The Duchess War
Page 62
The duchess looked up, glaring at her. “A woman capable of keeping her infamous grand-niece in safety for a decade can surely bring herself to understand a little figurative speech.” She turned back to Minnie. “Have you ever seen a cat attempt to pounce on a target, and miss?”
“Of course.”
“And what does the cat do?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “It acts as if it intended to miss. ‘Yes,’ it says, ‘I let that one go as a warning to all the others. Now I shall lick my paws for the next five minutes, precisely as I had planned.’”
“It says that?” Minnie asked innocently.
“Figuratively speaking. My point is, be the cat. Everyone respects a cat.”
“Well, actually,” Eliza said, “in the time of the Black Plague—”
The duchess extended a hand. “Do not pollute my perfectly acceptable figurative speech with irrelevant facts!” she thundered. “There is no need for those.” She focused on Minnie once more. “Now, I have decided that you and my son must honeymoon in Paris.”
This abrupt change of subject had Minnie shaking her head. “That seems…romantic. Are you sure?”
“Exactly,” the duchess said. “It seems romantic, and as little as I approve of the actual existence of romance, I am well aware that you will need the appearance of it very badly.” She pursed her lips and then looked at the wall.
If Minnie hadn’t known better, she would have thought that the woman looked embarrassed. She finally spoke again—for the first time, not looking directly at Minnie.
“Second,” she said, “you might consider not consummating the marriage.”
“What? Why? So it can be annulled?”
The duchess rolled her eyes. “That is a horrid myth. You cannot annul a marriage for simple lack of consummation. Trust me; I have consulted every lawyer in London as to the ways in which one might end a marriage. I know the law to an inch. I merely think it best if your first child did not come until at least ten or eleven months after the marriage. Let nobody think that you married because you were pregnant. They will talk, otherwise. For decades.”
“Is that more of your figurative speech again?” Caro put in.
“Experience,” the duchess said grimly. “Robert was an eight-month baby.”
Minnie choked and shut her eyes, trying to expunge the implications from her mind.
“He was early,” the duchess said calmly. “First children often are. I have said so every day for the last twenty-eight years, and so it must be true.” She fixed Minnie with a glare. “So you’ll refrain from marital relations for a good two months.”
“I will not,” Minnie said. “I have no inclination to refrain from something I want to do merely because people I have never met might assume the worst about me. Besides, given my past, it’s rather like a murderer worrying that he might go to hell for saying unkind things about a friend’s horse.”
“Hmm.” The duchess frowned and then shrugged. “Well. I was only testing you. I had to make sure that with your background, you took an interest in men. Better to find out such things now.”
She looked certain. She sounded certain. And yet Minnie had the distinct impression of a cat licking its paws. I didn’t really want that mouse.
“Speaking of which, the most important reason to go to Paris.” The duchess pointed at Minnie. “You need a new wardrobe. You cannot do with just acceptable. You must be brilliant. So tell me, girl, do you prefer to dress like a drab little peasant, or do you wear stomach-turning garb simply because your impoverished great-aunts force you to it?”
On the other side of the table, Caro and Eliza gasped in unison. Minnie coughed. “Absolutely. Nothing pleases me more than turning a gown for the fourth time! If my cuffs aren’t falling apart, I don’t feel truly at home.” She glared at the other woman. “I’ll thank you not to insult the women who gave me a home when they were not obligated to do so. Insult me all you wish, but leave Caro and Eliza out of it.”
The duchess didn’t blink an eye at this. “What do you think of my style of dress?”
“Too fussy, too conservative,” Minnie said without blinking. “It does very well for you, I suppose, but for me—”
“Excellent. What would you pick out for yourself? What sort of duchess would you be?”
Years of looking over fashion plates with Lydia hit her with a sharp sense of loss, one that seemed like a staggering blow. She should have been picking out her wedding trousseau with Lydia, who would have been crowing that she was right…
“Well,” Minnie said, “I won’t pretend to be a conventional duchess. I don’t like those layers of lace, no matter how popular they are now. I’d feel positively buried in them. I’d want clean lines, bright fabrics.” She let out a breath, imagining. “Lots of fabric. No more skimping.”
“And you’ll need to learn to cover your scar. My girl will be able to—”
Minnie turned to the other woman and gave her a repressive look. “This?” she said, touching her cheek. “Oh, no. I intended to get that. I consider it a beauty scar.”
The duchess gave a crack of laughter and stood abruptly.
Minnie stared at her.
“Well?” the other woman said crossly. “We haven’t got all day. I’ve all the fashion magazines at my hotel. If we wire your measurements to my people in France, they can do the final fittings the hour you arrive. And there’s still a good deal that can be purchased here.”
“You…came all the way here solely to take me shopping?” Minnie asked.
“Once you are the Duchess of Clermont,” the other woman said, not acknowledging her question, “never let anyone know you could be anything else. If you don’t hear what they say about you, it can’t possibly be true. By the time society discovers your existence, you’ll have to already be a duchess.”
Chapter Twenty-one
THE DAYS UNTIL ROBERT’S WEDDING sped by all too quickly. Robert didn’t know whether to be excited or apprehensive. He felt both. For one, his mother had taken Minnie under her wing and had sent for a seamstress from London to provide what she said were “basic essentials.”
When he asked, she brushed him off with a tart, “If you’re going to throw the girl to the wolves, it’s only appropriate to outfit her with a red cloak.”
“Of course.”
“And what does the cat do?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “It acts as if it intended to miss. ‘Yes,’ it says, ‘I let that one go as a warning to all the others. Now I shall lick my paws for the next five minutes, precisely as I had planned.’”
“It says that?” Minnie asked innocently.
“Figuratively speaking. My point is, be the cat. Everyone respects a cat.”
“Well, actually,” Eliza said, “in the time of the Black Plague—”
The duchess extended a hand. “Do not pollute my perfectly acceptable figurative speech with irrelevant facts!” she thundered. “There is no need for those.” She focused on Minnie once more. “Now, I have decided that you and my son must honeymoon in Paris.”
This abrupt change of subject had Minnie shaking her head. “That seems…romantic. Are you sure?”
“Exactly,” the duchess said. “It seems romantic, and as little as I approve of the actual existence of romance, I am well aware that you will need the appearance of it very badly.” She pursed her lips and then looked at the wall.
If Minnie hadn’t known better, she would have thought that the woman looked embarrassed. She finally spoke again—for the first time, not looking directly at Minnie.
“Second,” she said, “you might consider not consummating the marriage.”
“What? Why? So it can be annulled?”
The duchess rolled her eyes. “That is a horrid myth. You cannot annul a marriage for simple lack of consummation. Trust me; I have consulted every lawyer in London as to the ways in which one might end a marriage. I know the law to an inch. I merely think it best if your first child did not come until at least ten or eleven months after the marriage. Let nobody think that you married because you were pregnant. They will talk, otherwise. For decades.”
“Is that more of your figurative speech again?” Caro put in.
“Experience,” the duchess said grimly. “Robert was an eight-month baby.”
Minnie choked and shut her eyes, trying to expunge the implications from her mind.
“He was early,” the duchess said calmly. “First children often are. I have said so every day for the last twenty-eight years, and so it must be true.” She fixed Minnie with a glare. “So you’ll refrain from marital relations for a good two months.”
“I will not,” Minnie said. “I have no inclination to refrain from something I want to do merely because people I have never met might assume the worst about me. Besides, given my past, it’s rather like a murderer worrying that he might go to hell for saying unkind things about a friend’s horse.”
“Hmm.” The duchess frowned and then shrugged. “Well. I was only testing you. I had to make sure that with your background, you took an interest in men. Better to find out such things now.”
She looked certain. She sounded certain. And yet Minnie had the distinct impression of a cat licking its paws. I didn’t really want that mouse.
“Speaking of which, the most important reason to go to Paris.” The duchess pointed at Minnie. “You need a new wardrobe. You cannot do with just acceptable. You must be brilliant. So tell me, girl, do you prefer to dress like a drab little peasant, or do you wear stomach-turning garb simply because your impoverished great-aunts force you to it?”
On the other side of the table, Caro and Eliza gasped in unison. Minnie coughed. “Absolutely. Nothing pleases me more than turning a gown for the fourth time! If my cuffs aren’t falling apart, I don’t feel truly at home.” She glared at the other woman. “I’ll thank you not to insult the women who gave me a home when they were not obligated to do so. Insult me all you wish, but leave Caro and Eliza out of it.”
The duchess didn’t blink an eye at this. “What do you think of my style of dress?”
“Too fussy, too conservative,” Minnie said without blinking. “It does very well for you, I suppose, but for me—”
“Excellent. What would you pick out for yourself? What sort of duchess would you be?”
Years of looking over fashion plates with Lydia hit her with a sharp sense of loss, one that seemed like a staggering blow. She should have been picking out her wedding trousseau with Lydia, who would have been crowing that she was right…
“Well,” Minnie said, “I won’t pretend to be a conventional duchess. I don’t like those layers of lace, no matter how popular they are now. I’d feel positively buried in them. I’d want clean lines, bright fabrics.” She let out a breath, imagining. “Lots of fabric. No more skimping.”
“And you’ll need to learn to cover your scar. My girl will be able to—”
Minnie turned to the other woman and gave her a repressive look. “This?” she said, touching her cheek. “Oh, no. I intended to get that. I consider it a beauty scar.”
The duchess gave a crack of laughter and stood abruptly.
Minnie stared at her.
“Well?” the other woman said crossly. “We haven’t got all day. I’ve all the fashion magazines at my hotel. If we wire your measurements to my people in France, they can do the final fittings the hour you arrive. And there’s still a good deal that can be purchased here.”
“You…came all the way here solely to take me shopping?” Minnie asked.
“Once you are the Duchess of Clermont,” the other woman said, not acknowledging her question, “never let anyone know you could be anything else. If you don’t hear what they say about you, it can’t possibly be true. By the time society discovers your existence, you’ll have to already be a duchess.”
Chapter Twenty-one
THE DAYS UNTIL ROBERT’S WEDDING sped by all too quickly. Robert didn’t know whether to be excited or apprehensive. He felt both. For one, his mother had taken Minnie under her wing and had sent for a seamstress from London to provide what she said were “basic essentials.”
When he asked, she brushed him off with a tart, “If you’re going to throw the girl to the wolves, it’s only appropriate to outfit her with a red cloak.”
