know you too well.”
“I’m . . . I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” murmured Olivia, capitulating a fraction under all their concerned gazes.
“But you must,” declared Sophie. “How are we to help you if you don’t?”
Olivia glanced about the bustling tearoom. She oh so wanted their advice. But what could she tell them without betraying Hamish’s confidence? She’d already told Sophie and Charlie that she’d met Hamish while trying to retrieve Peridot and that Hamish had offered to marry her to save her from Felix. And because she’d only been twenty, they’d eloped to Gretna Green.
But she’d let them believe that it had all been romantic and wonderful. She hadn’t told them her marriage to Hamish was actually supposed to be one of convenience only. That he didn’t want an heir. That they hadn’t even consummated their union, and once Hamish had secured her fortune for her, they’d likely divorce so she could find happiness with someone else.
But she had no one else to turn to, and if she didn’t seek her friends’ help, she feared her heart would surely break.
She could trust Charlie, Sophie, and Arabella. She absolutely knew she could. They’d been through thick and thin together. Weathered scandal together. Made plans together and shared all their hopes and dreams and fears.
She drew a steadying breath and, in hushed tones, confessed all.
“Lord Sleat is right about one thing,” said Arabella when Olivia had finished. “Laudanum is a dangerous concoction. But he’s wrong about everything else. Just because his father was a despicable tyrant, it doesn’t mean he will be.”
“Yes,” agreed Charlie. “Everything else he believes about himself is erroneous.”
“What’s most important, Olivia,” said Sophie, “in fact, the only thing that really matters, is that you love each other. Because if you love him and he truly loves you, you will find a way to overcome any and all obstacles.”
“I’m so glad you agree.” Olivia smiled at her friends. “I do love him, with all my heart. And I know he cares for me, too, even if he hasn’t said so yet. I . . . I think he’s afraid to.”
“Yes, men often are,” agreed Sophie. “Nate certainly was.”
“And Gabriel was too,” added Arabella.
“And now they’re absolutely besotted with you both,” concluded Charlie.
Olivia sighed. “I’ve been racking my brains for days and days, trying to come up with ways to change Hamish’s mind and convince him we can be happy. But he’s as stubborn as a Highland bullock.”
“Well, now we’re here to help you,” said Arabella. “I feel a scientific and methodical approach is required. Irrefutable logic and a sound plan of attack will sway him, I’m sure of it.” She reached for one of Gunter’s printed menus of the day and turned it over to the blank side. “Does anyone have a pencil?”
“I do,” said Charlie, reaching into her reticule.
“Excellent.” Arabella fixed her intelligent gaze on Olivia. “So the first topic that needs addressing is, how can you get this stubborn-as-a-Highland-bullock husband of yours to make love to you?”
“Yes, consummating your marriage should be at the top of the agenda,” agreed Sophie. “And there are ways to safeguard against conception if he’s not quite ready to become a father yet.”
“That’s very true,” agreed Arabella. “Of course he’d be well aware of those methods, so perhaps you’ll just need to reassure him that you are quite fine with his taking precautions if they’re necessary to maintain his peace of mind. Another point you can argue quite successfully is that sexual congress doesn’t need to take place in a bed. Especially if he’s worried about falling asleep all the time.”
There was a knowing twinkle in Sophie’s eye as she said, “You could always suggest that you only make love during daylight hours. Or even out in the open.”
“And you could always tie him to the bedposts,” Charlie offered with an arch smile. “Just in case he does fall asleep.”
“All good points,” said Arabella. “Let’s make a list.”
“I can’t quite believe we’re having this deliciously wicked conversation in Gunter’s Tea Shop,” murmured Olivia as Arabella began to write.
Charlie laughed. “If anyone did overhear, wouldn’t it make a wonderful article in the Beau Monde Mirror? I can see it now: ‘Former “Disreputable Debutantes” provide expert advice on how to effectively seduce one’s husband.’”
“Perhaps we should write a book,” said Sophie, her blue eyes alight with mischief. “The Diary of a Disreputable Debutante; or, The Memoirs of an Enlightened, Blissfully Happy, and Thoroughly Pleasured Married Woman. I’m sure it would sell very well.”
Sleat