Pleasure for Pleasure

Page 13

“I certainly don’t want a husband!” Griselda said.
“Of course you do,” Sylvie stated. “Every woman wants a husband; they are so necessary to one’s comfort, like a flannel night rail in the winter. Necessary, but tedious to acquire.”
“And you did tell Imogen that you were considering marriage,” Josie added.
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t marry a man like Darlington.”
Sylvie’s eyes rounded into a shocked expression. “We never suggested such a thing! Never! Of course, you will want to marry a man with a sweet and modest disposition. Otherwise not even an optimist could see you sharing breakfast with him after a year or so.”
“My own Willoughby was remarkably modest,” Griselda remarked. “But my ability to watch him eat calves’ head pie for breakfast lasted precisely one day, as I recall.”
“I expect I would have been just the same,” Sylvie said with a little shudder. “But I mean to begin as I shall go on, and therefore I shall inform Mayne that we shall never breakfast together. That way he will not be disappointed by my absence.”
Josie thought that was a bit mean, but after a moment she realized that Mayne probably didn’t care about breakfasting. She wasn’t stupid, nor naive. What Mayne wanted was to sleep in the same room with Sylvie, not eat there.
“I suppose I could contemplate a flirtation with Darlington,” Griselda said.
“Just long enough to reduce him to a state of slavering adoration,” Sylvie said reassuringly. “Then you can shake him from your skirts like so much dust.”
Josie liked the sound of that.
“This is not the sort of solution that had occurred to me,” Griselda said, looking thoughtful.
“Indeed,” Tess said with a gurgle of laughter. “Griselda and I and Josie’s other sisters have been pursuing irreproachably correct ways of ameliorating the situation. Really, Josie, you do have a number of admirers now.”
“Old men,” Josie said impatiently.
Sylvie raised an eyebrow. “Dearest, young men are invariably tedious. I think you don’t realize what a sacrifice Griselda makes by even contemplating a brief flirtation with a man not yet thirty. Without experience, they have nothing to say.”
“Darlington always has something to say; that’s his stock in trade,” Tess observed.
“But he is unlikely to have made many mistakes, and mistakes are what make a man truly interesting.”
“Has Mayne made mistakes?” Josie asked with some curiosity.
Griselda laughed, but Sylvie said, “Without question. He has the look of a man who has mistakenly found himself in far too many beds, for one thing. He has clearly put too much value on variety. I shall insist that as my husband, he show far more prudence.”
“But do you mean that he will…he will continue to—” Josie stopped. There were limits to what a young unmarried woman was supposed to voice, after all.
“Oh, undoubtedly,” Sylvie said, fanning herself. “Although he is currently playing the role of a sentimentalist, and doing it with a great deal of relish, I must say.”
“He told me last night that he was ravished with love for you,” Griselda said.
“Charming,” Sylvie said, with a markedly unsentimental cheerfulness. “As I said, a temporary wash of sentimentalism. Which will lapse with time, as it always does. And since he is half French, I expect it will transform itself nicely into cynicism. I think cynical men are so interesting, don’t you?”
“You should be starting a flirtation with Darlington,” Griselda pointed out. And then added hastily, “If you weren’t affianced to my brother, of course.”
“Alas, I cannot come to Josephine’s rescue for that very reason. How long do you think it will take you, dearest Griselda? I shouldn’t think more than a week or so, do you?”
Griselda had a light in her eye that suggested just a hint of rivalry with her beautiful sister-in-law, or so Josie thought.
“I expect I can make significant inroads on his affections this very night,” she said. Then she stood up and surveyed her gown in the mirror. It had a classical drape, winding around her breasts and making the most of her curves. With a few deft pulls and twitches, suddenly a great deal more bosom was showing.
“An excellent thought,” Sylvie said.
“I can manage this endeavor without instruction,” Griselda said, with the faintest edge in her voice.
Sylvie instantly looked utterly cast down. “I didn’t mean in the faintest, smallest way to imply that you were anything other than utterly ravissante!” she cried, her accent suddenly far more French. “Don’t be angry with me, dearest Griselda. I’m so happy to be your sister that I rushed in where I should not have walked!”
Griselda smiled at that and turned around to give her a kiss. “You are your own fascinating self,” she said. “And besides, I do need advice. How shall I make an approach to him? Under the circumstances, he is unlikely to draw near me.”
Tess’s eyes lit up. “My husband can introduce you!”
“Too obvious,” Griselda objected.
“I have read a number of novels in which young women drop various items of clothing, thereby attracting attention of a nearby gentleman,” Josie said. “A fan would be easiest.”
“I don’t want to drop my fan,” Griselda said, looking alarmed. “This is my favorite and I should hate to have the sticks bent or broken.”
“Sacrifices must be made,” Sylvie observed. “In a good cause.”
“In that case,” Griselda retorted, “I’ll drop your fan. You can give me mine back at the end of the evening.”
Sylvie showed no sign of offering up her fan. It was the same delicate pink as her costume, and sewn over with matching seed pearls. “Are you certain that you wouldn’t wish to drop a shoe?” she inquired. “You are wearing ravishing slippers, if you don’t mind my saying so, Griselda. And you could perhaps manage to show some ankle at the same time. Men are so foolish when it comes to ankles.”
“Why is that?” Josie asked. Sylvie seemed to be the sort of person who actually answered questions, and since her ankles were one of Josie’s best features, she had often wondered whether she should accidentally expose them more often.
“A woman’s ankle, slender and perfectly turned, is a thing of beauty,” Sylvie said. “I myself wear all my skirts a trifle short, as should you, Josie darling.”
“I need the longer skirts to balance my hips,” Josie said.
Tess groaned. “Madame Badeau told you that, didn’t she?”
“She is correct,” Josie stated.
“Madame Badeau makes excellent designs,” Sylvie said peaceably. “I myself have a ravishing pelisse that she made for me. But I am not certain that I entirely agree with her tactics as regards your costumes, Josie.”
“As I have repeatedly said myself,” Griselda put in.
Josie groaned inwardly. They appeared to be about to reenact a battle that had replayed itself since she first visited Imogen’s modiste, Madame Badeau. “It is my figure,” she pointed out, “and my costumes in question. Without Madame Badeau’s corsets, I would swell in all directions.”