1818.
“You do not need rouge and kohl, Dita, that is for old women, whose beauty has faded.” Edmund drawled as I completed my toilette. I whipped my head around to see him leaning with his arms crossed against the doorframe; I had not heard him come in. Briar’s replacement from Paris, an elfin girl called Violette, giggled and curtsied, then fair ran out the door. She was in awe of my tall, devilishly handsome husband, with his golden hair and his charming, lazy grin that made all the ankles flash and the bosoms heave from Drury Lane to Mayfair.
I smiled, and set the rouge pot down. “I am nearly twenty-two, Ned, and quite past my prime.”
“Mmm.” He crossed the room, and laid his warm hands over my shoulders in the mirror, his thumbs rubbing the knot in the nape of my neck so casually that I felt Ashamed of the warmth that trickled to my lower belly. “All other women fade into the background beside you every time. Trust me, with that décolletage, every male gaze in the room shall be riveted upon you.”
“And his? Sinclaire’s?”
A cloud passed over Edmund’s face, and then ’twas gone. “He shall not let you leave his side all night.”
And thus, it was so: twelve made up the party, and I was seated across from Mr Sinclaire, whose gaze never left mine the whole eve. What those on either side of me had to say, I cannot recall. It was as though he and I were the only two people in the room, and I spoke the secret language of the fan as my husband charmed his wife.
“Why, Mr Marlcaster, you were never before so droll!” Felicity tittered, batting her lashes so hard I thought they might fall into the beef consommé. “What has changed you?”
“Why, marriage to a wicked woman,” he said with a sly wink. “I traded the thumb of Mother for the freedom of an understanding Wife.”
Her plucked brows rose to her hairline at that, but later, after dinner, Mr Sinclaire pulled me aside.
“Do you wish to begin our dalliance again, Perdita?” he whispered below the chatter of the guests. “For it seems your husband is quite taken with you.”
I glanced at my husband, who leaned casually against the pianoforte, talking to Mr Chambers. His piercing blue gaze caught mine, and he lifted both his brow and his glass. I felt my body react as a strange undercurrent passed between us, but perhaps it was only the breeze from the open window. I turned my attention back to Mr Sinclaire. “No, Ned and I are dear friends, nothing more. You know already of his mistress, Briar — my former lady’s maid, dearer than a sister to me.” I laughed, hiding my grin behind my fan, and tapped my lips. Kiss me.
“Is my wife telling lies about me again, Sinclaire?” Edmund appeared at my elbow, and Sinclaire smiled stiffly at him. “She looks very beautiful tonight,” he prompted, as though a little devil sat on his shoulder.
Mr Sinclaire’s eyes traveled up and down my figure, no longer a girl’s but a woman’s, with curves instead of angles. “Lady Perdita has always been the most beautiful woman I know.”
Edmund’s fingers trailed down my arm almost unconsciously, raising goosebumps along my flesh. “To the Beauty of the Age.” He raised his glass, locking eyes with Mr Sinclaire, and they both drank deep.
“Lady Perdita? Oh! There you are. Gentlemen, I must borrow Lady Perdita for a turn about the room.” Felicity Sinclaire was all smiles when she looped her arm through mine, but as we drew away from our husbands, she hissed in my ear, “Do not think I do not know your game, you half-breed trull. My husband may be fooled by your devious ways, but I am not.” When I tried to pull my arm away, her fingers tightened on it, pressing her nails into my flesh. She kept a light smile upon her face, but her voice was dark. “He is mine now, Lady Perdita. You would do well to remember that.”
“Or what?” I could not keep the haughtiness from my voice. “Remember, I am a Countess, and you a mere viscount’s daughter.”
“Or I will make your life hell, and you shall wish you were never born. Duchess Theresa sends her regards.” And with that final threat, she dropped my arm, calling for her husband to help turn the pages on the pianoforte.
•••
Of course, I did not listen. I was the flame, and Mr Sinclaire was drawn to me like a moth, and I to him. We lay together as many times as we could get away from the prying eyes of others, and often I would sneak into the townhouse as dawn drew her skirts across the sky, hair mussed and clothes slightly askew, to find my husband waiting for me.
He never asked where I had been, only poured me a glass of wine, his fine Hessian boots propped upon the table, and I would snuggle up against him and fall asleep on his broad chest, his arm flung casually around my shoulders, as he held me close, stroking my hair.
“Are you happy, Dita?” he asked one lazy August day, as I sat in the morning room in my new green moire day dress, sifting through invitations.
I looked up at him. He had been riding along Rotten Row, and he smelled of horses, and fresh grass. It brought a memory of long ago, when I would lie in the meadows of Grovershire as a young girl, and dream of who I should one day marry… but I pushed it away, and made myself smile. “Happy?” I asked, as though the thought had just occurred to me. “As happy as one can be, I suppose. What brought such a fancy on, Ned?”
He did not answer the question, but sprawled across from me in one of the French style chairs, raking a hand through his meticulously styled golden hair. “What engagement are you off to tonight?”
I sifted through the invitations. “I have not yet decided. There is supper and dancing at the Featherstonehaugh residence, a salon at the Wraxton’s, and a small, intimate soirée at Felicity Sinclaire’s.” I pursed my lips. “A dreary affair, I am sure. And you? Will you go to the Cocoa Tree and fritter away the rent monies on playing hazard, or…?”
He leaned back and propped his muddy boots on the table, atop the invitations. I squawked in alarm, and he burst into laughter. I threw an invitation at him, it hit him square in his elaborate cravat, and left a splotch of mud. The next thing I knew, he was chasing me around the room, at last Capturing me and pressing me up against the wall, tickling me without Mercy.
“Ned, you devil!” I squealed, trying to give as good as I got. A beat, we stopped and stared at one another, and then his lips crashed onto mine. I gasped, moaning: his tongue plunged into my mouth, hot and wet, he tasted of rich dark coffee and tobacco, and his hands cupped my face tenderly as his tongue caressed mine.
We drew back from one another, breathless, and kissed again, eyes wide open, lingering and sweet. He dragged my bottom lip between his teeth, pulling my leg up to his hip as he teased the folds of my quim with his fingers, brushing again and again against my bud until I was mad with the desire to have him inside of me. I fumbled with his trousers, but he pushed my hands away.
“Let me please you, Dita,” he growled into my breasts, fastening his mouth on one nipple and sending shockwaves of heat straight to my Core. He lightly dragged his teeth over it, then suckled hard, using his tongue to play with the tip. “You taste so damnably good.” When he was quite done, he switched to the other, his fingers swirling on my bud to match the movements his tongue made, interspersing each lick with long, dizzying kisses that made my head spin.
I forgot where we were, I forgot all sense of Decorum. There was only Ned and Dita, Ned’s tongue in my mouth and his fingers slick with my juices, groaning into my neck and my breasts as he felt my walls clench tight around his fingers every time he thrust them inside of me. I ground against him, the sensations in my bud growing more and more intense as he raised my leg higher, every touch and taste heightened. He smelled intensely of the woods and fields of Edgewater, of home. “Ned.” I made an indecent moan, and I could feel him smile against my neck.
“Come for me, Dita,” he commanded in his deep baritone, and I let go. But just as I let myself be swept away by the tide, reality came down with a loud gasp from the doorway. I looked up, face scarlet, hands flying to pull up my bodice, only to find Briar standing in the doorway with young Harry on her hip, a look of utter shock and Betrayal upon her features.
She crossed the room, and when I turned to her, slapped me hard across the face. “Bitch!” Briar spat, and when she went to slap me again, Edmund caught her wrist, stepping between us. He towered over her, and though I could not see his expression, it must have been Frightful indeed. Briar collapsed, sobbing, and little Harry let out a wail that brought the housekeeper running.
“Take Harry to the kitchen for a sugar twist, Mrs Belcher,” I said firmly, handing him off.
“But — madam!” she spluttered, as though trying to reconcile herself with the fact that her master’s natural child would be cared for by the staff. At my steely gaze, her resolve crumpled, and she nodded stiffly. “As my Lady wishes,” she said, and bustled out with the squalling child.
I turned back to Briar and Edmund, only to find her watching me from the corner of her eye. She grabbed him by the lapels and kissed him hard, and with a strange, powerful wrench in my heart, I softly closed the door to the morning room.
•••
After that, I encouraged Edmund to rent a house for Briar in a less fashionable part of London, so she would not make another unannounced visit upon us.
“Very well, Wife, it shall be as you wish.” Edmund bowed formally to me, and I plucked at his sleeve as he turned to go. His eyes were Unreadable as he looked down at me, and I felt a chill, though it was yet Summer.
“Ned…” I swallowed, hard. “Open an account for her at a modiste as well, and a milliner’s.” I did not know what else to say, truly. I did not know how else to make it right.
“Of course. Dita…” he pulled me close, his eyes searching my face, his hand clasped in mine, held between us. “You know I would never intentionally hurt you, don’t you, my sweet?”
“Ned –” a lump rose up in my throat. “Of course not. Now, go to her, for I know she loves you well.”
He stroked a finger across the line of my jaw, and seemed to be about to say something, but instead he brushed his lips across my palm, and walked out into the afternoon sunlight, turning back to look at me once, before I closed the door.
•••
The rest of the Season seemed to rush by, and before I knew it, we were back at Edgewater in time for the grouse season and hunting parties to start. Susanna was already learning to walk, and to the dismay of the nursemaid, I would often take her out to the gardens myself, her tiny hands pulling from mine to chase the sparrows. Edmund avoided me whenever possible, and went often to Town, where Briar remained, draining our coffers with her spendthrift ways. She was much changed from the girl I had known in Grovershire, that much was plain.
So when Edmund returned to me in late November, bearing news that Briar was with child again, I did not know whether to show hurt or fury. I settled on Neither, and adopted a calm manner in regards to their Affair.
I had not taken up with Sinclaire since our return from Town, for he and Felicity had gone to Bath to “take the waters”, which really meant she had not yet gotten with child — not much of a mystery, as he spent more time in my bed than hers. Still, it Grieved my heart sore, and I spent as much time out of doors as I was able, to alleviate the heartache.
Christmas came, and went, the earth turned, and spring came to Edgewater. I did not go to Town for the Season, but remained in the countryside. No one would miss me, I reasoned.
But I was wrong.
•••
1819, March.
I lay on my stomach, playing with Susanna in the crisp spring sunshine, as the nursemaid read a novel to herself not far off. Bumblebees hummed drowsily amongst the daffodils, and the sky overhead was clear and blue.
“Perdita!” I heard someone calling my name, and shielded my eyes against the sun, only to see my sharply dressed husband swing off his horse. He moved to greet me, and then saw Susanna. His face lit up, and I felt my heart turn over in my chest. “And who is this young miss?” Edmund asked jovially, sinking to his knees in the grass.
Susanna popped her thumb from her mouth, regarding her father with solemn black eyes. “Who dat, Mama?”
I pointed to Edmund. “That is Papa.”
Susanna looked at me, and then at Edmund, whose face was full of such a naked love that it filled me with wonder. Who was this man, and what had he done with Mr Malcaster? “Ba?” Susanna walked forward, touching Edmund’s nose, and then her own, and giggled.
Edmund picked her up and tossed her into the air, and Susanna squealed with laughter. “This is your half-brothers’ favorite game.” His eyes met mine over our daughter’s pale curls. “She has your eyes, Dita.”
“And your charm,” I said pointedly as Susanna’s squeals of delight brought the attention of the nursemaid, who hurried across the grass to coo over her. She curtsied to my husband, blushing deeply, and then took my heir back to the house for her nap.
“I have missed you.” Edmund took my palm in his, tracing patterns upon it with his fingertip. “I am sorry I stayed away so long, I could not see you with… But I have felt wretched every day, and I have missed… This.” He looked down at me, something tender and warm in his eyes. “Town is not the same without your light. I go around every corner hoping you will be on the other side of it. When I ride in Hyde Park, every lady on a bay filly makes me do a double take. I look for the girl with the almond-shaped eyes and freckles at parties, but every time I think I catch a glimpse of her, she is someone else.”
“Oh.” I did not know what else to say. In Truth, I was shocked that he would ride all the way to Edgewater just to tell me these random things. “Well, you could have written, Ned.”
He shrugged. “It is not the same as hearing your voice. Will you not come to Town?” When I began to shake my head, he lay a finger on my lips. “Who else will I share inside jokes with at parties? Who else will rescue me from dances with groping matrons? Say you will come.”
“And what of Briar, then?” It came out more Harsh than I meant it to.
Edmund frowned. “I cannot bring my mistress to society gatherings. And besides –“
“And does she know you are here?” I demanded crisply, pulling my hand from his. His shamefaced look told all. “Ned! This is important. We promised never to lie to one another, you and I.”
“No, she does not. But that does not matter.” He tilted my chin up with two fingers, his face stern. “You are my Countess, Dita. Not she.”
“Well, I will think on it.” I shrugged carelessly, but from the impudent grin that split his face, we both knew my mind was already made up.
•••
“I believe this dance is mine.” Duke Richards bowed before me at the edge of the ballroom, shoving Mr Chambers out of the way. The Duke’s eyes raked up and down me in my new gown, which Edmund had delivered as a surprise upon my return to Town. It was a deep aquamarine and silver silk dress with a low, plunging neckline and silk fringe on the darling little cap sleeves. The color set off my red hair to perfection, and had made my husband’s eyes light up when he saw me in it. It was one thing to have my husband’s eyes undress me, and quite another to have the Duke’s.
I bared my teeth in a false smile at the Duke. “This is quite the crush, do you not agree, Your Grace? I think I shall sit this one out.”
Instead of politely heeding my request, the old rake pulled me onto the dance floor, his claws locked onto my waist and hand. I could not have escaped if I wanted to, and I wanted to, very much. “Do not play games with me, you saucepot. You forget, I have been around since ever they were invented.”
“That is because you are one hundred years old.” I made as much space between us as possible, and shuddered as his hand crept downwards to squeeze my derrière firmly.
“Hah! So you will play whore for Sinclaire, but not for me? What can he do for you?” The Duke’s breath reeked of cloves, and I made a face of disgust. I did not have it in me to pretend politeness. “Can he make your husband’s political career rise in the House of Lords, hmm?” The Duke cackled. “Or will an association such as you have end up on a broadsheet, and make it fall?”
I felt my face heat. Wild, satiric caricatures were all the rage, and I dreaded to see the truth of our affairs splashed all over, for everyone to see. “You want me to be your mistress instead? Is that what you are telling me?”
“Oh, nothing so vulgar, my dear. Tut, tut, but you have a filthy mind.” The Duke pulled me indecently close, so close I could feel his three-inch yard nudging against my leg. “You smell of the Orient,” he chuckled lewdly. “And I daresay you know all the bedroom tricks of your kind as well.”
I yearned to slap him hard just this once and have done. “I fear you mistake me, Your Grace,” I murmured. “If you do not unhand me at once, I shall make a scene.”
“No, you will not.” The Duke ignored his wife when we spun past her, but she caught my eye, and her face was set in a mask of cold hate. “I think you cannot afford say no to me, my dear. Not with a husband who gambles as much as yours does.” His teeth flashed in a rictus grin.
“Just what are you implying?” You moldy old codpiece, I finished in my head.
“Oh, nothing, Lady Perdita. Only that when I roll the bones, you can be sure I play to win – every time.” He deposited me on the edge of the dance floor, and took himself off, but I though I was sure I had lost him in the crowd, I could still feel his eyes upon me, no matter how far I fled.
When I roll the bones, I play to win – every time.
•••
I sat upon the rail of the balcony with a glass of orgeat lemonade, fanning myself and listening to the roar from the ballroom. I had seen Sinclaire only from far away, and I knew from the look in his eye that he would come to me soon. We had not been together in many months, and Edmund had already disappeared into the gaming rooms to play hazard, promising to save me a seat beside him at supper. He had been distracted as of late, and I thought back to the Duke’s warning.
Your husband plays a dangerous game.
But whatever did that mean?
“If it isn’t Lady Perdita, Harlot of Edgewater.” I did not know how she had found me, but I would not give her the satisfaction. I looked at my nails as the Duchess of Karlington gave a rusty laugh, as though she had not felt humor for many months. “Why so modest, madam? Are you not proud?”
I finally looked at her. The former Miss Sutton stood before me, haggard and thin, her face a painted puppet’s. A handpainted silk fan with an ivory handle dangled from her hand, and she twirled it nervously, her nose twitching like a frightened rabbit’s. “I am proud, indeed.” My haughty mien made her recoil from me, and I saw that I had wounded her to the quick. I would have felt saddened by this in my younger years, I realized, and for a moment, I pitied her. But the sentiment did not last long.
“You have changed him,” she hissed from behind her fan, her lips barely moving. “Do you have no shame? He was supposed to be mine.”
When one rises high, they push others down to get to their place. She could not do that with me, and she knew it. Though her status may have been high, the duchess had nothing, and I had everything she had ever wanted – and there were not enough silk dresses or ivory fans in all of the world to fill the void.
I said nothing, but stood, shaking out my skirts, and passed her, cutting her dead. I would pay for that later, but gossip was her only currency in trade, and I wanted none of it.
“He cannot love you!” she cried, desparately, as I reached the door. I turned with my hand on the knob, and looked her square in the eye.
I do not know what she hoped for by confronting me, but perhaps it had been waiting in her for far too long. Edmund met me at the door, and when the duchess saw him, she moved to speak, but he bent over my hand, and when he cut her dead, she crumpled like a paper doll that has been left out in the rain, and fled into the garden, her blazing eyes burning holes of spite into my back as I went back inside.
•••
“Your Husband is making enemies for himself in Parliament, Perdita,” Sinclaire held me scandalously close, the waltz ever our favorite dance to tread the very edge of propriety. His hand on my waist filled me with such burning it was a wonder I did not combust right there on the dance floor. He cleared his throat. “I would imagine it is your doing?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I looked up at him in question. “Say it plain, if you please… Ernest.”
He flushed at my use of his given name, and his voice dropped. “He has switched parties, and thrown his lot in with the Whigs, trying to swing the vote for suffrage. A man for the people.”
I was unable to keep the surprise from my face. “Ned? Do we speak of the same man?” I threw a glance towards my husband, whose back was turned, talking with the doddering old fool Westonly by the back wall. Edmund felt my gaze, and turned his head, tossing me a sly wink. I turned back to Mr Sinclaire, who studied me with a steady regard. “My husband? Surely you jest.”
The words of the Duke echoed in my memory, chilling me down to the bone. I think you cannot afford say no to me, my dear. Not with a husband who gambles as much as yours does. So this was what he had meant.
“It is no jest, Perdita. I admire him for it, in fact — but men like Duke Richards do not. I would have a care, Beauty.” He twirled me, watching my ankles flash as my skirts spun out, and when he pulled me close again, we both felt the old spark leap between us. His eyes were on my mouth as he continued. “Would you like to take a turn in the gardens, madam?”
I dropped my bold gaze, my heart hammering in my chest. “I should like that above anything.”
•••
Once we were in a place we could be assured of privacy, Sinclaire began to kiss me, running his tongue along the seam of my lips until I opened them to him with an incoherent gasp. His tongue thrust into my mouth, he tasted of peat, and he smelled of oak.
His hands roved across my curves, and when he began to roll one of my nipples between his fingers, I let out a soft cry of pleasure, feeling myself go liquid. Yet something in me held back as his hands pushed up my skirts and he thrust into me, gasping my name.
“Perdita, Perdita,” he moaned, his head thrown back, his eyes closed in bliss as I clenched around him, chasing the fleeting wisps of my desire.
I closed my eyes, imagining golden stubble scraping my inner thighs, and the face… was not that of my Lover’s. “Ernest, Ernest!” The Peak was in sight, if I could but mount it…
“Edmund,” a lady’s voice moaned through the shrubbery, and I froze.
Sinclaire gripped my thighs, spreading them wide as he plowed me deep. I tried to shut out the sound of the other lady’s pleasure, but it filtered its way into my consciousness.
“Ernest!” I gasped.
Edmund, Edmund!
Sinclaire was waiting for me, I realized, and as I listened to the other couple — not my husband, please not Ned — I climbed the Peak, and came, Sinclaire exploding inside of me moments later in a hot, scalding rush. “What’s wrong?” Sinclaire kissed me on the mouth. Then he heard it too, and his face turned a deep shade of scarlet, tinged with purple. “My God,” he croaked. “Felicity?!”