The Rules of Gentility

by Mullany, Janet

  “Oh, yes, you should.”

  This is unbearable, her suffocating kindness. We both know her prettiness and fortune will find her a husband with little difficulty, and the idea does not sit well with me. I am a younger son of bad reputation whose duty is to marry as well as I can, and indeed, I have few choices.

  My inclination is to marry a small, rounded woman with curly hair and multi-colored eyes who kisses like an angel.

  I doubt I shall.

  Chapter 15

  Miss Philomena Wellesley-Clegg

  Julia looks a fright the next morning at breakfast.

  “I’m breeding,” she snaps at me, and then clutches my sleeve. “Don’t tell Terrant, for if you do he may stay home tonight, and I would not miss it for the world.”

  “Yes, but…do you think it such an outing wise under the circumstances?” I remember Fanny in a similar condition, alternately raging, and falling asleep at odd times, and prone to all sorts of odd fancies. “And while I’m most honored you should confide in me, surely you should tell my brother?”

  “Oh, him,” she snarls, and shoves a slice of toast into her mouth as though she had been taking lessons from Miss Blundell.

  I do not pursue the matter further.

  Philomena arrives, looking delectable as usual, and she and Julia embark on a long discussion of gowns, trims, and bonnets, from which I gather her gown was a former lost cause but somehow the acquisition of the bonnet made all well. I try to look interested and intelligent, wondering if this is how women feel when men discuss politics or horses.

  “I must fetch my book,” Julia says, with a meaningful look at me. “I shall be back shortly.”

  “Oh, Inigo.” Philomena clasps my hands as Julia leaves the room. “I had such a fine time last night. I had hoped you might be there—it was Lady Frostingham’s ball—but I received much attention from gentlemen.”

  “Good.” The word forces itself out of me.

  “Tell me, what do you know of a Mr. Danbury? And Lord Charisbrooke? And the Viscount Effingford, who was most persistent?”

  I grit my teeth. It occurs to me that I could ruin Philomena’s hopes by telling an outrageous lie, that all three of her prospective suitors are diseased reprobates with a dozen bastards and in debt up to their ears. I’m tempted to do it before my better feelings come to the fore.

  “Danbury has a moderate fortune; he’s not clever, but a good enough fellow. Charisbrooke gambles too much, but I think it from boredom. Effingford needs to marry money, and soon, for his estate is in a sorry way…But Philomena, which of them do you like?”

  “I like them all well enough, but none of them as much—”

  Julia comes back into the drawing room before Philomena can make me rage with jealousy even more. “Well, come along, Inigo,” she says to me, as if it is I who keep them waiting.

  Miss Philomena Wellesley-Clegg

  We set off in Terrant’s carriage. Inigo seems somewhat out of sorts; Julia too.

  I wonder what he would have done if I had said what was on my mind, that I liked him better than the gentlemen I met last night? Would he have laughed? I don’t believe so, for I know him to be a kind gentleman; why, he is even kind to his mother, who despite Captain Sev’s influence and her friendship with Mama, is still a frightening sort of woman. More likely he would have been sorry for me and I don’t think I could bear that.

  Apparently I am the one to make conversation. “What did you do last night, Inigo?”

  Julia glares at him.

  “I visit Will on Monday nights.”

  “How is he?”

  “In great spirits. I shall have to get him a cricket ball soon, for he delights in throwing things. His first tooth has come through, and he drools mightily.”

  “You don’t give babies cricket balls,” Julia says in disgust. I suspect this is family code for You do not talk of your b—d in polite company.

  “Where is it exactly we are going, Inigo?” I ask.

  “To Mr. Totterton’s Emporium of Antiquities. I’m sure he’ll have a statue Mr. Wellesley-Clegg will like. How are your papa and mama?”

  “In rather low spirits, I am afraid. My brother Robert wrote that the chimneypiece in the morning room has a crack some three inches wide.” I look out of the window and recognize the streets. We are very close to Fanny’s house. “Oh, is this not near where—”

  Before Inigo can answer, Julia intervenes. “I am feeling rather fatigued this morning, so I shall read while you view Mr. Totterton’s goods.”

  In other words, she is kind enough to offer us a tête-àtête in which I shall try not to think about Inigo kissing me, or me kissing him.

  Opposite me, Inigo sighs gustily. To me it does not sound like a sigh of anticipation.

  Inigo hands Julia and me down at Mr. Totterton’s establishment, and holds the shop door open for us to enter.

  The building is old and has a dusty smell and uneven floors. The first thing I see is a stuffed crocodile hanging from the ceiling.

  “Splendid, is it not?” Inigo says. “I tried to buy it once for Will, but Fanny objected so violently I did not pursue the matter. It is just the sort of thing I should have liked as my own when I was a boy.”

  “Oh, this is a wonderful place, indeed, Inigo.” I’m glad to see he has cheered up a little, even if it is only to talk about his mistress.

  Mr. Totterton, a portly, courteous gentleman, brings Julia tea and a comfortable chair, and Inigo and I make our way into the depths of the shop. I do not know what the building was before Mr. Totterton moved in, perhaps some sort of warehouse, for it is a maze of crooked rooms opening one from the other, with uneven floors.

  Mr. Totterton accompanies us. “Statues, sir? Why, of course I have statues, suitable for every taste, Mr. Linsley. A most elegant Cupid in the third room to the right, and a likeness of Alexander the Great in bronze in the room beyond that, are in new. But look around, sir.”

  There seems to be no known logic to Mr. Totterton’s arrangement. All sorts of things, furniture, ornaments, china, and silver, are piled haphazardly in each room.

  “Oh, look, Inigo. Can that be a carved dragon? How did you find this place?”

  “Fanny and I bought a bed here.” He looks away. “I beg your pardon. That was most indelicate.”

  “Why? You had to sleep on something.” I suppose it is not the allusion to sleep that embarrasses him. Nevertheless I walk away quickly into the next room, where I find a statue, and stand quite still in front of it, taken aback by its beauty.

  Mr. Inigo Linsley

  The statue is not one her papa would appreciate, for it is a copy of Michelangelo’s David. Her back is turned to me, but I hear her breath quicken. Then she reaches out her hand, which is bare—I did not see her remove her glove—and touches the statue’s shoulder. Her fingers trail down the creamy marble, down to David’s flank.

  Good God. It is as though I feel that touch on my own skin.

  She turns to me, and I see a look in her eyes I have seen on only a few women (not counting the ones who have been paid to assume such an expression)—naked desire.

  My breathing comes fast now, and to my embarrassment I am highly aroused, and she cannot help but notice.

  There’s confusion in her gaze, too—an innocent young woman such as she cannot understand what she feels.

  If my mouth had not gone suddenly dry, I should jest about how my head is certainly bigger in proportion to my body, but unfortunately at the moment I have other attributes greater than David’s, and my brain clouds over.

  “Inigo?”

  “Ah, yes, a very fine copy,” I blabber, and turn to take refuge behind a tall chest of drawers. In so doing, I misjudge my distended anatomy and sweep a handful of china ornaments off a table and onto the floor.

  “Dear, dear, that will be thirteen shillings and sixpence, Mr. Linsley.” Mr. Totterton has arrived to keep an eye on his stock.

  Aware that I am being grossly overcharged—doubtles
s Mr. Totterton has levied a breakage by arousal surcharge on the price—I arrive safely behind the chest of drawers. “Indeed, add it to the bill, if you please.”

  Mr. Totterton bows and returns to the front of his shop, doubtless glad to have rid himself of items that, from the dust on the table, must have been there for some time.

  I force myself to think about blood, ice, and dead dogs.

  Philomena now looks only confused, until her face disappears behind the brim of her bonnet as she turns away to continue her search.

  When I am fit to be seen again I emerge from my hiding-place and go in search of her. She will not meet my eyes.

  “Look, Inigo, do you not think this quite the thing?” She indicates the statue of a shepherdess, not a nipple in sight.

  “Yes, it’s quite elegant, but I think your papa had something more classical in mind.”

  “Of course.”

  My attention is caught by a nymph lurking between a stuffed owl leaking sawdust, and a large china vase. She has a vapid smile and is too silly to cover herself with the copious drapery that cascades around her feet. An impractical-looking bow is carved to hang from one shoulder, and something, I think it a sort of dog, lounges beside her.

  “How about this, Philomena?”

  She looks at it, her head tilted to one side. “I don’t know. It is very…”

  Very naked. Dead dog frozen in a patch of ice.

  “A most pleasing example of the classical style. Note the artistry of the, ah, the drapery. The perfection of the female form presented in an entirely tasteful fashion.” Buckets of blood. “I think your papa and mama would both find it extremely correct.”

  “Oh, do you think so?” She is not entirely convinced, I can tell.

  Mr. Totterton appears, smirking at me in a man-to-man fashion. “You will find Mr. Linsley’s taste impeccable, miss. He has bought some most excellent, if old-fashioned, pieces here.”

  To my ears it sounds obscene and I wonder if he is about to reminisce about the beauties of the bed, the very large bed, Fanny and I bought here.

  Philomena smiles at him. “Whom does this represent, Mr. Totterton?”

  “Why, Diana, miss, the virgin goddess of the hunt. Such fine marble, too. A beautiful piece. I must admit I am reluctant to part with her.”

  “My sister’s name is Diana. Are you sure Papa will like this, Inigo?”

  “Only twenty guineas, Mr. Linsley.”

  I take him aside, not wanting Philomena to hear vulgar bickerings about payment. “Ten, Mr. Totterton. There is a large crack on its arse.”

  “It is an antique, sir! Why, that probably happened when the Goths invaded Rome, or some such. Eighteen.”

  “More like when your assistant dropped it off the cart. Twelve.”

  “I trust the bed remains satisfactory, sir? Seventeen.”

  “Only if you include the broken china in that price, Mr. Totterton. Thirteen.”

  He sighs tremulously and blows his nose on a large, stained handkerchief. “Sixteen, sir, and I dare not go lower.”

  “Very well. Sixteen.” We shake hands, and Mr. Totterton beams with pleasure in a way that makes me think he has made a very good bargain indeed, although the bed, to give him his due, has seen excellent service.

  More dead dogs.

  Miss Philomena Wellesley-Clegg

  I do not know what came over me at Mr. Totterton’s establishment. I quite blush to think of it now, for it was most awkward.

  The statue was so beautiful, so very smooth and creamy. As I touched it I could not help but think of how a real man might feel. I willed my fingers to translate cool marble into warm flesh, and I am afraid I thought specifically of Inigo, whose body is the only male one I have felt pressed close to me. Fully clothed, of course. Hot, shivery, indecent feelings filled me and I could scarcely breathe.

  I heard him draw breath sharply behind me and turned to see him staring at me. I should have been highly embarrassed to be caught touching a nude male (even if it was only a statue), and I admit a trace of decency remained in me, but it was over-ridden by other feelings which frightened and exhilarated me.

  I am not so innocent that I could not observe (although to do so I had to look at that region I keep swearing I will look at no more, but somehow cannot seem to do so) his arousal.

  Thank God the crash of breaking porcelain brought me to my senses, and blushing horribly, I escaped to collect my senses.

  We barely spoke thereafter. Indeed, much of our earlier ease with each other has gone, and I feel unaccountably sad. It is high time I found a real suitor.

  Julia, who seemed out of sorts, yawned all the way to our house and declined to come in for refreshment. She said we both needed to keep our wits about us for this evening. I wonder…they have been married some six months, but of course she will tell no one before Terrant, and that is quite right.

  Oh, this evening will be so exciting! At last, the Association shall show fruit for its labors, and I shall see Inigo in his evening breeches, which are even tighter than his trousers.

  I resolve I shall put aside a sixpence for the Association every time I think indecent thoughts. The episode today in Mr. Totterton’s shop has raised at least two shillings and sixpence.

  Chapter 16

  Miss Philomena Wellesley-Clegg

  After much reflection I choose the pink with blue trim for the evening’s expedition, for it has been very much admired and shows off my bosom to great advantage. Not that I wish to tonight, of course, for I am sure no gentleman with whom I would wish to associate will be at Mrs. Bright’s house. I must admit I am curious about such things. There are so many diversions gentlemen practice—both innocent, like cricket, or useful, like politics, or wicked, like gambling and consorting with w—s (again, were I a gentleman I should be allowed to spell out that word). We ladies, with our music, embroidery, archery, bonnets, et cetera, lead tame lives indeed by comparison.

  And I wonder who made the rule that a woman like Mrs. Gibbons, a perfectly pleasant and hardworking person, is considered an object of depravity? As much as I like Fanny, I do not want to think that she and Inigo are possibly still lovers, or how that makes me feel—sad and jealous all at once.

  I really must be pleasant to gentlemen tomorrow night at Almack’s. Oh, surely there must be one who has Inigo’s handsome features and kindness, and an equally interesting—

  I write an IOU for my collection of sixpences, for I have only a guinea left and no change. I regret the fund is growing rather too fast.

  After dinner Inigo, Julia, and Celia come to collect me in a hackney. Inigo seems somewhat distracted and stares out of the window. He is indeed wearing his dark blue breeches, and I tie a knot in the corner of my handkerchief to remind myself to add yet another sixpence to the collection.

  The carriage pulls up outside a house in Grosvenor Square. I am confused. This is a most respectable area, and we have visited other houses here.

  Inigo smiles as though reading my mind. “Do not concern yourself, Miss Wellesley-Clegg. I should not take you to an unfashionable place.”

  I attempt a toss of the head, which dislodges the headdress I made with some of the bright blue feathers from my new bonnet. I wish now I had not done so, for it will be tedious to retrim it.

  As I straighten out the headdress, Inigo hands each of us a plain black mask. “Just in case,” he says.

  D—n! Does this mean I shall not be able to wear this dress in society again? I reassure myself that gentlemen never notice such things, and besides, it is only morally depraved wretches who frequent such places.

  A footman in very ornate livery shows us into a most elegant drawing-room, with expensive carpets and wallpaper (coming from Trade I do notice such things), and the first person I see is the Bishop of W—! I am quite shocked for he has a wife, but perhaps he is here on a mission similar to ours.

  “Linsley,” he says. “I have not seen you here in a while. How’s the fascinating Mrs. Gibbons?”
>
  “As fascinating as ever,” Inigo says.

  I am shocked. So Inigo has been here before!

  The Bishop nods and sits on a couch. To my astonishment, a woman young enough to be his daughter and very ladylike in appearance, wanders over and sits on his knee. Any hopes I had of the Bishop being here for virtuous reasons flee when he puts his face against her neck and makes loud smacking noises with his mouth.

  “Good evening, Mr. Linsley.” A middle-aged woman, also of a most respectable appearance and wearing an exceedingly elegant gown, approaches us. “How pleasant to see you again. Ladies, welcome.”

  He bows and kisses her hand. “You look as ravishing as always, Mrs. Bright.”

  “Oh, fie. You are an incorrigible flirt. And what do you have in mind this evening? But first, you will all take some wine, I trust?”

  She nods at a footman, who fetches a bottle and some glasses, and we all sit.

  I try not to watch the Bishop, who has now tugged up the woman’s skirts, one meaty hand resting on her knee. She giggles and squirms on his lap.

  Inigo and Mrs. Bright chat away together about the play and various mutual acquaintances, for all the world as though he pays an afternoon call. There are several gentlemen, and a dozen or so young ladies in the room, mostly behaving in a polite fashion. It could be a private party of the ton, except the ladies are a little more forward in conversation and gesture.

  “Lord, I declare, that is the Duke of C—!” Celia whispers in my ear as a man, accompanied by another young woman, crosses the room in front of us.

  “Why, so it is!” I have not been this close to a member of the royal family since my presentation at court, where no one’s shirttails hung out in such a depraved fashion. The duke appears to be the worse for drink, and he has one hand thrust down the poor young woman’s bosom. They both laugh heartily.

  Mrs. Bright looks slightly distressed, as a hostess might if one of her guests spilled tea on the carpet. “I should like to introduce you to a new lady who has joined my household, Mr. Linsley. I am sure you and your companions will find her very pleasing.”