“Just so.”
“But I enjoyed it,” Amity insisted.
“Well, who wouldn’t? But does that mean you must throw away your future? Unlike me, you have a good, educated man who loves you, and he is easy on the eyes, too. Don’t push Mr. Cole away by filling his head with doubts over your fidelity when nothing more will ever happen in that regard.”
“That’s precisely it,” Amity said. “How can I be sure?”
Beatrice looked shocked. “What are you saying? I know you. You didn’t intend this, nor, once engaged, would you ever let such a thing happen again.”
Amity felt like crying. “I have kissed Mr. Cole before,” she admitted.
“As expected,” Beatrice said. “What ninny would commit to a lifetime with a man without kissing him? Ultimately, it might be so terrible, one never wishes to do it again.”
Should Amity tell her what haunted her?
“The kiss with the duke was ... more ... it was somehow.... Oh dear! I cannot even say it, it sounds so terrible, so awful of me to compare them.”
Beatrice put her arms around her, and Amity didn’t have to tell her how much better it was, didn’t have to put into words how the pleasure had flowed through her. Kissing Jeremy wascomfortable. Now, it seemed as if it had been like kissing a family member, tame and unexciting in comparison to the duke’s kiss.
And that thought made her wrench away from Beatrice’s embrace. She didn’t deserve comfort. She didn’t deserve Jeremy. He would want the woman he kissed to feel bliss and pleasure. His affection warranted such a response and devotion.
“What shall I do?”
Beatrice wiped her thumbs over Amity’s cheeks where a few stray tears had fallen.
“Kiss Mr. Cole. Again. Now,” her sister advised. “Take him into Father’s study and kiss him. Afterward, if you believe he will not suffice, you can let him go. But you must be certain, for you know you shall not get the duke, and another man may not come along who is any finer than Mr. Cole. Shall we be the Rare-Foure spinsters, me at nineteen and you at twenty?”
Amity had no words to respond to her wise younger sister. “I’ll go to the study. Will you send him to me?”
Beatrice nodded. “I hope to be toasting you and Mr. Cole by the evening’s end. And remember, you do not have to tell him. It will hurt him needlessly.”
Nodding, Amity turned away and slipped into her father’s study, her heart pounding with trepidation.
***
HENRY WAS SURPRISEDhow easily he had been able to snag a kiss with Amity whereas Lady Madeleine was like a slippery eel. She was impossible to catch alone and absolutely unwilling to let him within a foot of her when it was only the two of them, even with her maid seated discreetly close by.
He had called upon her without prior notice and even wangled a dinner invitation — for they could hardly refuse a duke showing up close to the dinner hour. He hoped to become more familiar with her and with her parents. The conversation as they dined, however, had been uninspiring at best. Her mother, an attractive woman, remained mostly silent while keeping a besotted smile on her face and looking at him as ifshewere the one he might marry.
Her father, Lord Brayson, was pleasant enough, if one liked a man intent on mentioning every possible achievement he’d ever had or every farthing of wealth he’d accrued. Henry wondered what was the point of the man’s boasting when he could never hope to match the prestige of a duke, nor should he try.
Frankly, Henry found it a little vulgar.
Nonetheless, he could overlook both parents’ flaws for Madeleine’s sake. She was charming over the pottage and told a witty, albeit rehearsed story with the roast. It was after, when they were having port in the drawing room, that he realized how impersonal was every phrase she uttered. She could have been at any ball or party speaking to anyone, not to the man who might mean something special to her.
Henry decided to grab the bull ... or, rather, the cow by ... well, not by anything.
“Tell me about your childhood, Lady Madeleine. Did you spend most of your time in the country or in Town?”
Madeleine smiled and looked to her father to answer. Henry sighed and let the earl disclose the many fine acres they had at their country house and the number of horses. Yet when he started to give an account of his livestock, Henry interrupted.
“Livestock!” He laughed as if her father had meant it to be a joke. “Surely, your daughter and wife have no interest in our discussing your pigs.” Henry certainly had not a damned ounce of interest, either. He wanted to ask Madeleine if she’d been a lonely child, but there may have been siblings who’d passed away, and thus, he couldn’t broach such a sensitive topic.
For a moment, he couldn’t think what he wanted to know about her despite having everything to learn. She remained, confoundedly, a stranger. Once more, he turned to her.
“Did you have a favorite book growing up, Lady Madeleine? Do you like to read?” He couldn’t help but think of Amity’s animated retelling of Mrs. Lovechild’s primer, something practically every British child had in his or her nursery.
Madeleine’s lovely face remained placid. She ignored the first question and answered the second, “Currently, I enjoy a few magazines. I don’t read the newspapers as there is entirely too much offensiveness.”
