They were currently about five days into this fortnight.
“And, well, we’re all only young once.” Mrs. Pariseau shrugged one shoulder. “I can sleep whenever I like these days.”
An awkward little silence ensued. Both Angelique and Delilah were just over thirty years old. Neither one of them was inclined to volunteer that their own youthful experiences had been significantly less abandoned.
“That’s quite generous-spirited of you, Mrs. Pariseau,” Angelique finally said. “But good heavens... that is... they’re at it both day and night?” She lowered her voice to a hush, even though the maids were off performing their duties. She tried to keep that frisson of envy out of her tone.
“Whenever you don’t see them in the sitting room, and they haven’t gone out the front door, assume they’re mounting each other,” Mrs. Pariseau confirmed.
Delilah’s shoulders flew up to her ears in a scrunch at the word “mounting.”
“And you know... it’s the same sequence of noises every time. It’s absolutely fascinating,” Mrs. Pariseau mused. “Like a mating call. Many animals have a unique one they use to attract a mate, were you aware?”
There was a silence, as Delilah, Angelique, and Helga all marveled at the store of arcane and occasionally uncomfortable knowledge that Mrs. Pariseau seemed to possess. As a relatively monied widow, she was able to liberally indulge her passion for learning.
They fervently hoped Mrs. Pariseau wouldn’t be inspired to ask “If you had a mating call, what would it be?” in the sitting room.
“Funny thing, however. They were in residence for a few days before it started up,” Mrs. Pariseau added.
They all reflected on this.
“Maybe Corporal Dawson finally found... er, her, you know... ah,it,” Helga whispered.
Delilah nearly choked on her tea.
When Dot entered the kitchen seconds later, she found them all scarlet-faced and muffling snorting laughter in their palms.
“What did Corporal Dawson finally find?” Dot asked.
“Love,” Delilah said firmly at once, wiping tears from her eyes. “Isn’t it lovely that he’s found love with Mrs. Dawson?”
“I suppose it must be,” Dot allowed, somewhat wistfully.
Alexandra could scarcely even hear the cobblestones pass beneath them, so well-sprung, sturdy, and smooth was the carriage. Outside the window, the London streets unfurled as the four matched bays and the skillful driver tookthem to the first of the events during which they would attempt to convincingly portray a devoted married couple, the Earl and Countess of Chisholm’s ball.
Magnus had been out all day, but he’d returned to The Grand Palace on the Thames in time for the cheery ruckus that was dinner.
“You hardly look like a feral beast at all,” was what he’d said when she’d emerged from her room wearing the rose-colored silk about a half hour earlier.
But his pupils had flared to the size of farthings. At least four heartbeats’ worth of utter silence had elapsed before he’d gotten the words out.
She’d almost forgotten the piercing rush of delight that came from experiencing herself as beautiful in a man’s eyes.
Nothing apart from that stillness and pupil flare, however, seemed to interrupt his usual cast-iron composure.
“Thank you, Magnus. No one would mistake you for a beast, either. We’re already winning, I think.”
This exchange had mordantly amused Alexandra. What were the rules when it came to estranged spouses offering each other compliments? They were very careful not to tread over some tacitly understood line of effusiveness.
Whoever was tasked with dressing him understood how to tailor for his body. The fit of his black coat lovingly emphasized his imposing frame and tapered from his vast shoulders to hiships. His shave was fresh and his tawny hair was brushed back off his forehead and some of it was tucked behind his ears. His crisply trimmed side whiskers emphasized his strong jaw and hard, high cheekbones. Silver buttons glinted on his dove-gray waistcoat.
He looked stern and polished and regal and, if she was being honest, scary, in an intriguing way. It made her feel strangely a bit shy. As if this dashing man in this dimly lit carriage was yet another version of Magnus she hadn’t yet met.
He took up most of the carriage seat opposite; he seemed to create his own atmosphere, like incoming weather.
He gazed across at her thoughtfully.
And unswervingly.
