And now…

Now he was the only person in the world other than herself who had apparently loved Benjamin. And she didn’t hate him anymore.

She walked into his room and was happy to find him clothed and sitting up rather than lying down. She walked over and threw herself into the armchair opposite him and stretched out her legs.

“Nicely done,” he said, eyeing her. “There is a certain lanky freedom about your legs that certainly bespeaks the male. How is it with the young woman who woos you?”

“Unfortunately, I had to disclose a sad fact to her.”

“That you had no equipment to pleasure her with?”

“Precisely.”

“Did she tell everyone you’re a woman?”

“In fact, she thinks I’m a eunuch.”

His smile was delighted. “A eunuch! How in the bloody hell did you supposedly come to that sorry state?”

“We left it vague,” Harriet said, grinning back at him. “An accident or some such.”

“Some such! Most men spend a good part of their waking hours making sure that no such accident comes near their privates.”

“She wept for me.”

“Slayer of a young lady’s heart,” Villiers said with satisfaction. “I’ve loosed a monster on Strange’s household.”

“She didn’t appear at supper at all,” Harriet reported.

“Pining in her room, unable to eat.”

“I doubt that,” Harriet said, picturing Kitty’s abundant flesh. “But she may have taken consolation elsewhere.”

“Any other exciting events?” he enquired.

“Do you remember that I was wooing Lord Strange on behalf of Nell?”

“With poetry?”

“Exactly. I introduced her as the author of the said poetry and left them together at the table.”

“It will come to nothing. Strange never dabbles,” Villiers said. “Now I am a dabbler. It took me a few years to understand that though he surrounds himself with beautiful women who could certainly be labeled loose, he never takes advantage.”

“How odd,” Harriet said.

“He was wild to a fault after coming down from Oxford,” Villiers said. “We were there together and I had some adventures of my own, but nothing like Jem. He was in a fair way to getting the title of the worst rakehell yet to grace London; he belonged to every one of the various clubs that delighted in women.”

“Were you also a member of those clubs?” Harriet asked curiously.

“I’m a chess man,” Villiers said, shrugging. “I find an unadorned array of female breasts tiresome, if you’ll forgive my bluntness.”

“I’m sure I would feel the same about the more interesting parts of males. Although,” she added, “I might gawk for a few nights first.”

He snorted. “You surprise me. Did you show this side of yourself to Benjamin?”

“Do you think it would have interested him?”

He was silent. “No. He must have been a dreadful spouse, now I think it over. Do you suppose I shall be as bad?”

“I have no idea.”

“I do wish to marry someday,” Villiers said. “And foolish though it may seem, I would like it to be a happy marriage. So please, give me some advice.”

“Don’t ever recount a chess game to a woman when you’re in bed together, no matter how splendidly you performed.”

“My goal in bed is always splendid performance,” Villiers murmured.

Harriet rolled her eyes. “Pretend that chess is not your life’s breath and blood, the reason for living—” She broke off. “It won’t work, you know. Perhaps you could find someone like Jemma, someone who likes chess too. Then the two of you could sit together and mumble, ‘Bishop to King’s Four,’ when you’re too old for other activities.”

“I tried to fascinate Jemma,” he said. “But then I found an odd qualm in me about Beaumont, since we were old friends. The end of my sorry tale is that I heroically refused Jemma’s advances, then changed my mind and found myself wounded by her brother before I had a chance to impress her with my charms. I intend to make another foray when I am completely well.”

“She’ll probably enjoy a recital of chess moves,” Harriet said. “But if you wish to marry—and I believe that is what you said—you need someone else. Jemma is surprisingly married, more so all the time. But I came to tell you that we leave tomorrow morning. Isidore has discovered she is not nearly as prone to dissolute behavior as she believed.”

“That is true of many ladies,” Villiers observed. “Whereas you, on the other hand, look to have happily settled into life as a rake.”

“It’s lovely,” Harriet admitted. “I loathe panniers, powder, wigs, and all the rest of it. I haven’t been so happy in years.”

Villiers narrowed his eyes. “There’s something different about you—” he sat up. “I believe you have succumbed to the intoxicating air of the Strange household. Someone has discovered your true sex.”

She smiled faintly but said nothing, just stood up to leave. She gave him her best bow, the one that ended with a flourish of her right hand.

“Not bad,” Villiers said. And then: “Are you certain you wish to leave with Isidore? You’re quite welcome to stay as my ward, you know. I should be on my feet tomorrow, if all continues well.”

But Harriet was sure. There was nothing real about what had happened at Fonthill, with Jem. It was deliriously wonderful. It taught her things about men and women and her body. But her life was at home, not dressed up in breeches.

“This has been a wonderful few days,” she said, meaning it. “I was able to finally bury Benjamin, if that makes sense.”

He inclined his head. “And you’re quite certain you wish to leave whomever it is?”

“Quite certain,” she said steadily. “I must return to real life.” She smiled at him. “I will never dress myself as Mother Goose again.”

There was an answering smile in his eyes.

She left.

Eugenia was building a castle out of pasteboard when Harriet made her way through the footman standing guard and into the nursery. She dropped to the floor next to the castle. It was remarkably good. The walls were cut with fair precision, and glued together. Eugenia had drawn little blocks to represent bricks. And there was a tower and battlements.

“That’s wonderful,” Harriet said. “What comes next? And how’s your rat bite?”

Eugenia looked up. “It’s you! I was hoping you would visit. Look what I’m making.”

“A castle,” Harriet said.

“I made the castle before,” Eugenia said impatiently. “But I’m going to have a battle, so I’m making the soldiers now.”

She was cutting out little men and placing them around the battlements. “I was going to have the Saracens attack, but I changed my mind.”

“An army of dogs?” Harriet said, seeing what was arranged outside the castle.

“Rats!” Eugenia said proudly. “See their tails? It’s hard to cut out tails. I had to set up a hospital for all the wounded rats because my scissors kept slipping.” Sure enough, there was a careful little pile of mangled rats off to the side.

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