There was a natural grace to her that Leonie wished she had. Her mother’s movements were always deliberate, always considered, in spite of obviously being up all night.
Her coloring was also different than the daughter’s. Elizabeth’s eyes were the blue of cornflowers and her flawless skin a creamy white. Even their lips were different. Leonie’s mouth was wide, generous, full. Her mother’s were cupid bows that could pout their way into a man’s heart. Leonie had witnessed her doing it more than once and her mother’s jewelry box teemed with gifts from admirers trying to make her smile.
The one thing they shared were slim figures and thick, heavy hair. Elizabeth’s hair was smooth as glass; Leonie’s was the burnished gold of a lion’s pelt—an unusual color—and she couldn’t stop it from breaking out into unruly waves of curl.
Leonie untucked her body in the chair, placing her slippered feet on the floor. “I must talk to you.”
“I assumed.” Her mother moved to her dressing table and began removing her jewelry. “You rarely make social visits.”
“You rarely have time for them.”
Elizabeth gave a small shrug. “You are right.” She sat on the dressing table’s bench, facing Leonie. “Come, tell me what is so important that it has taken you from your bed.” She yawned, reached for her silver hairbrush, and began brushing out her hair.
Leonie tried to collect her thoughts. Words that had seemed so clear to her before she’d fallen asleep now seemed a jumble. Finally, she said what was uppermost on her mind. “Is it possible to marry and live separate lives?”
“Of course, your father and I do.”
“I mean ‘separate,’ ” Leonie emphasized.
Her mother caught her eye in the mirror. Her arm holding the brush had gone still. She set the brush in its place. “More than just different bedrooms? Different houses?”
“Different locations. And not consummating the marriage. Ever.”
Her mother started to laugh, and then, seeing that Leonie was serious, sobered. “How unalike we are,” she murmured. “Very well, no, there isn’t a gentleman thatIwould allow my daughter to marry who would refuse to consummate the marriage. I realize as your mother I could be considered guilty of benign neglect on many occasions. However, even I have standards.”
“Then I don’t wish to marry.”
“What would you do with your life?”
Well, that was the question, wasn’t it? Leonie grabbed the first answer to come into her sleep-addled mind. “I would dedicate myself to good works.”
Her mother’s brows lifted. “So noble. But then, what would you do when you don’t have good works to occupy your time?”
“I would read. And perhaps help Cassandra Holwell with her literary salon. She has started one.”
“This sounds very French.” Her mother’s tone held a hint of mockery.
“Yes, it is, and if it didn’t work, because it hasn’t been too successful yet, then I would find something to do that is worthwhile. There are plays, the opera, museums, exhibits. London has much to offer.”
“The amusements are many... or, my darling, you could find a husband who lets you do as you wish.”
“Does Father give you complete freedom?”
There was a beat of silence. Her mother stared into space as if she could see something Leonie couldn’t. Then she turned to her daughter. “I am who I am, Leonie. I make no apologies. However, I have never said no to your father. It is he who does not come to my bed. Not since you were born—Oh, here, I’ve shocked you. That was not my intent. But you are of an age when we should be able to speak freely, no?”
Leonie didn’t know how to answer.
Her mother leaned forward. “I am not the sort of woman to toddle off and let her life be over. Am I to be condemned for that? Of course I know what the gossips say. I don’t care. All marriages are subject to the whims of those involved and can be as stifling as the crypt.”
“Then why would you push me to marry?”
“Because an unmarried woman has few rights. No protections. You would be an oddity and you do not want that. I know what you and your two friends say. I’ve heard your whispers. I hear more than people think I do. You may dream of a life where you make your own choices, Leonie, but you’ll never live that life until you marry, and hopefully to a generous spouse—one who lets you do as you wish. And you had best be faithful, until after you have given him an heir, of course. Then you can take on all the lovers you wish.”
“You didn’t give Father an heir.”
A look crossed her mother’s face that Leonie couldn’t decipher. Was she pleased or regretful? “It did not matter to him. He was happy with a daughter to sell off.”
To sell off... yes, that was what her father was doing. Selling his daughter for a title for his heirs.
