so satisfying. At home, I was the girl with the empty dance card, my views scoffed at, my mind ignored. Here in London I was Lady Carlton, a member of the peerage, albeit through marriage, who could trace their lineage back to the first duke of Braystone. He was a brave ancestor of my husband who distinguished himself in battle with King Charles II, then fought alongside his sovereign on an expedition to Scotland, where he sacrificed his own life so Charles could escape.
Unfortunately, my husband, James, possessed none of the valor of his forebear nor the nihilistic intolerance for the wrongs done to humankind. He had no principles I was aware of and swayed so far from the model of moral rectitude, I dared not challenge him for fear of reprisal of a salacious nature. Yet in spite of or because of his failings—I’m not sure which—he entertained a lively and fashionable existence in London drawing rooms and clubs.
Which meant I was also included in the invitations.
What can I say? I reveled in the glitter and elegance, the youthful splendor, the gaiety, the daring subterfuge, the arts and the opera. I forged my path with aristocratic arrogance and made a place for myself in British society. And that included fashion. I’ve always loved color and developed a sense of how to use its pure, uncomplicated beauty to enhance what I saw as my shortcomings: my tall body and long face. I used simple diagonal lines in the clothes I wore to create an illusion of prettiness, draping myself in hues of rose, apricot and blue to create the illusion of a creature beautiful and mysterious.
I nurtured my instinctual attraction to lace and silk with frequent trips to the House of Worth in Paris, as well as art galleries and museums, to achieve a new level of refined smartness. My unique sense of taste and fashion matured like a ripening fruit, my raw talent at the core sweetening my outer skin with a prettiness I’d never felt before, whether I was tipping my ivory lace parasol at a cocky angle while flirting with Lord——at a garden party or slipping on my third pair of lamb-white kid gloves since morning before sitting down to afternoon tea at Brown’s with the duchess of——.
This new courage I found meant I could assert myself,flaunt my skill at repartee, show off my knowledge of world politics and play the game as the men did. I was a notable player in this milieu of the high-society hostess.
And I had no intention of giving it up.
4
I replaced the dildo among the red velvet folds hungry to hug its hardness, then wiped the stickiness off my fingers with a cotton handkerchief monogrammed with my initials. The perfume of my folly lingered to tempt me, but I snapped the box shut. I had no time to linger. Tonight I would entertain visitors.
Important visitors.
At James’s request, I had invited the Viscount and Lady Aubrey to join us for a light supper along with my parents (my mother was eager to make the acquaintance of Lady Aubrey, a lady-in-waiting to the queen). The viscount was a family friend of his lordship and quite an interesting gentleman. No doubt you will have guessed his identity before you turn the page. He has the ear of the queen on foreign affairs and reputedly has been invited to Windsor Castle by Her Majesty to see her personal collection of miniatures. I was impressed with his keen sense of politics and I was certain hehad no idea James was a scoundrel. His lordship was very adept at keeping his father’s friends unaware of the dark side of his personality.
I planned a simple menu starting with a clear soup and two entrées instead of the usual four, followed by a dish of duck and ending with creamy pudding and light airy confections smothered with cream. Nothing to tax the digestion, since I knew the viscount suffered with gout.
Dissention set in when my husband informed me he wished to speak to my father alone after dinner about something important. I should have known James never did anything
Unfortunately, my husband, James, possessed none of the valor of his forebear nor the nihilistic intolerance for the wrongs done to humankind. He had no principles I was aware of and swayed so far from the model of moral rectitude, I dared not challenge him for fear of reprisal of a salacious nature. Yet in spite of or because of his failings—I’m not sure which—he entertained a lively and fashionable existence in London drawing rooms and clubs.
Which meant I was also included in the invitations.
What can I say? I reveled in the glitter and elegance, the youthful splendor, the gaiety, the daring subterfuge, the arts and the opera. I forged my path with aristocratic arrogance and made a place for myself in British society. And that included fashion. I’ve always loved color and developed a sense of how to use its pure, uncomplicated beauty to enhance what I saw as my shortcomings: my tall body and long face. I used simple diagonal lines in the clothes I wore to create an illusion of prettiness, draping myself in hues of rose, apricot and blue to create the illusion of a creature beautiful and mysterious.
I nurtured my instinctual attraction to lace and silk with frequent trips to the House of Worth in Paris, as well as art galleries and museums, to achieve a new level of refined smartness. My unique sense of taste and fashion matured like a ripening fruit, my raw talent at the core sweetening my outer skin with a prettiness I’d never felt before, whether I was tipping my ivory lace parasol at a cocky angle while flirting with Lord——at a garden party or slipping on my third pair of lamb-white kid gloves since morning before sitting down to afternoon tea at Brown’s with the duchess of——.
This new courage I found meant I could assert myself,flaunt my skill at repartee, show off my knowledge of world politics and play the game as the men did. I was a notable player in this milieu of the high-society hostess.
And I had no intention of giving it up.
4
I replaced the dildo among the red velvet folds hungry to hug its hardness, then wiped the stickiness off my fingers with a cotton handkerchief monogrammed with my initials. The perfume of my folly lingered to tempt me, but I snapped the box shut. I had no time to linger. Tonight I would entertain visitors.
Important visitors.
At James’s request, I had invited the Viscount and Lady Aubrey to join us for a light supper along with my parents (my mother was eager to make the acquaintance of Lady Aubrey, a lady-in-waiting to the queen). The viscount was a family friend of his lordship and quite an interesting gentleman. No doubt you will have guessed his identity before you turn the page. He has the ear of the queen on foreign affairs and reputedly has been invited to Windsor Castle by Her Majesty to see her personal collection of miniatures. I was impressed with his keen sense of politics and I was certain hehad no idea James was a scoundrel. His lordship was very adept at keeping his father’s friends unaware of the dark side of his personality.
I planned a simple menu starting with a clear soup and two entrées instead of the usual four, followed by a dish of duck and ending with creamy pudding and light airy confections smothered with cream. Nothing to tax the digestion, since I knew the viscount suffered with gout.
Dissention set in when my husband informed me he wished to speak to my father alone after dinner about something important. I should have known James never did anything
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