Funny—she’d always like Miss Pettigrew. Honored her for her commitment to children’s learning. But today Miss Pettigrew seemed like a lonely, unclaimed spinster, dressed in gray with a high collar and her hair all in braids, with her clipped way of speaking and little humorous asides. She had never been kissed. She didn’t understand the way the world looked, gray if Henrietta considered the days before Darby arrived in Limpley Stoke, and shot with color yesterday and today.
The liquid warmth inside Henrietta’s belly spread a little further as she walked outside the schoolhouse and looked casually down the street. Darby was nowhere to be seen, but of course, she had told him she might be an hour. Her heart thumped, thinking of him. He was so beautiful. It was astounding to imagine that he cared for her at all. That he wanted to kiss her.
Best of all was the fact that he didn’t mind marrying her, even though they couldn’t have children. Just as soon as he asked her to marry him, she would dash up to Esme’s nursery and start getting to know Josie and Anabel—as their mother. Because that’s what she was going to be: a wife and a mother.
Her heart sang with the happiness of it all.
16
Biology Is Not a Polite Subject of Conversation
“Mr. Darby, I must share some very unfortunate information with you,” Lady Holkham said bluntly.
“I am well aware that Henrietta cannot bear children,” he said soothingly. “I assure you that it is not of the slightest concern to me. I have never wished for offspring, and besides, I have two small sisters to raise. I am certain that Henrietta will be a wonderful mother to Josie and Anabel.”
“You don’t understand,” Lady Holkham replied. “Lady Henrietta is not merely unable to bear children.” She stopped.
He frowned, unable to guess what she was implying. She sat bolt upright, looking at him as if she had imparted something of great import.
“She is not merely unable to bear children,” he repeated.
“Yes!” she snapped.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I am not following your train of thought, my lady.” The issue was clearly one that the dowager countess would rather not say aloud.
She cleared her throat. “Henrietta cannot carry a child.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I do not mean that she would be unable to conceive that child,” she finally said painstakingly. “I mean that in the event that she became quick with child, the child would kill her. And it is entirely likely that the child would die as well. It is a miracle that Henrietta herself survived birth; her mother was not so fortunate.”
He swallowed. “How on earth can you predict such an event? Her mother’s story is unfortunate, but not unusual.”
“Surely you have noticed that Henrietta limps?”
He nodded.
“Her mother had precisely the same condition. It was that hip misplacement that made Henrietta’s mother unable to give birth to the child she carried. Every doctor we have consulted has predicted that Henrietta will encounter the same problem.”
“Have you seen doctors in London?”
“Not in London, but several good men in this area. And they all agreed. This is partly my fault,” Lady Holkham continued. “Henrietta knows, of course, that she should not bear children. However, I only realized today that she may not realize the ramifications of her condition. In other words, your disinclination to have children seemed to solve the problem. She does not realize that marriage brings with it certain responsibilities.” She said the word responsibilities with a bleak distaste that said volumes.
She meant intercourse, clearly. With one part of his brain Darby noted that Lady Holkham’s distaste for the marital act had probably led to a lack of clarity in her conversations with Henrietta.
But the other part of his mind was reeling in shock and unwilling to accept the implications of the conversation.
“What you are saying is that Henrietta has no idea that impregnation follows intercourse,” he said.
Lady Holkham visibly bridled at his unrefined language. “Precisely.” She rose. “I am sorry to deliver such disappointing news, Mr. Darby.” She looked down her nose at him. “I think you will find there are other heiresses in the vicinity, should you wish to remain in Limpley Stoke.”
Darby bowed. What had just happened was part and parcel of his life in the last year or so. Naturally, when he met a woman whom he could contemplate marrying, she was ineligible. Naturally. The instance was in tune with the death of his parents, the death of his uncle, and his unexpected guardianship of two small girls.
“I trust you can give my apologies to Lady Henrietta? I find that I have forgotten an appointment and I cannot meet her this afternoon.”
“I will.”
The woman’s eyes were shining with tears, but Darby didn’t give a damn. What he really wanted was one stiff brandy.
Or five.
From that realization it was a matter of an hour before he found himself in The Trout, surrounded by men discoursing on precisely the correct subject: wives.
“It’s not that I don’t like her,” the man next to him was saying painstakingly. He was a fresh-faced young fellow with a laborer’s body and a tolerance for alcohol that amazed even Darby. “I do like her. But she hit me with a skillet. Who could forgive such a thing?”
Darby nodded. “No one,” he said, swallowing the last of his glass of brandy. He forgot what number it was.
“No man could forgive her for such a thing,” the lad said, sounding as if he needed to be convinced.
“At least you had her,” Darby mumbled.
“What’d you say, man?”
“Nothing.” There was no point to discussing it, and a gentleman never discussed such things anyway, especially when in the company of people who beat each other with kitchen implements.
17
Marital Intimacy, Sometimes Referred to as Marital Congress, And Sometimes As Unnecessary
Miss Pettigrew came out of the door of the schoolroom, pulling on warm gloves. Then she turned around and locked the schoolhouse door.
She looked a little surprised to see Henrietta standing on the stoop, as well she might since Henrietta had pleaded fear of the storm as a reason to cut their meeting short, and that a good ten minutes ago.
Henrietta watched Miss Pettigrew march away, back stiff, movements crisp, and felt a curling sense of relief. She had never let herself feel how reluctant she was to remain unmarried. What was the point of reading books about raising children, with the pretext of aiding at school, when all she really wanted was to raise her own children? But if she admitted the truth, she loathed the idea of a life without children and without a husband.
Which was a deplorable thought, she told herself. Miss Pettigrew had flatly told her, when they first met, that she saw no use in husbands. “They take an unwarranted control over a woman’s personal circumstances,” she had said. “My own sister—” But she pressed her lips together and didn’t continue.
Henrietta had nodded and agreed, trying to find fellowship in the company of like-minded women. Except that she wasn’t entirely like-minded. She wanted Darby, with his warm brown eyes and angular cheekbones, his lace and exquisite clothing. She giggled to herself, thinking of his curricle trimmed in gold lace and a fringe.
By fifteen minutes later she was growing very cold, and somewhat concerned. Big snowflakes had begun to drift lazily from an oily gray sky. It was surely coming on to snow, and Jem was still waiting for her on the edge of the village. He must be getting annoyed at keeping the horses out in such weather. She bit her lip and waited another five minutes. The snow was thickening, and even though the drive home was a mere half mile, she couldn’t afford to wait. Parsnip and Parsley weren’t plow horses, used to being abroad in all weather. They needed to be snug in the barn, with a hot mash and plenty of hay.
Finally, she started off down the street, walking slowly in case Darby came running down the street. The very idea was ridiculous—Da
rby running?
The sensations that rolled over her at the mere thought of Darby made her stepmother’s announcement all the more difficult to understand.
“What on earth do you mean?”
Millicent was normally a calm and rather placid person. But she kept twisting her hands in her lap, and there were traces of tears around her eyes.
“I mean,” she began. As she had began three or four times. “I mean that you can’t—can’t be married—”
“Darby doesn’t want children, Millicent,” Henrietta repeated patiently. “He doesn’t care a bit about my inability to have children. He told me himself that he considers them an egregious nuisance.”
“Oh, this is all my fault!” Millicent cried. “I should have discussed this with you long ago! It’s my stupid reluctance to be straightforward.”
Henrietta stilled. An empty feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She clenched her hands in her lap and said, as calmly as she could, “Is there a further reason why I mustn’t marry?”
“Yes. Well, yes and no,” Millicent said miserably.
Millicent seemed to be utterly unable to clarify herself. A new, rather horrible idea occurred to Henrietta.
“Did Darby tell you that he didn’t wish to marry me? That he found me objectionable in some way?”
Millicent shook her head.
Henrietta blinked with relief. “Then you must tell me why I cannot marry someone, even if he doesn’t wish for children.”
“I can’t!”
“Yes you can.”
“It’s because of—of marital congress. Do you…do you have any idea what that means?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you talking about marital intimacy?”
Millicent nodded.
“I understand that,” she said, to Millicent’s enormous relief. Of course, Henrietta with her capable nature, would know that sort of detail. It was only noodleheads like Millicent who came to their wedding night ignorant and were subsequently horrified.
But then Henrietta paused. “At least, I suppose I do. Is there some reason I couldn’t perform those duties as well as the next woman? My hip may occasionally ache, but it appears to be the same general shape as yours.”
“You are correct. But that intimacy leads to children. Frankly, that’s why women agree to the procedure at all. I should have explained it to you long ago.”
Henrietta blinked and said slowly, “Of course, what you’re saying makes absolute sense, given what I know of barnyard matters.”
Millicent colored and looked at her hands. She was so embarrassed by the topic of conversation it was as if someone had poured boiling water down her neck.
“I would have explained it to you in the event of your marriage. That is, I will explain it to Imogen on the eve of her wedding, and—”
“Then—then—you mean that Darby refuses to marry if he can’t have that particular intimacy?” There was a bleak note in Henrietta’s voice that her stepmother hated to hear. “Even though he doesn’t wish to have children?”
Millicent nodded, unable to speak. Her throat was suddenly choked with tears. Why did her beautiful, sweethearted stepdaughter have to face such a terrible truth?
“Men are swine. Swine!” Henrietta cried. “Molly—Molly Maplethorpe—referred to the whole event as rather unpleasant and painful too.”
“But it is necessary in order to have children.”
“Darby has withdrawn his proposal because I am unable to be intimate with him, even though I would find it painful under the best of circumstances?”
“Men feel differently than do women,” Millicent said. “They find enjoyment in it, truly.”
“Swine,” Henrietta said flatly.
Millicent had gone back to twisting her hands. “I haven’t explained it very well, I’m afraid. Most women see it for precisely what it is: a rather distasteful procedure that is necessary in order to produce children. It’s only painful for a time or two. After that it is merely a nuisance, truly. And oh, children are worth anything, Henrietta! After Imogen was born, I realized that—” She broke off, realizing that the subject was hardly a kind one to bring up.
Henrietta shrugged. “I know, of course, that men enjoy that side of life. But to be blunt, don’t they maintain mistresses for precisely that reason?”
“Henrietta!”
Her stepdaughter looked unrepentant. “They do have mistresses, Millicent. You know they do.”
“We don’t speak of that.”
But Henrietta had never been much good at not saying whatever came into her head. “Why can’t Darby simply do the same?” She stared at Millicent. “Why? Why can’t Darby take a mistress for that particular duty?”
“Men like to have that intimacy with their wives,” Millicent said miserably. “Your father—” She stopped. “This is very difficult.”
Henrietta’s eyes were fierce enough to force a confession from a spy.
“Your father had a mistress. If you remember, he was rarely home on Tuesday evenings. And sometimes other nights as well. But that didn’t affect your father’s and my relationship. He married me because he enjoyed my—my appearance.”
“I remember. He came up to the nursery and said he’d met the prettiest girl in five counties, and he meant to bring her home and make her my mama. I thought you looked just like a fairy princess, Millicent, truly.”
“Thank you, dear,” she said a little mistily. “At any rate, when a man takes a wife, he wants to—he want to—it’s simply part of the bargain, Henrietta. I can’t be more clear than that, I simply can’t!”
There was a moment of silence in the room, broken only by the soft hush of wind blowing snow around the corners of the house.
“I believe I understand you. A man marries because he finds a woman attractive.” In her mind, she heard Darby’s voice, husky and low, telling her that she had beautiful hair. “And therefore he expects this marital intimacy, whether the woman wishes it or not. Well, I think it’s idiotic!”
“What is idiotic?”
“Why couldn’t a couple be pleased with each other and yet avoid that particular event?”
“Men are driven. I can’t explain it better than that.”
Henrietta’s eyes were narrow. “What exactly did Darby say after you informed him that I was unable to—satisfy him in this regard?”
“He looked quite saddened, my dear. I think he has a genuine regard for you. It is a shame.”
“But what did he say?”
“He said that he had forgotten a previous appointment, and asked me to give you his excuses for not meeting you outside the schoolhouse.”
“It was that easy?” Henrietta said, stunned. “He gave up that easily?”
There was no solace in her stepmother’s eyes. “I am truly sorry if I ever gave you the impression that a man might—might overlook your condition.”
“It’s so stupid of me not to realize that the two things were connected. I thought there would be a man who didn’t want children,” Henrietta whispered. The desolate note in her voice wrung Millicent’s heart.
“Oh don’t, love, don’t cry,” she said, sitting down next to Henrietta on the settee and winding her arms about her.
“I’m not crying.” And she wasn’t, although her face was white and strained.
“Darby is a fool to let you go for such a reason,” Millicent said. “You’re right, men are fools.”
“Not a fool,” Henrietta said bleakly. “A lecher, it seems. Because that is what’s meant by lechery, isn’t it?” She twisted about to meet Millicent’s eyes and found her answer there. “A man isn’t content with debauching a mistress; he must have his wife as well.” There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of the rising wind.
“Oh, this would all have been so much easier if I had known years ago!” It seemed wrenched from Henrietta’s heart.
Millicent fumbled for a handkerchief, but it was she, rather than Henrietta, who used it.
??
?I know that Darby must have seemed a reasonable parti,” the dowager said, a few moments later. “After all, he apparently dislikes the idea of having children, and his sisters are motherless.”
“It’s quite all right,” Henrietta said. She didn’t turn her head toward Millicent. “I shall do very well without a husband. And I hardly know Darby, after all. Miss Pettigrew has pointed out what a detriment a husband is in a woman’s life.”
“And for all we know, Mr. Darby is a criminal. Would you like to speak to Mr. Fetcham about this?”
Henrietta blinked. “Mr. Fetcham? Why on earth would I wish to speak to the vicar about marriage? Unless I were getting married, I mean?”
“Perhaps he could help you reconcile your misfortune.”
“No amount of talk about God’s will is likely to reconcile me to the future I see before me.” Her voice was hard and to the point. “Stupidly, it seems, I had quite hoped to marry at some point.”
“I didn’t know,” her stepmother whispered.
“I thought to find a widower or someone who didn’t want children or already had offspring of his own. I hoped that such a man would fall in love with me…a love match.” She almost laughed at how stupid it sounded out loud.
“There’s nothing to say that a truly noble man won’t happen along, someone less in thrall to his baser nature.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Henrietta said flatly.
“I am glad that Darby moved so quickly to announce his intentions. This way, you had very little time to become attached to the notion.”
“Yes, of course.” It was amazing how quickly she had built up the idea of marrying Darby. Truly, she knew almost nothing about him except for his penchant for lace. What if she grew disgusted by a man who likely had a house filled with fringes and gold lace? And he was a fortune hunter, which is a dubious basis for marriage at the best of times.
“You’ll be better off this way. You found out his true nature very quickly.”
“Yes.”
“You see,” Millicent went on, having a desperate wish to prove her point and simply make that look go away from Henrietta’s face, “Darby must be quite a—a lustful man, my dear. Because he kissed you in such a way—and in a public spot!”