Chapter 2: Discordant Duet

Richard, Earl of Kalworth, was adamant. “James, it is time you found yourself a wife. Yes, dancing at the balls of the Season is pleasant, but the reason that we go is for you to win a girl, marry her, and begin to fill your nursery.”

Unfortunately, he was ordering his brother not his son. That was unfortunate for several reasons. One, brother James had not felt obedient towards Richard since he, too, went away to school.

“Why is it imperative that I start filling my nursery? I am not the oldest, and I have not yet heard the banns read for you.” And that was the other reason.

“Well, if you find yourself my successor, you will want an heir.”

James needed a wife to have an heir. Richard was damned if he would spend his days with a woman who merely produced heirs. He wanted to be fascinated.

You can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make him drink. You can lead a younger son to a ball, but you cannot make him propose. Fortunately, at one ball, Richard met a young woman, Lady Anne Montraven, younger daughter of a viscount. The chit was pretty enough, and James was smitten. The lass acted coy, which Richard suspected was the feminine of smitten.

Then James, who seldom rode in London except when he wanted to cover a distance and not take a carriage, wanted to go riding in St. James Park. He, who had avoided his brother for a decade, wanted Richard to go with him. Richard almost asked the name of the young lady. He decided he would learn soon enough.

James spotted a curricle, and they rode over to it. Lady Anne and he exclaimed at the coincidence of meeting there, which convinced Richard that she had been in on the charade. Well, if James was to fill his nursery, the lady had to be amenable.

Lady Anne’s companion was much more interesting. He was about to comment that the woman had not been at any ball he attended when Lady Anne made the introductions.

Miss Violet Worden had no title, and no connections which Lady Anne saw fit to mention. Of course, she was doing the minimum that courtesy required before billing and cooing with James. He left them to their dance while he found how the woman had escaped his attention up to then.

She had not come to attention at the balls because she had not attended them. She was Lady Anne’s former governess and present accompanist. Her accent said Somerset, he noted it, and she did not gainsay him.

That Lady Anne would use her as an accompanist showed that the young lady had a fine sense of self worth. Miss Violet had a beauty to put Lady Anne in the shade.

That James was pursuing the family alliance and not the tumble was shown by his concentration on the Lady.

He, on the other hand, was feeling quite uncomfortable in his tight trousers. He needed to be out of the woman’s presence before he embarrassed himself. Well, he knew where to find her. “Ho, James,” he said, “save the rest of your courting for another day. I came here to ride.”

James. being James, ignored him for another two minutes. He would have abandoned him if the indiscretion would not have been what James wanted.

Then, having called for it, he had a trot all around the park. By the time it was over, he was presentable again.

“Well,” he said when they were home and rubbing down their horses -- a Kalworth takes care of his own mount -- “that was quite a coincidence as the two of you said more than an honest man, or even an experience liar, would have. If we encounter another such coincidence, I shall exhibit much more patience if Lady Anne has the same companion.”

“Liked the chit, did you?”

“You, James, liked the chit. I enjoyed the conversation of a woman who has more than one thought in her head.”

“Oh,” James said, “it was conversation that interested you. If your ears and not your eyes were dealing with those teats, then I understand why I must be the son filling the nursery. I have the stones.”

“And I have a sharp dagger upstairs. Keep talking like that, and I shall remove them.”

“They still would do you no good.”

For all his sharp words, James met the same carriage coincidentally several more times, and the same two gentlewomen were within.

The Somerset Violet turned out to be more robust than the name implied. She could be perfectly courteous while still keeping a thorn under her tongue. He and James were invited to a musical event at Montraven House. Richard took his seat where he could see the keyboard. The lovely thing about a harpsichord is that you walk into the room knowing where the performer will sit.

The evening included several songs by the daughter of the house accompanied by Miss Worden, a harpsichord solo by Lady Anne, and two harpsichord duets by the two women. He could see Miss Worden all of the time, mostly quite well. During Lady Anne’s solo, she stood where she could turn the pages. During the duets, unfortunately, Lady Anne sat to her right and obscured his view.

Courtships, alas, are temporary exercises. James offered, Lady Anne accepted, banns were read.

He could hardly expect Lady Anne to retain the services of an accompanist. He could remember seeing a harpsichord in Kalworth Hall. He could remember the sound it made when he had brought his fist down on the keys. Unfortunately, he could also remember the sound he had made when Father brought a switch down on his rump for doing that. Well, he had a harpsichord, and nobody to play it. Miss Worden could play, play brilliantly, and -- presumably -- had no harpsichord. Merely stating the problem made the solution obvious to him.

It might seem less obvious to her. Miss Worden was not a professional musician; she was a professional governess. She was the orphan daughter of a clergyman and, thus, a gentlewoman -- one who might have ridiculous reservations about taking employment in a rather isolated bachelor establishment.

It seemed to him, though, that bachelors, or at least widowers, did employ governesses. He merely had to think clearly.

Very well, he merely had to plot clearly.

When Violet heard a knock, she opened the door to her room. Anne came in, and she closed the door. In the years she had known her, Anne had almost never been in her room, and never before in this one.

“I came to say goodbye,” Anne said. “I shall miss you, and tomorrow will be hectic.

“I shall miss you, as well.” And she would miss the benefits of being employed. “There is after dinner, you know.”

“That is reserved for Mother. We shall have a talk. ‘Anne, when Lord James comes into your bed, he will put his cock into your quim.’ ‘Oh, Mother, will that hurt?’ ‘Tomorrow night it will, but the hurt will be bearable, and it will never hurt again.’ Alice says that the pain of defloration is more like being pinched and the pain of childbirth is more like being tortured on the rack. Do you think that is so?”

Violet decided that it was much too late to challenge the crude language, and that, despite her flippant tone, Anne was understandably worried. “Women in childbirth seem to suffer a good deal.” Anne must not have heard her mother. Then, she was the youngest surviving child; she might have been the youngest child, or the sounds from the first floor might not have reached the nursery. “As far as the rest is concerned, I have not experienced any of it. Has Alice experienced the rack?”

Anne thought that question typical of Miss Worden. “Oh, I shall miss you.” She gave her a long hug, one that was -- shockingly -- returned. Then she let herself out and went to dress for dinner.

After she went up from dinner, as she had predicted, Mother came into her room without knocking. She would be a married lady tomorrow, and Mother would not come into her room, not into her house, without asking permission.

“Anne,” Mother began, “marriage brings many things to a Lady and gives her much authority. She also yields authority to her husband. A man’s house is his castle, and none may enter without his permission. A woman’s bedroom, her bed, are her husband’s possession, and he enters them as he wills.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“A husband not only enters his wife’s bed, he enters her body any time he wishes. The woman lies on her back, and the man puts his organ where the blood flows out each month.”

Anne was tempted to ask which organ, but instead only said, “Yes Mother.”

“Now he does not do this every night, but he is certain to do that the night of the wedding. The first time he does it causes a minor pain. It is not a great pain, and only a foolish girl would ask him to wait another night. Some foolish girls do, and their husbands refuse to wait. I hope that no daughter of mine begins her marriage with a quarrel.”

“No, Mother.”

“And the pain does not recur.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Mother looked like she was going over a checklist in her mind. Evidently, she found her warnings sufficient. She soon left.

Anne would have been shocked had anyone thought of her as engaged in trade, but her picture of marriage was transactional. She had never pictured an adult future for herself that was not as a married lady with children.