The Duchess War

Glances were exchanged among men, as if they were all afraid to get it wrong. After a few moments, a man in the back diffidently raised his hand. Robert nodded to him.

“Your Grace,” the man asked, “why did you marry Minerva Lane?”

“I wanted a duchess who was beautiful, clever, and brave more than I wanted one who was well-born. I didn’t need money. The fact that I was also in love with her was a welcome bonus.” Robert indicated another man. “You’re next.”

“Does she wear the trousers in your marriage?”

It was a question Robert suspected he’d hear again and again, over and over, until he answered it to everyone’s satisfaction.

“Do you want to know the first thing she did with my money?” Robert asked. “She visited a modiste in Paris.”

That brought a chuckle.

“Trust me,” Robert said, “anyone who looks as lovely as my wife does in skirts and a corset has no intention of wearing trousers.”

Heads bent, scribbling down those words.

Minnie had been right. They have a pattern in their mind for what a woman should be, she’d said. On the one hand, it’s a pack of lies. But you can use those lies against them. Show them that I match the pattern in one respect, and they’ll not question whether I am different in another. She had smiled. In my case, it’s quite simple. I like pretty clothing. If we can make them see that, they’ll not ask about anything else.

“This is all well and good,” another man said when Robert called on him, “but do you believe that the young Minerva Lane induced her father to defraud others, that she was the cause of his conviction and untimely death? And if so, has she repented of it?”

Robert gritted his teeth, felt his temper rise, but he forced himself to calmness. “No,” he said. “Her father opened the false accounts. Her father told lies to his compatriots when she was not present. Common sense suggests that when he was caught and faced the gallows, he was willing to tell another lie to save himself, no matter who it harmed.

“The Duchess of Clermont has suffered enough for her father’s falsehoods,” he said. “In this, I must claim the right of husband.” He smiled tightly. “And so I’ll beat the stuffing out of anyone who suggests otherwise.”

His pronouncement was met by the sound of a dozen pens scratching against paper.

If you say that, Minnie had said, you know you’ll have to do it. At least once.

He was looking forward to it.

“Speaking of whom,” Robert said, “I do believe it’s time for me to fetch her.”

He turned around, aware of the soft susurrus that arose behind him. He opened the side door and stepped through.

Minnie was waiting in the adjacent room, hands clasped, pacing from side to side.

He stopped at the sight of her. She was wearing a gown he’d never seen before—one that had, no doubt, been commissioned in Paris between bouts of lovemaking. It was a brilliant crimson in color, the kind of gown that would draw every eye. She was laced tightly, emphasizing her curves. And she was wearing the rubies he’d given her.

She had a black lace shawl looped over her arms, which were otherwise bare, and flowers in her hair. But to all this, she’d added something he’d only seen in paintings from the last century. She’d added a simple black beauty patch at the corner of her mouth. It drew the eye to her scar, made that web of white across her cheek seem like a purposeful decoration instead of a reminder of a senseless act of violence. The very modernity of her gown, coupled with that antique fashion, made her seem like a creature from no century at all.

He realized that he’d stopped dead, staring.

“You know, Minnie,” he said, slightly hoarse, “you’re ravishing.”

“Am I? Your mother hates the patch,” she said. “Are there many of them?”

He went to her. “Almost twenty. But I’ve done my best to frighten them into civility. Are you sure you want to do this?”

She drew in breath; that diamond shuddered on her bosom. “Positive.”

He took her hand. “Because I’m willing to send them to the devil…”

Her palm was cold, clammy, her breath a little rapid.

“…and I’ll be here by your side the entire time,” he said. “Nobody will come close. I promise.”

“I know.” She squeezed his hand and then, together, they walked back to the front parlor. She paused in the entrance. He wasn’t even sure if it was nerves that stopped her or if she simply wanted to make an impression.

In any event, it was clear that she had. The men let out little gasps of disbelief—as if they expected, somehow, that she would have shown up at the door in coat and trousers. And then they scrambled to their feet.

Minnie smiled. Robert, holding her hand, could feel her pulse racing in her wrist, could feel her fingers digging into his palm as all those eyes fell on her. He knew how much that smile cost her. He also knew that if they’d shouted at that moment, if they’d made any noise at all like a mob, she might have passed out right then. Instead, the men were silent as death, not wanting to be tossed out.

He conveyed her to the divan at the head of the room, seated her, and then sat himself.

The divan was on a little bit of a raised platform.

Minnie looked around, taking them all in. “Well,” she said. “I suppose this is as close as I’ll come to a throne.”

That drew a surprised laugh from the crowd.

“You’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen.” Her voice was quiet, so quiet that everyone strained forward to hear her. “I’ve asked for silence. My voice is not loud, and I am nervous.”

A hand went up at that. “Are you afraid of what truths we might uncover?”

A bold question to pose to her face. Minnie didn’t flinch.

“No,” she responded simply. “My fear is more primal in origin. When I was twelve…” She paused, took a measured breath, and continued. “Well, I believe you all know what happened when I was twelve, from my father’s statement in the courtroom to the mob that surrounded me afterward. They left me with this scar.” She touched her cheek. “Ever since then, large groups have made me faint of breath. I cannot bear to have so many eyes looking at me without remembering that time. In fact, I’m grateful for you all taking shorthand. It’s far better than having you stare at me en masse.” She said it with a deprecating smile, but her fingers were still tightly clenched around Robert’s.