“You could have told me your purpose,” Henry said, a trifle stonily.
“Where’s the fun for me in that? No, I intended to stimulate your curiosity, and I did. I wasn’t about to saddle some worthy woman with a man who lacked curiosity, nephew or not.” The marchioness turned her gaze on Susannah. “Miss Beasley, do you know how many stepchildren and step grandchildren and nephews and nieces,et cetera,I have terrified in my lifetime?”
Hastings said, “One hundred and three.”
The marchioness snorted. “Of course, I’ve readThe TalesandFurther Adventuresto assorted tots over the years. I have a way with children.”
No one dared contradict her.
“How did you know Puddlewick was in Much Wemby?” Henry asked.
“Ah, very good, Henry. Your curiosity is still working away. If you must know, I once spent a lovely naked fortnight with Sir John at Sutton Hall. I was between husbands, he was notyet married, and Bonaparte and Wellington were both still in swaddling clothes.”
More than ever, Susannah was glad Mina was tucked away in her bed and not at the table.
“And when I read the books, I recognized the Wrecknot right away.”
“So you had no important message for Sir John?” Her dear Henry could not hide his indignation at his aunt.
“Of course, I did. Two birds, one stone.”
“I see,” Henry said. “I did think two birds, one stone, but I was mistaken about the nature of one of the birds.”
The marchioness cackled. “I have outdone the maxim. One earl-shaped stone andthreebirds—a message delivered, an author found, and a woman wooed!”
“How very efficient of you,” Henry said dryly. “And how very comforting it is to find this out.”
The marchioness took up her knife and fork to slice into her guinea fowl. “How so?”
“I was beginning to worry fate had played a hand in all of this. I’m greatly relieved to find it was just a marchioness.”
“Faugh. Only the weak rely on fate.” The marchioness narrowed her eyes. “And what do you mean byjust a marchioness?”
“Only that?—”
The marchioness banged the end of her knife on the top of the table, causing the glasses and dishware to rattle.
“I am notjusta marchioness. I am Lady Chalfont, and, in the words of the greatest mind of this century and the last,” she took a breath, “Destiny, thy name is rubbish.”
Charles whispered to Susannah, “Whom is she quoting?”
“I think.” Susannah paused. “Herself.”
Not even the glare of the marchioness could keep Susannah and Charles from giggling throughout the rest of dinner.
Twenty-Two
And her king was rewarded for his answer to the concubine’s riddle with numerous acts of debauchery.
—The Concubine and Her King.Unpublished MS.
With the marchioness, her secretary, and Mr. Crompton all safely back to London, Susannah had finally taken up her pen again in the large library.
Henry put a warm hand between her shoulder blades, and she knew if she looked up, he would kiss her. She did, and he did.
“How goes Willa?” he asked.
“Willa wanders, like my mind.” Susannah nodded towards the open door that led out to one of the gardens. Shouts and laughter had been her music all morning, the accompaniment to her words. “The sound of play has made me imagine all kinds of horsey adventures for Willa.”
