Sing whack fal the diddle-i-day.
She was certain, the last time she’d heard the song, it had been about Sally. But now, unless the singer was serenading the Prince Regent, she had a horrible feeling that the words had been tailored to fit her.
‘Excuse me.’ She set the wine glass she had been holding on the nearest table and hurried to the music room to put a stop to the embarrassment from spreading to the gossip-eager hostess.
When she arrived in the room, it was just as she feared. Her husband was sitting at the pianoforte with the mynah bird perched on his shoulder like a pirate’s parrot, pounding out a song in her honour.
She hurried to his side. ‘Are you foxed?’ she whispered, trying not to draw any more attention to them than they were already getting.
‘Drunk in love,’ he announced, turning to the crowd that was forming as if to embrace them in his open arms.
She sniffed the air. ‘Your breath smells of brandy.’
‘Because I needed to steel my nerve,’ he whispered back, loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. ‘I am not very good at this.’
‘Then why are you doing it?’
‘Because I want the world to know how I feel about you.’ He turned to the nearest people in the room. ‘I ask you, was any man in London as lucky as me? And did any squander that luck so foolishly?’
The bird squawked and flapped its wings as if to agree.
‘Shh,’ she scolded, wishing she had a treat to keep him busy.
Then she turned back to her husband. ‘You were most sensible,’ she whispered. ‘You put me off to keep me from making a disgrace of myself. But you are being foolish now.’
‘I did not put you off,’ he said, looking almost hurt. ‘You left me.’
‘You said you wanted me to go.’ For a moment, she had forgotten to moderate her voice. She lowered it. ‘It was for the best. We have known from the first that we did not suit. And that we would be parting after the niceties were observed.’
‘But not like this,’ he said. ‘Not in anger.’
‘I am not angry with you.’ It would be easier if she was. She would not feel so naked and exposed if she had anger to protect her.
‘Georgiana!’ the bird called, loud enough to draw people from the adjoining rooms.
‘Please take him out of here,’ she whispered to her husband.
But instead of removing the bird, Frederick reached into his pocket and produced a grape, tossing it to the mynah as a reward.
‘Please,’ she said. It did not matter how softly she talked. People were not just staring—they were filling the rows of chairs and watching them as if their argument were part of the performance.
‘You should be angry,’ he said. ‘I berated you over nothing.’
‘I disobeyed you,’ she said.
‘And you will do it again,’ he agreed, smiling as though he was looking forward to it.
‘I try,’ she insisted, more to herself than to him. ‘But I do not think it will be possible to please you.’ She had been trying harder than ever to be good. But the scene they were making was proof that her propriety had been but a temporary success.
‘Because I am judging you by the behaviour of women who are your inferiors,’ he said. ‘You have given me no reason to doubt. I have no right to control all aspects of your life.’
‘Some men might say otherwise,’ she countered. There was nothing particularly unusual about the notion that men had dominion over their wives. It was why she’d been in no rush to marry.
‘Then I hope that they have found women who will please them,’ he said. ‘I have come to believe that, while some men might want a wife that bends to their every whim, total submission is not what makes me happy.’
She looked at him doubtfully. ‘That is all well and good for you. But I must think about what will make me happy.’
‘Georgiana!’ the bird cried again, as if her objections outraged him. It earned him another grape.
