stages: First, he spends twenty minutes or so begging—generally from me . The instant his suit finds favor, he goes straight for the game, in a wild lather of general excitement, but once engaged, his pleasure becomes focused and intense. After that, it builds swiftly to a climax, and then, all of a sudden, it’s over. He crawls from the table to an easy chair, totally spent, and slumps there, either sleeping or eating, until his strength returns. I am not complaining. Merely noticing. At least, this vice has the merit of not producing offspring and requiring childcare from us.”
Taken altogether, the voyage was fairly humdrum: entirely devoid of pirates for Belinda, a fond return of love for Kendrick, and big wins, or wins of any kind, for Charles. Nor did Arabella get swept overboard, despite her frequent forays out on deck in bad weather to relieve her mild seasickness symptoms. But midway through the crossing, the party were invited to dine aboard the Minerve, a British man-o’-war under the command of Rear Admiral Cockburn. Naturally, Charles pronounced the name phonetically.
“Come again?” asked Kendrick.
“Ignore him,” Belinda suggested.
Charles, to whom the invitation had been conveyed via the captain, grinned like a basket of chips and said nothing.
“I apprehend the joke,” said Arabella. “What, pray, is the officer’s real name?”
“I knew you would suspect me of making it up!” cried Charles gleefully. “Both the name and rank together! Yet I swear it is true! Kendrick will bear me out!”
He handed the invitation to the rector, who peered at the print and confirmed the unfortunate appellation, though he colored up whilst he read it.
“You mustn’t worry, old chap,” said Charles, throwing his arm across the rector’s shoulders. “I shall protect you from our wicked host! But you must also do your part, by remaining seated as much as possible!”
Whereupon, to the general merriment of the assembled company, Mr. Kendrick fled the saloon for the privacy of his own quarters.
Yet the dinner proved fairly stultifying, for all that. Rear Admiral Cockburn, despite his saucy name, was a man “exceeding dry.” The sisters thought him stodgy. And Charles, afterward, reviled the battleship’s plain fare at great length. There was but a single occurrence of note. One of their fellow guests, a passenger aboard the Minerve, changed ships that evening in order to continue on to Naples in the Perseverance.
Arabella believed herself to be on intimate terms with all the best and brightest men in London. Yet she had never heard of Cecil Elliot. Never heard of this paragon, who seemed to possess all the qualities that she herself had pronounced most agreeable in a partner, and she wondered at their not being previously acquainted. He was somewhat vague on the subject of his profession, and Arabella gathered that it had something to do with government or diplomacy or one of those subjects in which she took no interest.
“But why are you so averse to the subject of politics?” he had asked her at dinner.
“When one is not permitted a vote, Mr. Elliot, surely the process of determining who gets in and what measures will or will not be passed cannot be interesting.”
Nevertheless, Arabella found whatever Mr. Elliot said to be of profound interest, and would willingly have listened to him holding forth upon the corn laws the whole night through, had he wished to go on speaking that long. Capable minds always impressed her, and Cecil Elliot was charming and attentive into the bargain. Handsome, too, in that unusual, individual way that she liked, and obviously powerful. But most compelling of all, he had known who Arabella was, and what she was, and yet, after a week’s acquaintance, had still made no direct attempt at seduction. Instead of trying to bed her, he seemed intent upon getting to know her better. Nothing intrigues a courtesan more than this type of behavior, so striking in its
Taken altogether, the voyage was fairly humdrum: entirely devoid of pirates for Belinda, a fond return of love for Kendrick, and big wins, or wins of any kind, for Charles. Nor did Arabella get swept overboard, despite her frequent forays out on deck in bad weather to relieve her mild seasickness symptoms. But midway through the crossing, the party were invited to dine aboard the Minerve, a British man-o’-war under the command of Rear Admiral Cockburn. Naturally, Charles pronounced the name phonetically.
“Come again?” asked Kendrick.
“Ignore him,” Belinda suggested.
Charles, to whom the invitation had been conveyed via the captain, grinned like a basket of chips and said nothing.
“I apprehend the joke,” said Arabella. “What, pray, is the officer’s real name?”
“I knew you would suspect me of making it up!” cried Charles gleefully. “Both the name and rank together! Yet I swear it is true! Kendrick will bear me out!”
He handed the invitation to the rector, who peered at the print and confirmed the unfortunate appellation, though he colored up whilst he read it.
“You mustn’t worry, old chap,” said Charles, throwing his arm across the rector’s shoulders. “I shall protect you from our wicked host! But you must also do your part, by remaining seated as much as possible!”
Whereupon, to the general merriment of the assembled company, Mr. Kendrick fled the saloon for the privacy of his own quarters.
Yet the dinner proved fairly stultifying, for all that. Rear Admiral Cockburn, despite his saucy name, was a man “exceeding dry.” The sisters thought him stodgy. And Charles, afterward, reviled the battleship’s plain fare at great length. There was but a single occurrence of note. One of their fellow guests, a passenger aboard the Minerve, changed ships that evening in order to continue on to Naples in the Perseverance.
Arabella believed herself to be on intimate terms with all the best and brightest men in London. Yet she had never heard of Cecil Elliot. Never heard of this paragon, who seemed to possess all the qualities that she herself had pronounced most agreeable in a partner, and she wondered at their not being previously acquainted. He was somewhat vague on the subject of his profession, and Arabella gathered that it had something to do with government or diplomacy or one of those subjects in which she took no interest.
“But why are you so averse to the subject of politics?” he had asked her at dinner.
“When one is not permitted a vote, Mr. Elliot, surely the process of determining who gets in and what measures will or will not be passed cannot be interesting.”
Nevertheless, Arabella found whatever Mr. Elliot said to be of profound interest, and would willingly have listened to him holding forth upon the corn laws the whole night through, had he wished to go on speaking that long. Capable minds always impressed her, and Cecil Elliot was charming and attentive into the bargain. Handsome, too, in that unusual, individual way that she liked, and obviously powerful. But most compelling of all, he had known who Arabella was, and what she was, and yet, after a week’s acquaintance, had still made no direct attempt at seduction. Instead of trying to bed her, he seemed intent upon getting to know her better. Nothing intrigues a courtesan more than this type of behavior, so striking in its
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