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“The most obvious explanation is that he’s following some sort of religious law. Did he say anything about going to church? Likely he’s a Puritan. Aren’t they terrifyingly severe when it comes to base appetites?”

“I spent almost no time alone with him,” Isidore said, “and if he has converted to a puritanical sect, he neglected to inform me. He arrived at the house party, scooped me up as if I were a parcel he’d left behind, announced that we were to be remarried, and dropped me in London.”

“What do you mean, dropped you in London?” Jemma said, frowning. “Dropped you where?”

“At Nerot’s Hotel,” Isidore said dispiritedly. “We stayed there last night. I hardly need say that we didn’t share a room. He told me—without asking my opinion—that I should wait in the hotel until he returned from his estate.”

Jemma cleared her throat. “Obviously Cosway is not au courant as regards English customs. What did you reply?”

“Not as much or as sharply as you might expect. He assumed that I would unthinkingly obey him, and though I can hardly believe it, I did. Now all I can think of are the cutting things that I should have said.”

“You’ve discovered one of the primary activities of married life, and so quickly too,” Jemma said. “I’ve lost weeks formulating the witty remarks that I should have said to Beaumont.”

“I did manage to tell him that I would stay with you rather than remain in the hotel.”

“Why didn’t you discuss this hotel business on the way to London from the house party?”

It was humiliating to admit the truth of it. “He barely entered the carriage before he fell asleep.”

“Cosway fell asleep after meeting you for the first time? Meeting his wife for the first time?”

Isidore nodded. “I believe the truth of it is that I am not what he expected, Jemma, and certainly not what he wanted. When he arrived, the night before, he seemed taken aback by my gown. I was wearing my silver gown. Do you remember that costume?”

“No one could forget the twist of cloth pretending to be a bodice. I’ve seen larger diamonds.”

“It seemed to me that from the view of convenience, not to mention desire, that the gown was the perfect welcome to a missing husband,” Isidore said with a deep sigh. “When I wore it in Paris, the Comte de Salmont said—well, never mind what he said. My husband just asked if my taste was always this unorthodox. I did not take that to be a compliment. He then retired to bed. By himself, one hardly need add.”

“Few men could resist you in that gown,” Jemma said, a frown pleating her forehead.

“The following morning,” Isidore said with a sniff, “he ordered everything packed up and I barely said goodbye to Harriet before he bundled me into the carriage. Whereupon he went to sleep rather than talk to me. I’ve married a monster!”

“If he is indeed a monster, then you needn’t stay married to him,” Jemma said practically.

“How can I not? He’s planning a wedding celebration in the chapel at Revels House. Which means that I have the prospect of seeing my mother-in-law, a pleasure that I have carefully avoided for years.”

“He is?”

“Oh, Jemma, I forgot to tell you this part! While he was in Africa, he went to the wedding of a princess. It lasted four days. Or perhaps fourteen, with constant feasts and entertainments. I have a terrible suspicion that he’s planning something like that for us.”

“He really doesn’t seem very English, does he?”

“That’s not the most unusual aspect of it,” Isidore said, putting down her handkerchief. “I gather the wedding culminated in an orgy, though given Cosway’s lack of interest in acts of intimacy—at least with me—I would surmise that he does not plan to mimic this particular aspect of the royal wedding.”

“What?”

“An orgy. Not to mention the fact that the participants drank warm blood from a sacrificed cow as part of a fertility ritual.”

Jemma’s mouth fell open. Then she said, “Cosway is holding the wedding celebration at his estate, at Revels House?”

“I expect the Archbishop of Canterbury would look askance at warm blood, don’t you think?”

“And his mother will be there?”

Isidore nodded again.

“Warm blood,” Jemma said. She covered her mouth but a giggle escaped. “Can you just see him passing a cup of that to his mother?”

“The dowager is one of the most upright, English—”