“If you wanted to humiliate me, sir, you have quite succeeded.” I tossed the newspaper down in front of my husband on the breakfast table. He took a gulp of his coffee, and grasped me by the elbow as I tried to brush by.
“Come riding with me, Dita. You shall soon forget whatever it is you’re so angry about with a hell for leather race neck to neck down Rotten Row.” Rotten Row was the most fashionable bridle path in all London, where the “fast” set, of which Ned belonged to, went to race early in the morning.
When I tried to yank my arm away, he pulled me onto his lap, chucking me under the chin, as though I were some featherbrained young miss, easily appeased by her handsome older husband.
“Do not tell me you did not tup Felicity Sinclaire at last night’s ball,” I hissed. A dark look passed across his brow. I tried to tug free, but he held me fast. “You already have Briar. Must you dally with our kind as well?”
“I looked for you, but you disappeared after that waltz with Sinclaire.” His voice was low and dangerous. “And, what of it if I did? He won’t end up with a cuckoo in the nest, if that is your worry. I only used my tongue.”
“Ugh!” The thought of his mouth anywhere near that horrid woman made me want to retch.
“Don’t you want to hear how sweet she tasted?” he goaded me, his eyes dark. “Or how she grabbed my hair and pushed my head down, begging me never to stop? One would think it was the first time anyone had licked her –”
I slapped him in the face. “Stop this at once!” He grabbed my wrist, and then kissed me hard, biting my lower lip as I struggled against him, hitting him in the chest. He swept the china off the table, it shattered on the floor. Then he had me atop the table, tearing at my skirts as I struggled hard against him, my heart pounding in fright. “Stop!” I screamed. “Ned, stop!”
He reeled off of me, breathing hard, blood running down his cheek from where I had gouged him. “Dita!” Edmund choked, horrified. “My god. I almost — I almost…” he ran a hand over his face. “Forgive me.”
In the ringing silence left by his absence, I knew I should feel rage, but instead, all I felt instead was an aching sense of loss, and all I wanted was to weep.
•••
April.
I had not talked to Edmund for nearly a week when a letter arrived at the townhouse. I sat eating toast and drinking thick, rich coffee with cream and rose syrup as I went over the household accounts. I looked at it on the silver salver the butler brought, and all the blood drained from my face.
Dowager Countess Henrietta. What in the deuce did that old bitch want?
Dearest son,
We will be in London, Tuesday the 15th, after noon. Your wife’s Lady Grandmother is desirous of her company, and I have decided to join her.
Deepest regards,
Your Mother.
It was Tuesday already, and as the clock chimed the hour, I stared at the missive in dawning horror. Why was she coming to London? She was barely welcome in our lives at all. And Edmund — my brain scrabbled. How would I explain his absence to my mother-in-law?
The truth was, I missed him sore. I had expected him to come back, drunk and ashamed, but he had stayed away. I had taken to sleeping in his bed, searching for the scent of him every night on his pillows, until it was gone. I was angry with him, and myself. If only I had not gone with Sinclaire. But that was our arrangement, was it not?
And yet, it made me sick and sad and out of sorts.
When I saw him, I decided, I would slap him, and then I would make him sorry for ever hurting me — but at the same time, I wanted his arms around me, whispering Dita, Dita, I am so sorry, I never meant to hurt you…
Or had he?
•••
In my plainest day dress, I rung the bell of Briar’s townhouse. Though she lived in a middling part of Town, I still did not wish to attract attention to myself. Violette had begged to come, for propriety’s sake, but I had sent her back with the carriage and a flea in her ear. She would pout, and thieve my silk ribbons, but I did not begrudge her those, it was only the theft of my husband I would mind. Luckily her aspirations did not lie in that direction… Unlike Briar Daly’s.
I raised my hand and knocked again, three sharp raps. I waited. A housemaid with cabbage ears and a coarse, red face answered the door, looking me up and down with a sneer.
“‘Er ladyship ain’t takin’ no callers.” She moved to shut the door in my face, but I pried it open with my foot.
“You may tell Miss Daly that the landlady has come to collect her due.” Her ladyship, indeed! Just who was this chit to give herself such airs? Without waiting for the gawping maid to answer, I sashayed inside. “Shut your mouth, you’ll catch flies. Tell her it’s Perdita.”
The maid gasped, throwing her apron over her head. “The Countess!”
“The very same. Never mind, I shall show myself in. Where is she?” It was best to be brisk with this type of servant, I had learned. Let them think for themselves for a moment, and they’d steal the best silver right out from under your nose.
“The parlor, madam — yer ladyship,” the maid mumbled.
I swanned past her, heading for the parlor. My husband was nowhere in sight, and yet I expected him around every corner. I came to the parlor at last, and, steeling myself with a deep breath, pushed open the door.
“Millie, how many times must I tell you — Perdita!” Briar dropped the novel from her hands, and rose stiffly to greet me. I instantly regretted my plain muslin dress. She was dressed to the nines, in a very low-cut red dress that clung to her every curve, and she wore a light amount of kohl and rouge that emphasized her looks very much so. Indeed, she looked every inch the sophisticate, while I looked like a dowdy country cousin. I had not even as much as put on a fashionable hat, now I saw that I had carelessly misjudged.
No wonder Edmund prefers her to me. The thought stung unexpectedly.
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”
“My husband,” I said crisply, sitting down on the sofa beside her without waiting for an invitation. “His mother will be in Town this day.”
“She can stay here,” Briar said firmly, glaring at me. “I’m his real wife, anyway.”
I tapped my fan. Stop. “Not according to the law.”
“Who cares?” Briar snapped. “He loves me, not you. So why pretend?”
I bit my lip, nasty retorts whizzing around my brain. “It is for the sake of appearance, naught more. You know that.”
She set her jaw mulishly. “I don’t. Explain it.”
“Explain what?” The door to the parlor opened, and my husband stood there, his mouth dropping open in shock. “Dita?!”
I stood, I did not know why I was trembling so. “Ned, I –“
“I was just tellin’ Perdita that she should leave.” Briar brushed past me and wrapped her arms around Edmund’s waist possessively. He’s mine. “You an’ me, Eddie. Tell her. Go on, idiot.”
Edmund did not move. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he pushed her away, annoyed. “Leave us.”
“Eddie –“
“I said, leave us.” He did not look at her, and the parlor door slammed so loud behind her it nearly broke off the hinges. He remained standing in place, and I walked slowly up to him, placing my hands in his.
“Ned,” I whispered, looking down at our joined hands, and then back up at him. Up close, his face looked haggard, drawn. “You look terrible.”
“I feel terrible.” He cast his eyes aside, and then cleared his throat, looking back at me. “It is a good thing you caught me, I have been staying at Brooks’s.”
By that, he meant his gentleman’s club, and I thought back to Sinclaire’s words at the ball: Your husband has changed parties, and become a Whig. Surely I had misheard, no, his club was White’s, he had been grandfathered into the exclusive membership by my own father.
I was confused. “Not — here?”
He shook his head, slowly. “Have you come to berate me, wife?” His eyes were haunted as he looked down upon me. “I have gone over and over that morning in my head. I never would have — I did not mean to –”
“Let us not fight.” I turned over his palm, drawing circles upon it, and I heard his breath hitch. When I looked up, he was dabbing his eyes with his cuff. “All is forgotten, Ned.”
He crushed me to his chest, so tight I gasped for air as my stays dug into my ribs. “Perdita, you are so good.”
“Ned, I cannot breathe,” I gasped, and he released me. “Is it not true, what she said? That you consider her your true wife?”
A look of irritation passed over his face. “What?”
I took a deep breath, tilting my head to look at him. “I know it is true. She is the mother of your sons, and I have only given you a daughter. I… I know I was not your first choice. I am just a — a friend.”
Edmund’s face darkened for a single moment, and then he took a step forward, taking my hand again. “No, Dita, you are so much mo–“
Millie bustled into the room with a waft of raw onions and a rag, and began to dust the furnishings, sneaking looks at the two of us.
I signed with my fan, Can she be trusted?
Edmund shook his head. “The day is fine, let us take a walk.”
•••
We strolled through Hyde Park for a short while, side by side, saying nothing. The air tasted of the coming summer, and I was glad of it. I hoped to take Susanna to Brighton for a day, and teach her to make castles in the sand. I snuck a look at my husband. His hands were thrust deep in his pockets, and he looked so serious that I clapped my hands together, startling him into a wide smile that made my stomach half-flip.
“I know that look, Dita. What mad idea is inside your head?”
I wagged my finger at him. “A race, of course!”
He tried to hold back a grin, and failed. “You really are a minx, wife. Flashing your ankles as you run through Hyde Park? Whatever would people say?”
“What do I care? I am a Countess, and I set the trends.” I placed my hands on my hips gamely. “To the Serpentine?” The lake glinted, some twenty feet in the distance.
“Do you care to place a wager upon it?” A wicked glint shone in his eye.
I tapped my lips. “Last one there gets thrown into the lake!”
“Oh.” Edmund smirked. “I shall throw you in regardless.” He made a mad grab for me, and I let out a loud shriek that caused heads to whip around, lifting my skirts to my knees and dashing down the path, my husband chasing after me.
I made it nearly to the shore before he tackled me in the grass, the two of us rolling to a stop before a pair of fine Hessian boots.
“Well, well, well. Who have we here? Is this the esteemed Mr Marlcaster I see before me, rolling around on the grass with a common strumpet? Oh dear me no, it is the Countess of Edgewater.”
“Close, my lord — a mongrel half-blood.” The voices belonged to none other than Duke Tristan Richards and his wife, Theresa.
Edmund pulled me to my feet, and we turned to face our peers. The Duke was grinning lecherously, his eyes fixed on my cleavage, while his wife looked as though she had smelled something foul. Though dressed in the absolute height of fashion, Her Grace looked utterly miserable. And who would not be, with the Duke for a husband?
“So, not only have you turned your back on your own kind by wedding a mongrel, but you have also become a Whig. Whose fault is that, I wonder?” The Duke’s words may have been for Edmund, but he looked straight at me as he said it, his eyes cold with menace. His eyes flicked to my form, and my skin crawled as he undressed me with his eyes.
“Lady Perdita, as ravishing as always.” The Duke’s eyes flicked to my husband as he bent over my hand, kissing my knuckles with his dry, papery lips. Up close, he had that foul old man smell of powder and rot, and I wondered how many fine silk gowns it was worth to have him between her legs.
As the Duke began his long tirade against the common worker, I watched from the corner of my eye as Theresa spoke to Edmund with her fan. Do not forget me.
“…and that is why suffrage will never work in this country,” the Duke finished with a yellow smile. “Do you understand, Lady Perdita?” His voice held a note of warning, but I did not heed it.
“I don’t care,” I spat. “Progress will rush into the country like a tide, and you and your kind will be powerless to stop it.”
The Duke loomed over me, and I shivered under his glare, willing myself not to back down. “It is the right of lords and kings to rule the land!” he thundered, his eyes ablaze. “I will not be told my business by a half-breed trollop!”
“No, Your Grace, it is you who are wrong.” Edmund stepped between the Duke and I, shielding me, his voice like a knife at the throat. “It is time for reform, to let the common folk have their representation, and their say.”
“It is the taste of exotic cunny that has done this to you, Marlcaster,” the Duke ranted. “How does it feel to know you have been under the cat’s paw all your life? A real man would not bow to the opinions of his wife. After all, there is the reason they are called ‘the Weaker sex’.” He nodded at his wife, whose lips were bloodless. He did not see how her eyes blazed with hatred as she looked back at him, for his gaze was fixed firmly upon Edmund. “Get gone from my sight, Miss Molly.”
Lady Theresa gasped aloud in horror, and I saw my husband’s back stiffen. Edmund half turned to go, and then Duke reached out, groping my backside with a lewd chuckle.
“If you ever want a real man between your thighs, Lady Perdita –“
Eyes ablaze, Edmund turned on the Duke so fast I think that even the old man was a little taken aback. “I demand satisfaction!” he roared, drawing several onlookers. “Name your second!”
“Ned, no!” I cried, recovering my voice. He’ll kill you.
“Stay out of this, Perdita.” Edmund growled, not looking at me, but at the Duke, whose upper lip curled.
“Listen to your wife, pup, and run off with your tail between your legs.” The old man bared his teeth.
That was all it took. My husband pulled out his glove, and in the ultimate insult, slapped Duke Richards across the face with it.
Duke Richards thrust his cape and his walking stick at his wife, and then the two men were circling each other, their fists up in the boxer’s stance. “Don’t you raise your fists to me, you puling whelp! I trained at boxing with Gentleman Jackson!”
A crowd of onlookers had begun to gather, and people whispered excitedly. I spotted Mr Chambers and Mr Konevi in the crowd, and they nodded in greeting. Miss Parsons was there too, with her sister. She rushed to my side, taking me by the arm.
“Well, this is certainly delicious. The Duchess shall dine off this tale for a week! The only thing better would be if it were over her herself!” Annabelle poked me in the side. “Well?”
I shook my head. “You know that Mr Marlcaster became a Whig?”
Annabelle clapped her hands over her mouth. “You mean to tell me that you did not? It is the talk of the Town! His mother is storming here from Bath to put a stop to your Influence over her son, for perverting his loyalties to the Tory party with your common leanings.” All this was related in an undertone, Annabelle’s head bent close to mine. “They are calling you a radical, my dear. They say his head has been turned by–” she coughed delicately.
“I believe the term the Duke used was ‘exotic cunny’.” I rolled my eyes, wincing as the Duke jabbed at my husband, who dodged the punch. “He demanded satisfaction after the Duke made an improper suggestion towards me.”
“I should hope so!” Annabelle clapped a hand over her mouth. “I am sorry, but Mr Marlcaster has lived as a spineless slug for far too long. If he has decided to push for votes for women and the working man?” her voice dropped to a very small whisper, so that I had to strain to hear. “Oh, Perdita, and the man has done this all for you, without your knowledge? Do you not know what that means?”
I was distracted from her words by a roar from the crowd. My husband had struck the Duke in the face, and blood poured from a cut on the old reprobate’s brow. I saw coins pass between hands in the crowd, which seemed to have swelled in size. I caught Mr Sinclaire’s eyes on me from the edge of the crowd, he looked utterly scandalized.
The two of them did not seem to tire, in their shirtsleeves now, circling each other on the shore.
“I trained with Gentleman Jackson!” The Duke repeated, naming again the famous boxer who ran a fighting salon for young bucks down in Bond Street. He was grandstanding, and we all knew it. “Where did you learn to fight, Miss Marlcaster? Hiding behind Mummy’s skirts, or your wi–” his head slammed back with the force of Edmund’s punch. “You broke my fucking nose!” The Duke screamed, blood pouring down his face. People sniggered, he may have been high above the rest of us, but he was not well loved.
“Guess the boxing lessons didn’t stick!” Some wit called from the crowd, and the Duke’s face turned red with fury.
“I demand satisfaction! Name your second, Marlcaster!”
I screamed, “No!”, but my words were lost to the roar of the crowd, and Annabelle held me fast by the arm.
“Everyone is watching you, Perdita! You must remain calm. Remember, you are a Countess.” She nudged me, and I slid a glance at Lady Theresa, who had affected a swoon. When no one came to revive her with the smelling salts, she made a miraculous recovery.
“I name… Mr Sinclaire!” My husband pronounced loudly, and Mr Sinclaire looked as shocked as I felt.
The Duke raised up his fists. “Very well! We will duel in two days time… but instead of swords or pistols, we shall race our horses down Rotten Row at dawn! …And just like the first time we raced,” he sneered, “I shall win the prize.” He looked straight at me, and my flesh crawled. Then he grabbed his cape and walking stick from his wife, and began glad-handing the crowd, many of whom I recognized from the Peerage. I felt sick.
“Oh, Mr Marlcaster, let me tend to your wounds!” I heard Lady Theresa squeal, and I plunged into the crowd.
At last, when I came upon my husband, he was in deep discussion with my on-again, off-again lover. They both smiled when they saw me, and I wrapped one arm around Edmund’s waist, mindful of Sinclaire standing next to us, despite the powerful urge to bury my face against my husband’s broad chest. After all, Sinclaire loved me, but Edmund felt only a sense of deep responsibility towards me.
“I am not sure if I should slap you, or hug you, Ned,” I chastised him.
“Perdita, I would have done the same.” Sinclaire shook his head. “It’s a bad business, Marlcaster. They’ll not stop until you’re taught a lesson. You’re lucky not to be blackballed from half the events in London right now.” He inclined his head to me. “Likely thanks to your gracious wife. She has a tendency to make every party she attends the talk of the Town.” He winked, including us both in it. “Whether she is demonstrating a folk dance on a table, belting out dirty ditties at the top of her lungs… or racing down Rotten Row so fast she could beat the Devil himself.”
Edmund lowered his lips to my ear. The sensation of his stubbled chin brushing against my earlobe utterly distracted me, clouding my thoughts. “I want you to help me compose the news of it in a letter to my mother, so she does not have to hear of this from someone else first.”
I blanched. I had forgotten completely about the old bitch. “Your mother!” I clapped a hand over my mouth. Already, the morning seemed weeks away. “She sent a letter, it only arrived today! She was supposed to get to the house at noon!”
Edmund barked a laugh, but when he saw I was not joking, I could swear his face paled, and he cursed vividly under his breath. “Damnation. She really picks the best of times, doesn’t she?”