussions would continue, she was dead wrong. As the brandy was passed from man to man, the ribald stories grew more and more coarse. Finally Nick Bright did the favor of calling attention to the quiet Earl of Fellsborough.

  “Eh, Harry, we know you are ever faithful to your lovely bride, but surely you have observed something worth sharing regarding Patricia Melton. God knows she wants your attention more than mine or even Dalton’s, and everyone knows what a lover he is.”

  They all laughed, and Dalton raised a glass, not denying his rakish habits. “Tell us, Fellsborough, why do you not take advantage of Melton’s charms?”

  More than anything Bettina wanted to believe that Harry was faithful and that she could trust him in this. Was the answer to be had right here? “How do you know I have not been with her?”

  “Because she would crow about it to everyone she met. Because it is all a game to Mrs. Melton. She wants to ruin every marriage in England.” This from the baron who had proved his wisdom earlier. “If she is not happy, she wants no one to be happy.” He smiled. “And her sexual appetite is prodigious.” He winked again, and everyone laughed.

  So Baron Helder knew from experience and handed her the truth. Harry had resisted her advances. Harry was faithful. She joined the others in laughter, and if a tear or two trickled out of her eyes, she could blame it
on amusement.

  “Patricia Melton should make friends with Lord Osterman,” Bettina added as the laughter faded. “They are well suited.”

  The group was silent, and Bettina had the feeling she had said something untoward.

  “I must needs remind you, my lord, that Osterman’s name is not mentioned in this house.”

  Bettina stood and bowed her apology to the host. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Dalton. The wine confused me.” For all that’s good, Bettina thought, the earl and Osterman were supporting the same bill in Parliament. Did Dalton, with his powerful seat in Commons, favor the opposing view? How could anyone vote against financial support of the army?

  Dalton went on. “He has forced his personal attentions where they are not wanted, and he is no longer welcome here.”

  Oh, so it was not political at all. “I understand.” Bettina nodded, took a breath, and went on. “But I wonder how your personal concerns balance against the funding bill before Parliament.”

  The mention of the needs of the army introduced the subject of politics again, and before long they were in a deep discussion as to who could be counted on to support the government’s desperate need for additional funding and who could be convinced.

  The clock struck, and there was a discreet tap on the door. Dalton finished off his brandy in a gulp and stood with only a little bit of a wobble. “It’s time to rejoin the ladies and see whom we can cajole into indiscretion. I seem to be having more than my usual luck with the countess tonight. Appears Fellsborough has her primed for more.”

  Bettina found it hard to control the wave of fury that overcame her at Dalton’s salacious hint. Nick Bright saved her from further embarrassment when he whispered, “Calm down, brother. He’s drunk, and we all know how he can be when he is in his cups. It means nothing.”

  Bettina nodded and went over to the chamber pot to relieve herself. This was one aspect of the masculine body that appealed to her. Yes, men had to shave every day, but the ease with which they could relieve themselves more than made up for the other.

  Rather than wait their turn, two of the guests went out onto the terrace and used the back garden as their personal latrine, laughing at their range and duration just as her brothers used to do. It was disgusting, really. Did men never leave the boy behind?

  As they made their way to the gold salon, Bettina decided that she enjoyed being with the ladies more than sharing brandy with the gentlemen. She missed the discussion of children and shopping and which of their friends was having trouble with servants.

  For the most part, what she learned in the salon was a far more practical sharing of information than the lewd stories bandied about in the dining room.

  Exactly what could a man do with the jokes he heard here but repeat them to other men? And politics. That was making a mountain out of an anthill. If Wellesley needed more money, then he must have it. The chance of Bonaparte succeeding in his lust for rule did not bear thinking about.

  The gold salon had white walls and ceiling but all was embellished with gilded trim. It was the perfect setting for the ladies, all dressed to perfection. They were clustered in a group around one of their number, their colorful gowns shimmering around them. They looked like so many butterflies clustered around a very generous flower.

  What was going on?

  Nine

  Bettina could smell tobacco smoke, which was odd, since the gentlemen had not smoked in the dining room. Baron Helder considered it a “disgusting habit,” and the rest had bowed to his seniority.

  Bettina had her answer when she discovered Harry in the middle of the circle of ladies demonstrating how to blow circles of smoke using a cigar.

  The ladies were amused and intrigued, but Harry blushed when they realized the gentlemen had joined them.

  “My lady, you smoke?” Mr. Dalton took the cigar from her and drew a puff before handing it back. “I had no idea.”

  “Something I learned from my brothers.” Harry pronounced the words with studied precision, a sure sign he’d had too much to drink.

  “Your wife sounds just like you do when you’re drunk,” Nick Bright whispered, and Bettina wondered how many others had noticed it.

  “I taught her everything she knows,” Bettina said, making for the center of the group, taking the cigar with one hand and the countess’s arm with the other. “We will leave before you show them all the other things your brothers taught you.”

  “What they taught me is nothing compared to what I’ve learned from you, darling. Let’s go home and practice.”

  The gathering laughed good-naturedly. Thank God this was a group of friends, or there would be endless gossip, though the teasing from friends might not be much kinder.

  The carriage came quickly as they were the first to leave. Before they climbed aboard, Harry groaned and threw up into a pot that one of the Dalton grooms had the genius to have at hand. At least no one had come out to see them off, and they were spared that embarrassment.

  Settled in the carriage, Bettina ordered the coachman to drive carefully and avoid bumps.

  Harry shook his head. “I’m much better now.” Rubbing his eyes, her husband settled across from Bettina, ignoring the way his skirts showed ankle and leg. “I have no idea how that happened. I did not drink more than I usually do, but it struck with all the force of a punch just as we left the dining room.”

  “Harry, my body is not nearly as sturdy as yours, and I never drink that much wine. At least when they bring up this evening, we can blame the idea of smoking a cigar on your intoxication. Where did you find one?”

  “I tucked one in my . . . God, I mean, I tucked a cigar in your reticule, meaning to give it to you, as I always prefer my own blend. But I recalled that the baron does not like the smell of cigars, and, well, I decided that I would smoke it myself.” He looked confused. “It reminds me of all that I am missing.”

  Bettina leaned across from her seat and patted Harry’s hand. “We can spend some time with the coin this evening, and perhaps we will be able to restore your life before you ruin mine.”

  “Bettina, it was the most useless conversation. All the ladies talked about was Patricia Melton’s modiste and if they should shun the woman or patronize her. Then Mrs. Dalton went on about her son’s success at school and her daughter’s preparation for the Season. Though I must admit I was intrigued by the news that Nick Bright’s sister is about to become engaged to Lord Osterman’s son.”

  “Oh, Harry! Please let that be no more than gossip. It would be an awful match if the boy is anything like his father. I wish I had been there to suggest she turn him down.” Bettina made a mental note to mention it to Lord Nicholas when she saw him tomorrow before Parliament. “Besides, I thought Osterman’s name was not to be spoken in Dalton’s company.”

  “That was another thing I learned. That most wives never listen to a word their husbands say.” He sat back, his expression glum. Bettina was not sure if it was because of his excessive drinking or the bits he had learned tonight.

  By the time they reached their suite of rooms, the evening’s misadventures were forgotten. Harry and Bettina were both focused on nothing but the coin.

  The servants were hurriedly dismissed, and Bettina pulled the key to the jewel chest out of her pocket. Please, please let the coin be where I left it.

  Bettina put the key in the lock and opened the chest. The coin winked amidst the glittering spill of diamonds, as if welcoming them home. Bettina picked it up, closed the lid, and handed the coin to Harry.

  They stood there looking at it, Bettina’s mind caught up in ways to have the coin do their bidding.

  “Have you noticed how odd a coin it is? There is strange Eastern writing on one side, but the other looks as traditional as the King’s English.” Bettina took the coin from Harry and turned it over and over as she spoke.

  “Yes, I noticed that, too. I expect it is from a shipment destined for India to be used in commerce there. But how it came to be endowed with magic,
we will most likely never know.”

  “Perhaps some mage in India entrusted it to a servant to bring to someone here, and the coin was stolen. It could be that the coin is still trying to find the rightful owner.”

  The coin glimmered as Bettina finished her fanciful story, and they both stared at it.

  “Please, please,” Bettina begged the coin, “we will help you if you help us.”

  The coin did not respond, and Bettina felt a moment of fear as she worried that she was, indeed, beginning to go insane. Is this how dear King George felt? She persisted despite her fear. “Tell us what we have to do.”

  Just as Harry drew a breath—Bettina was sure he was going to rebuke her silliness—the coin grew brighter.

  “You mean if we do some specific thing, then this will not be permanent?”

  The coin twinkled again.

  “What a relief!” Harry laughed as he spoke. “I will not be trapped in skirts forever.”

  “And I will be able to see Cameron whenever I wish.”

  “Now all we have to do is find out what the coin wants from us.”

  They sat very close to each other on the small settee near the fireplace with the coin on the table in front of them. Bettina loved the feel of Harry next to her and thought only of his breath on her neck and not the way his breasts pressed into her side.

  “Think back, Bettina, what did we wish for?”

  “I wished that you would know what it’s like to be me,” Bettina said and then went on in a rush. “Just this evening, before the coin reappeared, you told me that you saw how completely concerned I am with your happiness and how well the house is run.” It made her smile. It was at least a step in the right direction. Her smile grew when the coin winked at them with a bright golden beam.

  Now they needed only to remember what Harry wished for and all would be right with their world once again. Bettina knew better than to wish for a perfect life. What she had now was good enough.