It just seemed ironic that he could choose any pretty thing with a title now when his first marriage had been built on gratitude (his) and ambition (mutual). Still, beneath—far, far beneath—the thick armor of cynicism and glory the years had layered on him, there remained something of that twenty-year-old soldier who could not believe a woman had said yes to him when he’d asked.
He didn’t know what he would base a new marriage on.
He didn’t hate the idea of more children.
Or a woman in his bed.
He’d never kept a mistress. That sort of arrangement had always struck him as impractical, improvident, an invitation to chaos. And not only that, dishonorable, if one was married. So few wives were truly ignorant of a husband’s mistress, and even fewer were happy about it if they knew. They merely endured the indignity. This struckhim as unjust. Just because a man could get away with something didn’t mean he should.
He had not been a saint throughout his marriage.
But he could not have done that to his wife.
And he definitely wouldn’t do it now, when the nation, still somewhat reeling from a bloody, brutal war, looked to him as their hero, the example of all that was right and good. They needed him to be the man they believed him to be, honorable, decent, brave, a beacon they could point to and say, “Be like him, son.”
“Sothat’swhy you’re hiding here to write your memoirs,” Delacorte mused shrewdly.
Bolt’s and Captain Hardy’s eyes went huge at the word “hiding” directed at, of all people, Valkirk.
With the vision born of decades of peering into the souls of men, Valkirk inspected Delacorte and found not a shred of guile; besides, his own pride was woven into his fiber. In other words, one couldn’t insulthiminto shooting anyone simply over a feckless soprano who juggled one too many lovers.
“I find The Grand Palace on the Thames, on the whole, a handsome and congenial place, and I expect to accomplish a good deal of work,” he said pleasantly.
In other words: yes.
“In other words, yes,” Delacorte said.
The duke couldn’t help it: he grinned at him.
“I expect it’s like a buffet, all those young ladies. Like when Helga sets out kippers, bacon, ham, andsausage on Sundays,” Delacorte suggested wistfully.
“If that’s what happens, I’m looking forward to Sunday,” the duke said.
“Too much choice can be a little dangerous, Your Grace,” Delacorte told him. “On my last trip to India—I’ve been importer for some years of remedies from the Orient and the like, you see, and I sell them to apothecaries here in England—I met a bloke who worked for the governor. Had a little headache and was offered a choice of about ten different headache powders, and he couldn’t decide, so he finally closed his eyes and chose one. He woke up three days later naked in the jungle next to a Bengal tiger who was sniffing his genitals. He had no idea how he got there.”
The three other men froze, drinks and cigars halfway to their mouths.
“The whiskers tickled him, you see,” Delacorte explained. “That’s why he woke up.”
“Friends to this day, he and the tiger,” he added into the elongating dumbstruck silence.
“Thank God for whiskers, I suppose,” the duke finally said.
Hardy and Bolt grinned.
“Perhaps it’s better to just let the wife come to you, Your Grace,” said Delacorte. “Sometimes they just show up, like, out of the blue.”
“I think that’s how you get a cat, Delacorte,” Captain Hardy said. “Not a wife.”
***
Dear Mama,
Mariana stared at the foolscap and mulled. The quill was in her hand, but she wasn’t yet prepared to write. She imagined saying:
Plans for the Night of the Nightingale are going splendidly! The ballroom has wonderful acoustics, and I think I know just what I’ll sing. We are going to decorate the ballroom like a garden in the moonlight, with flowers, trees, stars, and the moon! We are going to place handbills all over the city! And sell tickets for the show—for four shillings. Almost the cost of an opera box. It will be very exclusive.
Now, I fear I have some disappointing news: the Duke of Valkirk is a dull and unpleasant person. He only speaks a few words at a time and won’t join in any of the games in the sitting room at night. Perhaps because he’s getting old and tired. He has a fine line right across his forehead.
