She slipped a sapphire-blue skirt on over her breeches. “Our mothers’ self-control was remarkable, actually.” Her blue eyes sparkled as she smoothed her skirt. “Such was the life of a soldier’s wife.” She took Noel’s arm casually. “You’re early. Didn’t your meeting go well?”
“It went very well, my love, or I wouldn’t have offered you all those pennies.” Noel recovered and winked at Julian, who had shed his gear and was accepting a jacket from an attendant. “All is well with the estate. We had bumper crops this year.”
“Lindenhorn and Fair Hill were also productive.” As earl, he had only two holdings to the marquis’ seven, but the earnings were more than adequate for his needs.
“Good.” Noel smiled down at Fiona on his arm. “So what’s this I hear about Julian’s new mistress?”
Fiona laughed. “He says I don’t know her, but I’ll wager you a guinea I do.” She led him towards the door.
“You know I abhor gambling, love. That’s how I save my pennies.”
Julian shared his father’s animosity towards gambling. Too many fortunes had been needlessly lost at the tables. The Ahlquist men preferred to spend their money on land and women.
Fiona whispered something in Noel’s ear, and he chuckled. “Very well, I’ll take that wager.” Turning to Julian, he wore an enviable air of deep contentment. “So, who is your new conquest? Do I know her?”
“She’s not mine yet.” He opened the door for the couple to pass and followed them out into the cold hallway.
“Perhaps we can help you with your mission,” Fiona offered. “What’s her name?”
They would find out soon enough. “Lady Cathryn Sibley.”
“The writer? Oh, she’s lovely, and I adore her columns.” She shot him a quizzical look. “I never thought you’d become casually involved with someone like her.”
“What has she written, love?” Noel asked.
“Women’s advice columns. She wants the masses to read and study. She says women are more interesting people when they read.” She picked a piece of lint off the marquis’ jacket. “Men as well, I suppose.”
Thinking about how interesting Cathryn had become after reading Fanny Hill, Julian chuckled. “Well, I read a great deal, Fiona.” Once they left the fencing studio, he relaxed with her. “Why wouldn’t Lady Sibley suit me?”
“Well, she’s a lady, for one.”
“I’ve been with other noblewomen.”
Fiona tsked. “Not many. You prefer actresses and light-skirts.”
“Nonetheless.” He shrugged at the truth of it. Such women were easy to acquire and dispose of in London.
She led them into her dining room, where a fire blazed but the sideboard was empty. “Is her mourning over?” He nodded and followed her to the liquor tray. “Baron Sibley was ill for some time and his estate was not large. Did he leave her well-off?”
“She appears to be very comfortable. She and her sister-in-law, Mrs. Pickering, share a townhouse off Grosvenor Square.” He poured glasses of port for himself and his father.
“Well, it will still cost her to become involved with you. I’ll wager she has no proper evening gown, and she’ll need two if Mrs. Pickering accompanies her.”
Gowns cost a small fortune in London. He had the bills to prove it.
“Pickering’s a widow as well, isn’t she?” Fiona continued.
As he handed his father the drink, he asked, “How do you know so much about her?”
She shrugged and tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder. She often wore it down when his father was present. “Charity work and such.”
He had never envisioned Fiona outside her roles as one of London’s premier fencing instructors, his father’s long-standing mistress and the bane of his youth, as he craved her in spite of her allegiance to his father.
“In any case, Julian, she is a woman of substance. A paragon of virtue by her actions and words.”
Noel added, “Baron Sibley died without issue, and I’d heard his cousin agreed to marry the widow after he inherited. That woman who attends the Philological Society meetings. Is it the same woman?”
Julian’s temper flared. “She’s too good for Hedges. She plans to set him aside.”
“To become a mistress?” Fiona shook with laughter. “She might toy with you, Julian. Most of the women in England would share a night with you without regret. But a few nights is all you’ll get from her. She needs to marry, or don’t you read the papers?” Impoverished widows were a common theme in the London chronicles.
Noel chuckled. “I heard you had a heated exchange with the lovely Lady Sibley at the last meeting. ‘Gracious but persistent’, that’s how Waldemere described her.”
“That describes her well.”
“Why don’t you just marry the girl and sire me an heir? You must marry soon, or you’ll be the oldest father at Eton’s graduation ceremony. You don’t want to embarrass my grandson that way, do you?”
“I’ve no desire to marry, Father. I prefer my freedom.”
Fiona tsked again. “Freedom is overrated. Let me see if I can hurry lunch. I’ll only be a minute.” She strode towards the door to the kitchen with long steps that served her well as an athlete but were decidedly unladylike.
Noel watched her leave and spoke softly. “There’s a greater freedom to be found with the right woman, son. She’ll free you to become your best self, she’ll bear witness to your accomplishments and comfort you when you’re in need.”
“Do you wish you’d married Fiona?” He surprised himself in asking the age-old question and was relieved when his father chuckled.
“Now that would have been a scandal. I suspect Fiona suits me because I have your mother to provide a contrast.” Elenora Ahlquist was a dour woman, cold and sexless in Julian’s mind, and far away from London. “I know that none of your mother’s choices of brides have held any appeal, but she is determined to have you wed before your birthday in July. You’d best act on your own behalf, or she will find a way to secure an heir.”
Julian had heard this before, but the threat held little weight with him. “I’ll marry when I find the right woman and not before. Thinking of marriage is nigh on impossible when a fine mistress is always available.” He had to admit that Lilith’s painted beauty paled next to Cathryn’s natural radiance. I imagine she looks lovely in the morning, tousled and wanton.
Noel finished his drink and Julian followed suit, struggling to dislodge the image of Cathryn in his bed when he woke with his usual morning erection. “Son, there are few women who possess the intellect, wit and physical assets to captivate a man’s full attention and attend to her duties as a mother and countess. You’ve always said that when you found one, you’d pursue her.”
He had found such a woman, Julian realized with a start, setting down his glass hard. After years of dreary soirees making idle chatter with vacant minds, and countless dances with partners who proved lacking within the first beats, he had found a worthy woman. Cathryn Sibley would be a superior countess, and his attraction for her was strong.
Perhaps marriage was not such an outlandish concept. He’d attended five weddings at the end of this season alone, and nearly all of his friends had succumbed, most with admirable results. Cathryn would blend with his circle easily, and he with hers.
Waiting until tomorrow to see her again was out of the question. He would deliver flowers himself, just before dinner.
Julian knocked a third time, but it was clear from the dim glow in the parlor window above that no one was at home. It must be the servants’ night off, and the ladies had an evening outing of some sort. His blood simmered at the thought that other gentlemen had caught scent of the two lovely widows. Waldemere was blathering all over town about the gracious Lady Sibley.
Filled with nervous energy, Julian nearly left the bouquet of giant white chrysanthemums on her front steps, but he didn’t want to risk the theft. He turned to his coach and remembered he employed only one driver and no footme
n tonight. With no desire to take the reins of his own carriage, he ducked around the side of the townhouse through a narrow alleyway to the back of the house, to a broader alley that was pitch-black. He heard voices in the darkness and decided against leaving his offerings at the kitchen door. With a huff, he returned to his carriage and directed his coachman to take him to his club.
An afternoon spent poring over Cathryn’s magnificent translations had deepened his conviction that she was a worthy countess. He needed to see her, and now he was doubly concerned. The poorhouse couldn’t be a safe place for ladies, and he prayed she had not accepted an invitation with any other man.
No, he should not doubt her response to him just hours before. He needed to trust her, as she trusted him. He would return in a few hours.
Cathryn stood wedged between Violet and the minister’s wife in a narrow pew as they finished singing “Be Thou My Vision”. The women’s chorus met late to accommodate shop clerks and other working girls. On Thursdays, the church provided tea and the ladies brought sandwiches and desserts to share after choir practice, which normally made for a very pleasant evening.
But this week Cathryn was ready to leave early, and she had told Violet as much. Surely, Julian would send flowers or another poem. It was the servants’ night off and she had nearly stayed at home alone to wait for a delivery, but she’d chided herself for giving up her independence for the mere possibility of some sign of his affection. She fixed half a cup of tea, with her mind set on Julian and their outing the next day.
Another member of the choir sidled up beside her and asked, “Did you hear about Mildred Stonesworth?”
“No, Miss Connors, I haven’t, although I noticed her absence. Is she ill?”
“She lost her house and had to move to Liverpool to live with her daughter. Her son-in-law is said to be a wretched man.” The ruddy miss finished a dainty sandwich and muttered, “It’s dreadful to be at the mercy of relatives.”
Lady Stonesworth was a woman of quality, a pillar of the charitable community, a widow of good repute.
Cathryn hated gossip, but her curiosity got the best of her. “What happened to her?”
“Her steward bilked her. He and the housekeeper ran off to America with her earnings and most of her savings. She lasted only two months before her creditors began to hound her.” Miss Connors reached for another sandwich. “She’s up to her eyeballs in debts.”
“Dear heavens, poor Lady Stonesworth. I shall remember her in my prayers.” Cathryn trembled as she finished her tea. Her own situation was no more secure. She hadn’t received any correspondence from the Sibley steward in over a month, and she wasn’t certain Percival had assumed control of any estate affairs. It would be easy for greed to flourish amongst such neglect. Most of her income came from her dower’s portion and a jointure Geoffrey had arranged, both of which were dependent on estate earnings. Violet had a similar situation, and together they were comfortable, if they stayed within a strict budget.
Lady Stonesworth had been more than comfortable. Cathryn set down her cup with a clatter and glanced around for Violet. It was madness to consider an affair when her own future was so precarious. Julian was overpowering, but she needed to be practical. She was not independently wealthy. She needed to marry, and Percival was already slated to be her next husband. Her eyes teared at the thought of abandoning her liaison with the dashing Lord Ahlquist, but she stiffened her spine and resolved not to be emotional about this. She barely knew the man.
Her course with Percival was set, and it might be a fine one if she gave it her full attention. Julian was a dangerous distraction who would likely ruin her.
Why did ruin seem such an attractive alternative?
Cathryn lay in her large bed three hours later and emitted a loud sigh as she finished reading Fanny Hill.
Fanny finally found her true love, a respectable gentleman who combined delirious pleasure with tender affection, and she summarized her wisdom gained from years of debauchery. “In the bosom of virtue, I gathered the only uncorrupt sweets: where, looking back on the course of vice I had run, and comparing its infamous blandishments with the infinitely superior joys of innocence, I could not help pitying, even in point of taste, those who, immersed in gross sensuality, are insensible to the so delicate charms of VIRTUE, than which even PLEASURE has not a greater friend, nor VICE a greater enemy.” Virtue was the enemy of vice, and Cathryn had always thought herself a virtuous woman. Pleasure and virtue belonged together, but being a mistress was not a virtuous undertaking, particularly when contracted to another man. Virtue and vice, “the one, parent of health, vigour, fertility, cheerfulness, and every other desirable good of life; the other, of diseases, debility, barrenness, self-loathing, with only every evil incident to human nature.”
Cathryn imagined writing such a warning in her advice column. She believed these words. The erotic antics depicted in Fanny Hill had been arousing and instructive, and she cherished the new knowledge she’d gained about her person and the ways of men. But she could not in good conscience continue on the path to self-loathing with a man such as Julian Ahlquist.
The introductory words of Frances Hill haunted her. “My foundation in virtue was no other than a total ignorance of vice, and the shy timidity general to our sex…this is a fear too often cured at the expense of innocence, when Miss, by degrees, begins no longer to look on a man as a creature of prey that will eat her.”
Cathryn had been dreadfully naïve for a married woman. Fanny Hill opened her eyes. Beyond the titillation found on nearly every page, the author wove a tale of redemption and a warning to all ladies not to allow themselves to be eaten alive by men such as the Earl of Trenchford.
Cathryn hoped for a great love affair at some point in her life, a hope spurred on primarily by the foreign novels she and Violet read in their beds at night; lush novels about love and hope and happily-ever-afters, darker novels about foreign places and harems and sultans seducing innocents. Geoffrey disapproved of such fluff, but Cathryn craved such romantic fiction as much as she did clotted cream. Both added joy to her life with little penalty, or so she had rationalized.
A glorious bouquet had appeared at her doorstep shortly after she arrived home from church with a card that read,
With deep affection,
Julian,
Until tomorrow.
He filled her thoughts as the heady scent of the flowers now filled her bedroom, a pervasive assault on her senses.
He wanted her, and she wanted him, but it was wrong.
Virtue was the answer. Within the marriage bed, a couple could find bliss. A liaison would lead to self-loathing and destruction. She already felt a rush of shame every time she considered his invasion of her private place and her brazen reaction to him.
She had craved debauchery. What did that say of her character?
And what of conception? She would die of shame if she conceived a bastard child. Her father’s scholarly reputation would be ruined, and her brothers would likely shun her.
Percival Hedges might not be Sir Galahad, but he was the virtuous alternative. She owed him and herself the courtesy of a sincere visit to determine if she could bear to be his wife.
She dreaded telling Julian of her change of heart.
Chapter Five
Julian was in his breakfast room at nine when his butler handed him a package. Setting aside his half-eaten meal, he opened the blue cloth and found Fanny Hill and a note within. His blood began to heat as he read the neat writing.
My dear Lord Ahlquist,
Thank you for the loan of this text. It was most informative, but I am forced to concur with the protagonist’s conclusions. Virtue and honor are both in peril if we continue on our current path. It’s best that we cancel our outing today. I will send word after I have visited Oxford.
Truly,
Cathryn Sibley
She was dismissing him? And she questioned his virtue and honor and used his family motto against him in the process?
The first woman he ever seriously considered marrying? The injustice rolled over him in waves.
He had never been dismissed.
Heedful of the nearby footman, Julian tamped his anger as he rose from his chair and strode across the hall into his study. He turned to the last few paragraphs of Fanny Hill with a sense of foreboding.
Virtue would lead to “health, vigour, fertility, cheerfulness, and every other desirable good of life”, and vice such as he’d promised would bring “diseases, debility, barrenness, self-loathing, with only every evil incident to human nature.”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “I’d forgotten the ending.” No one read the entirety of such a book, at least no man did. He sank down into a leather chair and his chest tightened uncomfortably. He’d lost her before he’d expressed his new intentions. She was a woman worthy of marriage, and he’d offered her only pleasure. This very day he planned to tell her of his change of heart.
A proposal in the midst of the Elgin Marbles—what could be more romantic to a Greek scholar?
To lose her to a man such as Percival Hedges especially irked him. He’d attended Eton with the man, who had a cruel streak Julian abhorred. Such a nature rarely repented, and such men made terrible husbands.
A trickle of resolve began to course through his veins. He should tell Cathryn that he found her worthy of the ultimate gesture, and he would handle Hedges on her behalf. He wondered again briefly about the lack of children from her first marriage, but Sir Geoffrey failed to produce an heir in a previous marriage as well. Perhaps he should wait to propose until she carried his child. She had all the signs of a fecund woman—fine skin, ample curves…desire to match his own. His prick thickened and he wished her with him so he could begin testing her fertility. She was a remarkable female.
Her barrenness was a risk he was willing to take, although he knew his mother would disagree. Over the years, the marchioness had paraded one female after another under his nose, the only requirements being a history of male heirs and a title above earl in the immediate family. Perhaps if she had added good hygiene and a hint of charm, one of the women might have captured his interest. But none had, and he tired of that hunt.
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