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Chapter 9

The Birds and the Bees

“I require your assistance,” Effie said to the boys that night after dinner as they settled themselves in the drawing room with a bottle of port. They were alone. Julianna, pleading a headache he suspected was not real, had excused herself.

“I’ve already written to Stanhope as you asked,” Simon said.

Effie had forgotten that he’d asked Simon to inquire about a hand press. That conversation, conducted before Julianna’s arrival on the scene, seemed a lifetime ago. “Not that, though I do appreciate it. I require your assistance in . . . matters of a more delicate nature.”

“All right.”

Effie brushed an imaginary piece of lint off his sleeve. “I think Miss Evans and I will lie together this evening.”

The boys whooped and made predictable, good-natured jeers. He had expected nothing less.

“Yes, yes. Now that you’ve got that out of the way, help me!”

Archie refilled their glasses. “What seems to be the problem?”

“I . . . don’t know how to do it.”

“What do you mean you don’t know how to do it?” Simon asked.

“I never have,” Effie said.

It took the boys a moment to absorb that fact. To their credit, neither laughed. Simon set down his newspaper, and Archie said, “I suppose that makes sense, given what you told us the other day about your history with love and desire.”

“I am acquainted with the mechanics of the act,” Effie said, “but I feel certain there is more to it than mechanics.”

“ That is certainly true,” Simon said, and Effie was surprised. He would have expected such a declaration from Archie, who was utterly besotted with his wife.

“So? What do I do?”

“She may have some advice,” Archie said.

“Really?” He had not considered that.

“Well, she is a decade older than you, is she not?” Archie asked.

“You think she...?”

Archie shrugged. “If she has, you ought to take her advice over ours. She will know what would be most . . . expedient.”

“Is expediency what I’m to aim for?”

“No!” Archie said rather vehemently.

“All right. Should I tell her I am a virgin?” Effie asked. “I get the impression it’s something I’m meant to be ashamed of, but I don’t understand why. We prize virginity in ladies; why not in gentlemen?”

Archie chuckled. “You and Clementine ought to talk.”

“What do you mean?”

“She and I had many discussions over the concept of ruination when we were trying to shield her and Olive from that same fate last year. Why is it when a woman lies with a man to whom she is not married, she is ruined yet that same man is not?”

“An excellent question,” Effie said, feeling a mite frustrated. Thinking about poetry was so much easier than trying to puzzle through these sorts of thorny societal questions.

“As an aside,” Simon said, “perhaps our fixation on protecting the Morgan sisters from ruination last year explains why we were so invested in the idea of protecting Miss Evans’s reputation this year.” He smirked. “These trips do, of late, seem to be plagued with women on the verge of ruination.”

“Don’t they, though?” Archie said. He turned to Effie. “As to your dilemma, will you allow me to give you some advice?”

“Allow you? That is why I am here.”

“I suggest you regard your primary role as bringing pleasure to Miss Evans.”

“Yes, that is what I regard as my primary role. I just don’t know how to do it.” He refrained from rolling his eyes but only just. Here he’d thought Archie was so worldly, so wise. Effie had expected to be in receipt of actionable advice.

“The mechanical act, conducted in a merely cursory fashion, will very likely not achieve your aim,” Archie said.

“All right,” Effie said, no longer bothering to conceal his frustration. “What will, then?”

“A woman has a . . . bud.”

“A woman has a bud?”

“Perhaps it’s better thought of as a button.”

“A button! As on a shirt?”

“No, not that kind of button.”

“A larger button as on a boot?”

“No, no. Bud. Bud is better.”

“Like a flower?”

“Not exactly.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake! “Will you speak plainly?” Effie turned and shot a quelling look at Simon, who was snickering.

“It is a nub of flesh,” Archie finally said. “It is very sensitive.” He explained how to find it, and Effie wondered if he ought to have brought a quill and paper, for it was sounding as if a map might be indicated. After a detour to warn against the dangers of getting a lady with child if one—or one’s lady—had no desire to do so, Archie went on to explain how a man was meant to stimulate the nub in order to bring pleasure.

“This is the part where I suggest you speak to Miss Evans. Different ladies will have different preferences as to how much, and what kind, of pressure they prefer.”

“And what about for how long?”

“How do you mean?”

“How long am I meant to . . . apply pressure.”

“Oh, until the lady finds her release.”

“What do you mean?”

“Effie, the night we arrived, you explained to us that you generally didn’t feel desire.”

“Oh, I do now, though.” That was understating the matter entirely.

“Right. Well, had you, previously, ever . . .”

Effie knew what he meant. “Yes, of course. I’m not completely daft. I just never had the desire to do so in the company of another person before now.”

“It is the same for ladies. Well, not precisely the same, but analogous.” Archie went on to explain the mechanics of the female release.

Effie was dumbfounded. “Why did no one ever tell me about this?” He turned to Simon, who had been watching the exchange with poorly concealed amusement. “Did you know about this?”

“I did.”

“Does everyone know about this?”

“I think not,” Archie said. “Not all gentlemen, anyway. Or if they do, they don’t care to concern themselves with it.”

“Because of what you said,” Effie said. “Because the female release is not necessary to the . . . proceedings.”

“Correct. And perhaps also because the release in question can be elusive. One must apply oneself. Be prepared to settle in, perhaps for quite a while.”

Effie could think of nothing more enjoyable than applying himself to Julianna for quite a while.

“I would suggest, though,” Simon went on, “that the gentleman who does pay attention, who devotes himself to the cultivation of the female release, will be greatly appreciated by the female in question.”

“I quite agree,” Archie said.

“Good. Good.” This was the kind of information Effie needed. He still could not believe that he had attained eight-and-twenty years with no knowledge of this world of feminine mystery.

It occurred to Effie to wonder how Simon knew to make such a suggestion. Archie they had both seen making a fool of himself over Clementine last fall—and in the months sense. But what lady had been the recipient of all this knowledge of Simon’s?

“How are you, Simon?” Effie asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“How have you been? What is new in your life?”

“I am fine. Nothing is new.”

“Are you sure?”

“What are you on about?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Effie paused, ashamed that he had been so self-centered this trip. They’d talked and talked and talked about him and his woes, but he hadn’t asked Simon a single question. He racked his brain. “The gaols act! That is new, isn’t it?”

“You want to talk about the gaols act? Talking about parliamentary matters is against the rules of Earls Trip, is in not?”

“That never stopped you before.”

“Effie, why don’t you just go to Miss Evans?”

Effie looked at Archie, who nodded his agreement and said, “We will still be here in the morning for you to interrogate.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

* * *