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“Beaumont and I shall be happy to attend.” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to bring her husband’s name into the conversation. It wasn’t as if Elijah didn’t—hadn’t—Elijah himself refused to bed her until the chess game with Villiers was over. He understood the potential that she might have an affaire with Villiers.
Jemma sat for a long time after the door closed behind Villiers and his rose-colored silks…thinking of men. Of husbands, lovers, chess masters, heirs.
Of men.
Chapter Nine
Gore House, Kensington
London Seat of the Duke of Beaumont
February 27, 1784
The next morning
Isidore gave the direction to the groomsman, climbed into the carriage, and started pulling off her gloves.
“Do you always take off your gloves whenever possible?” Simeon asked.
Isidore glanced at him. “You aren’t wearing gloves either.” Nor a cravat, nor a wig, nor a waistcoat, but why indulge in specifics?
“I dislike gloves, and it seems you do as well.”
“Yes,” she admitted.
He leaned forward and took her hand, turned it over. His hand was large and callused, like a working man’s hands. He wore no rings, not even a signet.
“Will you tell my fortune?” she asked.
“I don’t know how. I had my fortune told once in India. The whole experience scared me to death and I never toyed with such people again.”
“What did he say?” It was hard to imagine Cosway, who looked large and fearless, quailing before a fortuneteller.
“He told me that it was up to me to make sure that my fortune didn’t turn out as he prophesied.”
Isidore succumbed to curiosity. “Please tell!”
He shook his head. “Maybe when we’re old and gray.”
“If we’re old and gray together!” she pointed out.
“Are you angry at me because I didn’t return when you came of age or because I’m offering you the chance now to annul the marriage?”
“I’m not angry with you,” Isidore said, withdrawing her hand. Her voice sounded petulant, but she felt out of her depth with this huge man.
Shamefully, she kept looking at him and thinking virgin? How could he be a virgin? He looked all man, all male…
She could feel her cheeks getting pink.
“Or are you angry at me because I’m not knowledgeable about conjugal intimacies?”
“No!” she said, turning to the window. “Look, Cosway, we’re passing by Somerset House. If you crane your neck you might see the loggia on the south terrace. It was just finished…The Inns of Court are very close now.”
It was barely an hour before they were back in the carriage again. Isidore was in shock.
“I just can’t believe it!” she said. “You ought to be able to annul a marriage easily on the grounds of nonconsummation. I’m sure everyone told me so a thousand times over the past few years.”
Her husband raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea that people were so interested in the state of our bedchamber.”
