“And that made the experience more pleasant?”
“Pleasant?” She regarded Alice sympathetically. “That husband of yours really deserved a horsewhipping. No, my dear, ‘pleasant’ is far too bland a word. It became . . . glorious. Sometimes earthy, sometimes raw, sometimes sublime and always splendid. A true physical expression of Peplowe’s and my love for each other.”
Alice tried to swallow. A lump had formed in her throat. She half wanted to cry, which made no sense to her.
The fresh tea arrived, and while Alice poured and added milk and stirred in a sugar lump, she managed to get control of her emotions.
Lady Peplowe drank some tea, set her cup down and sat back. “So, my dear, now that you know, what are you going to do?”
“Do?”
“To experience for yourself some of the physical splendor your abominable husband denied you, of course.”
Alice picked up her teacup, unable to think of an answer. What was she going to do? She had no idea.
“I’ve noticed Lord Tarrant has a certain gleam in his eye whenever he looks at you. I’ll be bound a fine, strapping lad like that will know how to introduce a woman to the bliss of the bedchamber.”
Alice almost choked on a mouthful of tea. “No, no, you have it wrong. I have no intention of—of—”
“Discovering what it’s all about? Nonsense! For nearly twenty years you did your duty to a selfish, undeserving bully, and now it’s time you paid attention to your own needs and desires. Or allowed someone else to. Get that gel of yours fired off in style and then see to your own pleasure and satisfaction.” She sipped her tea and eyed Alice over the rim of her teacup. “If you don’t, you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering.”
* * *
* * *
It took Alice a whole day and night to make up her mind. Lady Peplowe’s words kept coming back to haunt her: If you don’t, you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering.
She was still far from convinced that she could experience anything like the pleasure Lady Peplowe had described. After all, Thaddeus had kept the same mistress for twenty years, and he’d obviously been satisfied with her responses in bed—and presumably she with his.
It seemed clear to Alice that she’d been the one lacking.
And if that were the case, how dreadful would it be to experience it all again after she married Lord Tarrant. James. The thought of his gradual disillusion, his growing disappointment in her, was more than she could bear.
One unsatisfied, embittered husband was enough for a lifetime.
Oh, James was no bully, as Thaddeus had been, but any man surely would come to resent a wife who was cold in bed.
But to spend the rest of her life wondering—that was no solution to her problem.
James had offered her the prospect of bliss—and she wasn’t even talking about the bedroom. Companionship, and the chance to be mother to three delightful little girls—all her girlhood dreams revived. Well, most of them. One had to cut one’s coat to fit the cloth. Half a loaf and all that.
Not that James was half of anything. The way he made her feel, that lurking twinkle in his eye. He could meet her gaze, even in a roomful of other people, and make her feel as though just the two of them were present. The way he so often seemed to understand more than she was saying and accept whatever it revealed about her. He could even make her laugh when she was feeling down and despondent.
Only a few weeks ago she’d been facing a lonely future, relishing the thought of her freedom but unsure about what she wanted to do with it.
And then . . . James.
He was offering marriage, family and companionship. Of course he was being practical: he wanted a mother for his girls—what widower wouldn’t? And if her feelings for him were stronger than his for her, did that really matter?
How cowardly, and foolish, to reject all that because she believed she couldn’t satisfy him in the bedroom. Surely it would be better to find out once and for all. What did she have to lose?
It went against the habit of a lifetime to consider what she was considering, but she could see no other solution. This endless dithering was driving her crazy. With that thought in mind, she sat down and penned a note to Lord Tarrant, asking him to call on her at his earliest convenience.
* * *
* * *
He came the following morning, bringing with him the three little girls and their nanny. “I hope you don’t mind my bringing the girls,” he said once the chaos of their arrival had passed. “They’d already been asking could they visit you and Miss Bamber—and the garden—again, and Nanny McCubbin seems to have found a bosom friend in Mrs. Tweed and—”
“It’s perfectly all right,” she assured him. After a hasty greeting, the girls had rushed out to join Lucy in the garden, and their nanny had headed off to the kitchen for a cup of tea. “As I said before, they’re welcome at any time. Lucy and I love having the girls visit, and Mrs. Tweed enjoys Mrs. McCubbin’s company. She even lets Mrs. McCubbin help her in the kitchen—a great and rarely bestowed honor, I’ll have you know.”
“You’re very kind. My own house has very little garden—it’s just a courtyard with a couple of aspidistras and a few kitchen herbs—so the girls see your garden as some kind of paradise.”
“It is a kind of paradise, and I’m very happy to share it. Tell me, how did you manage to pry Debo away from her cat?”
“Separate Debo and Mittens?” he said in mock horror. “Perish the thought.” Then, in response to her raised brow, he added, “Can’t be done, I’m afraid. Debo will go nowhere without her cat.”
“But—”
“Oh, she’s here all right, with the kitten—which you might not have noticed was traveling as an indignant bulge under her coat, Mittens having a strong dislike of the carriage.”
“But if she lets it out in the garden . . .” Alice had visions of the kitten disappearing forever.
“Did I ever explain what a superlative nanny Nanny McCubbin is? She made a harness for Mittens, and then told Debo that she’d never manage to teach the cat to wear it—that cats cannot be trained.”
“Oh, how clever. Of course, Debo rose to the challenge.”
“Indeed she did, and it was a battle of wills that lasted several days and entertained us all. But now Mittens is out in your garden, wearing an elegant red harness as if to the manner born—Debo not having sufficient confidence in the manners of that ginger tom toward visiting kittens.”
Alice laughed.
“Now, what was it you wanted to speak to me about?”