Page 26 of His Illegitimate Duchess

Talbot said nothing, but his face was no longer as open as it had been during their teasing.

“It’s no wheel of cheese, though,” Elizabeth said, in an attempt to make him smile.

When he did, she exhaled in relief. They were both silent for a while, then Elizabeth spoke again.

“If I ask you a question, will you respond honestly?”

She could tell he was surprised. “I shall attempt to.”

“I’m not going to ask you anything untoward about yourself, don’t worry.”

“There is nothing untoward about me,” he replied dryly, but his lips twitched in that amused way she was already familiar with.

Elizabeth nervously ran her tongue over her teeth.

“When we spoke the first time, the real first time… What you said about my brother having a mistress, was it true?”

“Miss Elizabeth… why are you asking me this now?”

Elizabeth looked away from his stern eyes, suddenly caught off guard by the sound of her name in his voice.

“I’ve wanted to ask you ever since we were introduced, but I felt embarrassed, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know.” She took a deep breath to stop rambling. “Now, I feel like I can ask. We’re friends.”

“We’re friends,” he echoed, but it sounded a little like a question, so Lizzie nodded.

“Very well then,” Talbot straightened up. “To my knowledge, your brother did have a mistress before his marriage, and the house you now live in did, indeed, at one point, belong to her. As far as I know, he has no mistress now.”

Elizabeth’s whole body relaxed and sagged, and Talbot tightened his hold on it.

“You are aware that many men do, though,” he said gently.

“I think no one knows that better than I do, Your Grace,” she said ruefully, and he inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“It’s the way of the world.”

“For unmarried men, I can perhaps understand it,” she conceded reluctantly, but Talbot frowned.

“It is a gentleman’s prerogative, married or not.”

“But a gentleman is supposed to be honourable and honest, is he not?”

“There’s nothing dishonest about a social custom. If one has society’s permission to behave a certain way, then I see no problem with it.”

“Aren’t there things that are right and things that are wrong, despite what society may think?”

“I haven’t found that to be the case,” Talbot said nonchalantly.

“When my friend Mary got married, I was in attendance,” Elizabeth said, “and during the ceremony, the parson was reading something about marriage and asking them questions and -”

“It’s called the Solemnization of Matrimony, Miss Hawkins,” Talbot corrected, unhelpfully.

“Well, since you know the name, do you remember what they each promise?”

Talbot briefly closed his eyes and then recited, “The man vows to love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep himself only unto her, so long as they both shall live.”

“So he promises to forsake other women and keep himself only unto her? He gives his word as a gentleman?”

Talbot’s face showed how much he disliked her reasoning, so she decided not to bring up the part about the man endowing his wife with all his worldly goods, for the time being.

“I don’t understand why you are vexing me with this particular issue,” he said, taking great care to appear extremely irritated. “I have no wife to lie to, and my… friends are always widowed, so there is no problem on that end either.”

“Unless your arrangement produces any by-blows,” Elizabeth protested, any and all sense of propriety that Lady Burnham had tried to impart to her long forgotten.

“Well, it seems that we have found one thing we can agree on,” Talbot replied solemnly, and they both sank into silence. Elizabeth wondered how he could speak so confidently about not fathering children.

“Miss Hawkins,” he said after a while, smugly, as if certain he’d found a flaw in her argument, “at a wedding, the wife promises to obey and serve her husband for as long as they both shall live. Can you honestly claim you intend to fulfil such a promise to your future husband, with that temper of yours?”

Elizabeth lifted her chin in defiance, perhaps contradicting her next statement with that gesture, “Yes; if he fulfils his part of the vows, why not?”

“Hmph,” the Duke emitted a noise that was part disbelief, part disdain.

“You don’t understand,” Lizzie struggled to explain, but gave up. “I shall not be able to bear it if my husband has another,” she finally admitted.

“You’re jealous?” the Duke seemed incredulous.

Jealousy was considered a base, unattractive emotion by his kind, but Lizzie couldn’t find the strength to care.

“So much that I’m afraid of myself,” Elizabeth whispered as her father’s hand holding a much smaller one flashed before her eyes.

Neither said anything for a while. Then Elizabeth spoke again.

“If you were courting a lady who’d had an unusual childhood, would you rather hear about it or should she keep it to herself?”

“Am I correct in assuming you are wondering how much of your… eccentric upbringing to reveal to the Corporal?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth breathed. It felt good to speak openly. “He sometimes asks about my childhood, and I need a man’s opinion on which degree of openness is appropriate.”

“You forget that I’m not a man, but a duke.”

Elizabeth frowned.

“You’re a man who is a duke. Forget the title for a moment.”

“You are mistaken, Miss Hawkins, I cannot set it aside, since the man and the title are one.”

“You are not helping me.”

“Give me a moment.”

Talbot closed his eyes, and his whole being seemed focused on the difficult task of imagining himself as a mere mortal, as daunting as it was.

“I would want to own every part of my wife, including all her stories,” he said into Elizabeth’s ear, and she shivered.

Confused, she lifted her heavy-lidded eyes and gazed up at him. He seemed stunned by his own confession, but quickly reverted to his ironic self.

“A lesser man, however, might not like it. Especially one with a country breeding. Remain clever, Miss Hawkins, and keep the darkest parts of yourself to yourself.”

“Is that what you plan on doing once you’re wed?” Elizabeth asked, truly curious.

“Sadly, our dance has come to an end, Miss Hawkins,” Talbot said as the music stopped.

He led her off the dance floor, towards her next partner, Earl Sinclair’s younger brother.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening,” he said with a bow, and then was gone.

Both the dance and the conversation during it were pleasant and predictable. The younger Sinclair was very much like his older brother. Lizzie wondered whether he was mentally comparing her to Charlotte.

He led her to the refreshments afterwards, where she met Miss Woodhouse and Lady Fairchild.

“Amelia, Elinor,” Elizabeth greeted them quietly, still insecure about their recent agreement to address each other by their given names.

Mary had laughed at her excitement over such an (in her eyes) insignificant thing, but to Elizabeth, it had been a sign of true acceptance.

“Elizabeth,” Amelia said nervously, the red splotches of colour on her face and neck betraying her panic, “I just danced with Corporal Harding. Did you tell him about my comment about the cow sales?”

Elizabeth froze. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I did mention it to him during our dance. Are you upset with me?”

Elinor blinked as she looked between her two friends with worry creasing her brow.

“No! I’m…” Amelia stopped and took a deep breath. “It was a surprise to hear him mention it, but ultimately, it was refreshing to talk to someone openly about that.”

Lizzie understood the sentiment very well, but still chastised herself for betraying her friend’s confidence so unthinkingly.

“I wonder what it would be like not having to always worry about saying the right thing,” Elinor said and then shook her head immediately. “Best not to even think about it.”