Candice Hern (23 page)

Marianne's face crumpled into a mask of dismay and she reached for Grace's hand. "Oh, my dear. I am so sorry. If he were still alive I would keep my opinions to myself, though I would wish to throttle his holy neck. But since he is gone, I take leave to tell you that he was wrong. I daresay he was a pious man, a godly man. But he was
wrong
, Grace. Very wrong. There is nothing sinful in what a man and woman do together. Not if they care for each other. It is joyful and natural and good. And it is
shared
, something experienced
together
. It is not right for the man alone to take his pleasure while the woman suppresses hers. That is not fair to either of you. Oh, Grace, no wonder you are so confused!"

Marianne pulled Grace to her side so that they stood shoulder to shoulder, their hands still clasped. Grace's lip quivered slightly and she blinked furiously to hold back tears that threatened to overcome her. Heavens, she had become so emotional lately. She lowered her face so that her bonnet's brim would hide her discomposure. She remembered her younger self, so eager to share the marital bed with her fine new husband, and having him mortify her so thoroughly. She'd spent a decade and more trying to make up for that shameful blunder, ultimately establishing herself as a model of female virtue.

Until she'd met Rochdale.

"I have been thinking ..." She paused to control her voice, which had come out reed-thin and tremulous. She took a few breaths before continuing. "I have been wondering if ... if he might have been ... mistaken. I think of you and Beatrice and Penelope, and I cannot believe he would have considered any of you sinful. He would have disapproved of Wilhelmina, of course, but not of the rest of you. And yet you —"

"We do things he considered sinful."

"Yes."

Marianne clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Oh, Grace, I am trying hard not to say something hateful about a man of the church. I consider myself a good Christian. I go to church every Sunday. I do charitable work. I am kind to children and animals. I don’t lie, cheat, or steal. I believe I am a good person. And I will
not
be thought sinful simply because I take pleasure in the man I love."

She was right, of course. None of her friends were sinful. Which could only mean one thing.

"He was wrong, wasn't he? The bishop was wrong."

"Yes, Grace, he was wrong."

Her mind drifted back to those first few days of her marriage, when she had been made to feel so depraved, when she had exhibited passions she now suspected had been perfectly natural. Grace wanted to hate him for it, for doing that to her. But she could not. Her husband had not been mean-spirited or malicious. He had been a gentle man. He simply believed what he preached, truly believed it, and lived his life according to those beliefs.

"You do see that, don't you, Grace? You see how wrong he was?"

"Yes. Yes, I do." She could no longer hold back the tears that fell down her cheeks. "The bishop, may God rest his soul, had believed he was right, but he had been wrong. About you. About me."

"Promise me you will not forget that."

Such a momentous epiphany would be hard to forget: that just because the bishop had believed her natural passions had been a sign of weakness, of sinfulness, did not make it true. His interpretation of Scripture made him believe that women were weak, that their inherent weakness was symbolized by the betrayal of Eve, who did not have the fortitude to resist the devil. It had been his fervent belief, but only that. A belief, and not fact. Grace wished she had been stronger as a girl, less vulnerable to the bishop's declarations. She had known, deep in her heart, that she was not wicked. Yet she had allowed this great, eloquent man to make her feel as if she were.

How sad that he could not have accepted her as she was, without trying to shape her into something she was never meant to be.

"I promise I will not forget," she said. Marianne still held her hand and Grace gave it a grateful squeeze. "Even when I am with Rochdale and he is making me feel weak with desire, I will try to remember that the bishop was wrong about me, that I am not sinful or wicked, that it is perfectly natural to feel that way."

Marianne beamed a smile. "Good for you, Grace. Oh, good for you! It pains me to think you have believed yourself to be sinful and wicked. Thank God you are still young enough to right that wrong."

Grace gave a watery chuckle. "That's what Rochdale always tells me, that I am young enough to start fresh, to change my life. That I need to stop being the Bishop's Widow and just be plain Grace Marlowe."

"He's right."

"I think he must be. And you, too. All of you. I must try to put eleven years of the bishop's instructions in perspective and learn to make my own decisions, based on my own conscience."

"Brava, Grace. I cannot tell you how pleased I am to hear you say that. And God bless Rochdale for encouraging you to find your own way."

Grace sometimes wondered if all his encouragement to find her own identity was nothing more than a ploy to get her into his bed. For the Bishop's Widow would be highly unlikely to capitulate, whereas Grace Marlowe just might surrender.

"So, Rochdale has become your friend, it seems," Marianne said. "And now you think to become lovers?"

"It is what he has always wanted. At least, that is what I have assumed. Why else would he pursue me?"

"And you? Is it what you want?"

Grace thought again of her dream, of being naked in his arms while he made love to her. "I do want it. Oh, Marianne, I think about it all the time. But is he the right man? Should I wait for someone more respectable?"

Marianne laughed. "Someone more respectable is unlikely to make you feel the way you do. His roguishness is part of his charm, I daresay."

"But all those rumors and scandalous tales. The duels. The gambling. That business with Serena Underwood. I realize there is more to him than that. I have seen his kindness and compassion, his generosity, his intellect. I know he is not all bad. Still, it concerns me. The women, especially. Did you worry about that with Adam?"

"I certainly did," Marianne said, smiling broadly. "For one thing, I worried that I would not measure up to all those other women. Like you, I was basically inexperienced, even though I'd been married. We are different, you and I, from Beatrice and Penelope, who knew what to expect, knew what to do." She chuckled. "But there is an advantage, as it happens, to having a worldly rake as a lover.
He
will know
exactly
what to do, and will be happy to teach you. You must trust me on this, Grace. The benefits of his rakish history will outweigh the drawbacks. As for all the other things, the unsavory rumors and such, you must decide how important they are to you, because I am fairly certain most of the stories are true."

Grace sighed. "I suspected as much."

"I think you must listen to Wilhelmina's wise counsel on this matter. If you decide to take Rochdale as your lover, take care to guard your heart. He may provide you with unparalleled pleasure, but remember his history with women. He never stays with one for very long, and he can be callous in ending things."

"Wilhelmina says that is because he dislikes, or distrusts, women. I wonder if that is true? He says ... he says he likes me."

"Just be careful, Grace. Since I have not heard you hint that you are in love with him, I will trust in your strength of character to endure whatever happens."

Was she in love with him? There were moments when she thought she might be, but perhaps it was simple lust and nothing more.

"I appreciate your confidence in me, Marianne. And I am very grateful for your frank advice. I have been confused and confounded such as I have never been in my life. I'm still not sure I'm ready to take a lover, Rochdale or anyone else. In the end, I might find it is simply a step I am not willing to take. Propriety was bred in me from the cradle, you know, well before I met the bishop, and is bone-deep at this stage of my life. But whatever happens, you have helped to make it a less tumultuous decision, to see that I must not give so much weight to certain things the bishop taught me. I will follow my instincts – my own instincts, not his — and do what seems right."

Marianne reached out and hugged her. Their bonnet brims knocked together, causing them both to laugh. "I am so proud of you, Grace. You have come such a long way toward achieving that toast of Penelope's."

Thanks to Rochdale, who, by making her feel like a woman for the first time in her life, caused her to question things she'd long taken for granted.

The two women resumed their walk, skirting the Parade grounds where a group of soldiers marched in tight formation. Grace linked her arm with Marianne's, grateful to have a good friend willing to tell her the truth, no matter how uncomfortable. What might her marriage to the bishop have been like if she had had such a friend to advise her?

"I am taking one more bold step," she said, "toward that liberation Penelope toasted. I am going to the Opera tonight. With Rochdale."

Marianne's eyes widened. "You are ready to announce your connection to him publicly?"

Grace shrugged. "We have been seen to dance together at balls and talk together at parties. It should be no surprise to see us together at the Opera."

"Except that he will be seen as your escort. You will arrive with him and leave with him, not meet him casually as you would at a party. People might talk."

"They might. Margaret will likely be on my doorstep tomorrow morning. But even if Rochdale and I never become lovers, he is my friend and I am not ashamed of that. And I like to think my reputation is solid enough to withstand being seen with him in public."

Marianne arched an eyebrow. "Perhaps
his
reputation will be improved by his association with
you
."

Grace laughed. "He would not like that. He has often told me not to try to reform him. He enjoys being a notorious scoundrel."

"Yet, he has reformed you," Marianne said, a twinkle lighting her dark eyes. "Who knows? You may become the merriest of the Merry Widows. I never dreamed to see you, the most tightly laced of us all, loosen your stays a bit, to allow yourself a little freedom, but I am so glad you have done so."

And so was Grace.

* * *

At least a dozen pairs of opera glasses were turned upon Rochdale's box at Covent Garden. Others stared without the benefit of magnification. Yet Grace sat beside him, cool and composed, seemingly unaffected by the stir she had caused by arriving with him.

"You are handling this very well, my dear," he said.

She turned to him and smiled. "Perhaps they are simply admiring my dress."

He grinned. "Yes, I daresay that must be it. How foolish of me to have thought otherwise. You look stunning tonight. The dress is splendid. Just the right touch of bold color, yet demure and modest in style, befitting a respectable lady. It suits the occasion perfectly. And suits you."

The dress was virginal white, in a soft, swishy fabric with a polished sheen. The low-cut bodice was filled in with transparent white silk edged with lace high on the neck. One had to look closely, which he, of course, had done, to glimpse the dim shadow of cleavage beneath the silk tucker. To the casual or distant observer, she appeared very properly covered to the throat. The edge of the square-necked bodice as well as the hem was edged with a wide band richly embroidered in bright colors. Over the dress, Grace wore a claret-colored cloak with a high standing collar, trimmed with the same bold embroidery as the dress. It was a costume of understated elegance, much like Grace herself. He had been proud to arrive with her tonight. A few high sticklers may have glared at her in disapproval for having such a blackguard on her arm, but many more gentlemen gazed at him with envy for the beautiful woman on
his
arm.

"I confess," she said, "that I did actually spend a great deal of time selecting just the right dress. It is something of a special occasion, you see. It is the first time I have been escorted to the theatre with a man who was not my husband."

"And not anything
like
your sainted husband, either. I am honored that you accepted my invitation, my dear. I thought it might be a bit of a trial for you, knowing that we would draw attention. It is not often that a respectable lady shares my box. In fact, this may be the first time."

"And since I have never been escorted by an infamous libertine, I daresay we have struck a balance of sorts."

"People will think that either you have become fast," he said, "or that I have reformed."

"Let us confound them all by being precisely who we are."

"The Bishop's Widow and the Libertine."

Grace chuckled softly. "It sounds like the title of a farce."

"In which the beautiful and virtuous young widow is seduced by the evil libertine —"

"— who immediately abandons her, having achieved his objective to prove that no woman, no matter how virtuous, is immune to his charms."

"But being made of sterner stuff than he, she laughs in the face of Society —"

"— pleased to be forced out of her widow's weeds at last —"

"— because black never did flatter her —"

"— and she runs off to Paris to have his child —"

"— which she supports by opening an exclusive brothel —"

"— which our libertine crosses the Channel to visit, having heard of the extraordinary, um ... "

"—
talents
of its employees."

"But it is the lovely proprietress who catches his eye, though he does not recognize her."

"Because she wears a wig and affects a French accent."

"But no matter how hard he tries, she will not succumb to him because she wants him to suffer for having abandoned her."

"Finally, though, she is no match for his irresistible charm and gives in —"

"At which point he reveals that he knew all along it was her. They fall into each other's arms, declaring their eternal love —"

"— and live happily ever after." Rochdale grinned. "Not a bad effort, my dear. Perhaps we should write it down and sell it to Sheridan for Drury Lane."