“I’m not entirely sure you understand the significance of what I am telling you. All of a woman’s power, from the time she is in her father’s care, to when she passes to her husband’s care,is concentrated in this short period where she has the right of choice, again, to some degree. Make sure to use it wisely, Lady Elizabeth.”
Lizzie pressed her mouth in a determined, firm line and nodded.
“Now, a man may court several women at once, and a lady can receive attentions from several men as well. As long as everything remains within the boundaries of propriety and as long as equal attention is paid to everyone, nothing is considered settled. But there are certain actions that indicate a higher level of commitment or seriousness.”
Lizzie leaned in, enthralled by all this new information.
“If a man wishes to strengthen his connexion with a lady, he might ask her to allow him to write to her. Men have the prerogative to be effusive and open about their feelings in writing. I’d advise you to continue being reserved and modest even in your letters, since you never know the hands they might fall into,” she said gravely. “A gentleman may send flowers or gifts after that. Some ladies gift their suitors locks of hair,” Lady Burnham said, and the way she twisted her mouth told Elizabeth her opinion on that more clearly than any words ever could.
“Other things that show particular attention between a couple are a lady refusing to dance with anyone else or sitting next to each other at the opera. And then, like I’ve already told you, if a man declares himself and his offer of matrimony is accepted, it is out of your hands once more. He would deal with your brother from that point on: they would draw up the marriage settlement, discuss your inheritance and allowance, even transfer your dowry to your husband.”
Upon hearing all of this, Elizabeth vowed to herself to fully use the power of refusal for as long as it was available to her in order to make the right choice. She'd choose the least offensive option among those available to her. A man who was kind, not too old, and definitely not a drunk or a gambler. She'd seen enough of those in her old neighbourhood.
She knew her looks were pleasing enough, and her brother had endowed her with a remarkably generous dowry. She often whispered the amount to herself when she was alone in her room. She suspected it was close to Charlotte's, if not the same. She would make a respectable, proper, uneventful life for herself and her future children. Love never even entered her consideration. Love was for girls who had nothing to prove.
Chapter 4
September 1819
“What are you saying, Your Grace?” Lady Genevieve asked with tears shimmering in her beautiful eyes, but Talbot failed to be moved. He dispassionately watched the knuckles on her slender fingers turn white as she gripped the heavy gold bracelet his valet had selected as a parting gift for her.
“I am saying that our association has come to an end, Lady Genevieve. I wish you the best in all your future endeavours,” he replied.
“I don't understand, have I done something to displease you?”
“Nothing like that. The time has come for both of us to move on, as simple as that.”
“You know how I feel for you, Colin, I thought you felt the same,” she sobbed.
And there it was, the real reason for ending the association. Like all the other women Duke Talbot had had the pleasureof associating with over the years, Lady Sinclair had (during a particularly passionate bout of lovemaking) blurted out that she loved him.
His women were always widowed, genteel, and beautiful, but the duke of Norwich never harboured any deeper feelings for any of them. He’d fancied himself in love once – the summer his mother’s bewitching friend had introduced him to the ecstasy of copulation.
The more experienced woman had laughed when he'd declared himself to her (during a particularly passionate bout of lovemaking).
“Calf love,” she’d called it. “It’s nothing time won’t heal,” she’d said, and she'd been right.
Talbot shuddered at the thought of what his life would be like today if Lady Violet Turner hadn’t been so opposed to the idea of remarrying.
“The idea of shackling myself to another husband is most disagreeable to me. Isn’t it better like this?” She’d whispered into his ear as she dragged her palm down his naked chest while they relaxed in bed next to each other, “Freely enjoying all that life has to offer?”
The truth was, even if Lady Genevieve hadn't said what she'd said, their days together had already been numbered. Lately, the young duke had been feeling restless.
It had all started last year with that simpleton Hawkins lecturinghimon loyalty and love as athank youfor Talbot’s efforts to save him from himself. The dark, mad, terrifying things that Colin had known about love ever since he was a child would give oldNicholas nightmares, but Talbot wisely kept that knowledge to himself.
Perhaps it was time to select a bride this Season. He was eight and twenty, rich, titled, and had repeatedly been calledgood-lookingby a number of ladies. It was time to enter matrimony, produce an heir for his prosperous estates, attend the appropriate events and functions with his perfect bride (a daughter of a peer, naturally), and continue living his life as he saw fit in between those things.
It’s grand to be me, the inappropriate thought ambushed him as Genevieve continued to cry inconsolably.
“Goodbye, Lady Genevieve,” he said as he stood to leave. He heard something hit the door after he closed it – perhaps a slipper, or the bracelet, but he couldn't spare any more thoughts on that. He had to go meet Pratt and Stone at the gentleman's club, and in the afternoon, he'd go through his stack of invitations and decide his next move.
The company of
His Grace, Duke Colin Talbot
is requested at
His Grace Duke Nicholas Hawkins’s home
