I was fine with it all. I never expected to marry, and I’ve never really been domestic. Give me a book over a sewing basket any day. I was happy accompanying Henry to Italy and spending time in the library with him. But he grew weaker, and our foreign trips were curtailed. I-I was at loose ends. David was a frequent visitor then, and he was very flattering. Too flattering. I should have known better. He made me feel . . . wicked. And I liked it.”
Reyn was wrong. The confession was not making her feel any better. A horrible silence hung between them. It was suddenly very important to her that he not hold her in contempt. If she continued, it was inevitable that he would.
She lurched off the bench. “I must get back inside.”
“Sit down, Maris. You aren’t finished.”
“I am! I cannot discuss this with you! It isn’t proper and I-I hate talking about it.”
He rose too. “We left propriety behind quite some time ago, wouldn’t you agree? What you felt—what you feel—is natural. You are a flesh and blood woman, not like that statue over there. Come, let’s walk. It’s a beautiful afternoon, much too nice to be shut up in the attics.”
“S-someone will notice.” She felt eyes were everywhere. David had robbed her of security in her own home.
“Pretend you’re educating me about the statuary. Wave your arms about and point. I’m sure if I were really a scholar I’d be interested, wouldn’t I?” He grinned at her. Reynold Durant had an easy answer to everything, even if the questions were impossible.
“I really have nothing to add. I betrayed my husband for a few weeks for what was ultimately wretched. When it was over, I was little more informed of carnal pleasure than when I started.”
Reyn’s grin was wider. “So David was not a good lover?”
Maris wanted to slink into the shrubbery. “I was just there to be conquered. A challenge. David was much too selfish to care about me.”
“Nothing like me, then.”
“Oh! You are incorrigible.” How could he tease her about something so serious?
“Always. Look, you made a mistake over a man. These things happen, more often than you might imagine. David preyed upon your naïveté.”
“I was old enough. I was nine and twenty!”
“Well, coincidentally I am too. Today’s my birthday. I think I’m still young enough to fall for a pretty face and a sweet lie.”
Maris didn’t believe him for a minute. “You say that to be kind. And happy birthday. This is not much of a celebratory day, is it.”
“Oh, I don’t know. This morning was very pleasant.” He winked, still keeping his distance.
She remembered to gesture to a black marble plinth as they strolled by it. “How can you be so casual about everything?”
Reyn stopped on the path. “What would you have me do? Whip you with one of the crops from the Reining Monarchs? You’ve been punishing yourself enough for a long time. What is it now, five years? You cannot change the mistake you made, only learn from it. You haven’t been having it off with the gardener or the vicar since, have you? Or perhaps one of the Johns? And seriously, Maris, would it be too much to let the footmen keep their names?”
“What?”
“Never mind. My point is, you are not a serial adulteress. You were taken advantage of by a professional seducer. I recognized his type at once. If you’d had more experience—if you hadn’t grown up so sheltered here in this alternate world—you might have been better able to deal with the man. I imagine your husband would even understand and forgive you if you were to tell him.”
“No! And please don’t say anything.”
He looked affronted. “As if I would. It’s not my place to get mixed up in the affairs of my betters.”
“You know perfectly well you are as good as anyone here. Superior, probably.”
“Are you a Jacobin, Lady Kelby? The revolution did not end well. And if you do believe in democracy, would you please explain about the footmen?”
“This is the second time you’ve brought them up,” Maris said, confused.
“They’re all called John.”
“Um, yes.”
“Why?”
Maris had never thought about it before. From her infancy, she’d been surrounded by bewigged and green-coated Johns. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“How would you like it if I called you Harriet? Or Griselda? Antigone? Philomena?”
Her lips turned up a little. “I shouldn’t like that at all.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Maris is a lovely name, and your parents picked it carefully