I had made a huge mess of things.
But most importantly, right now, I was the hostess. I wasn’t a provincial miss.
I was a countess, and even though I was young, I knew what I was about. I knew
what to do when. And when I rose to lead the ladies away, I looked only at my
husband and smiled at him. He nodded.
“Gentlemen,” I said, my voice pitched to the exact volume to gain their
collective attention, “the ladies will leave you to your port.” They barely paid
any attention to my announcement at all. Most of them were happily drunk. They
were looking forward to port and brandy and God knows what else. I turned at the
doorway, and called out, more loudly this time, “Ladies, we will have our brandy
in the drawing room. We will discuss the news about Napoleon, if there is any
news worthy enough to speak about. We will discuss which of the gentlemen
present at dinner is the most handsome, the most literate, the most charming.”
Several of the women laughed, several even patted me on the arm. Some
disapproved, but who cared? I didn’t dare look back to see what my husband
thought of that parting shot.
The men had heard every word I had said. Now they were all talking at once. I
heard outrage, laughter, yells.
Lawrence would probably blast me later.
I was all the talk in the drawing room. A good half of the ladies had a snifter
of brandy. We did speak of Napoleon for a bit, but soon turned to his poor wife,
the Austrian princess, Marie-Louise, and how Napoleon, so desperate for an heir,
that he no sooner had her on French soil, than he dragged her to his tent and
consummated the marriage before it had even happened.
“Absolutely shocking what men do to women,” said Lady Elizabeth Palmer, too
beautiful for her own good, and now she was actually showing interest in
something other than fashion and gossip. “Now, who is ready to vote for the most
charming gentleman at the dinner table?”
Most of the ladies laughed at that.
Lady Caldecote, waving her fan vigorously even as she sat very close to the
fireplace, said to me, “That was very clever of you, my dear young lady. You
certainly got their attention. I do wonder what they’re talking about now?”
“Naturally, they are discussing which of them will be elected the most charming
by us,” Lady Elizabeth said. Then she laughed and nodded to me, as if seeing me
with new eyes. “That was clever of you.”
The marchioness with the immense bosom said, “I heard it said that Napoleon had
many mistresses and that it infuriated Josephine. She began to tell anyone who
would listen that Napoleon wasn’t all that much of a man, if you know what I
mean.”
It was obvious that I didn’t know what she meant, because when I said brightly,
“Well, if he continues with mistresses now that he is married to Marie-Louise,
then he surely isn’t much of a man at all.” Every one of the sixteen ladies in
the drawing room stared at me like I was an idiot.
Elizabeth Palmer laughed. “My dear countess, you are a married lady. I can’t
imagine that Lawrence hasn’t showed you exactly how much of a man he is.”
I just looked at her.
My precious Miss Crislock said comfortably, “Lord Devbridge is very solicitous
of his precious young wife. He is patient. He is understanding. Do give me a
snifter of brandy, my dear.”
With those well-intentioned words, the ladies didn’t desist, rather, they
crowded around me. There were raised eyebrows. There were snickers. There were
smiles barely hidden behind hands. Amelia stayed back. Miss Gillbank looked
frantic.
“You mean that you are still a virgin, my lady?” Mrs. Birkenhead said, leaning
so close I nearly gagged on her heavy perfume. Attar of roses, I thought,
splashed on much too liberally.
Amelia cleared her throat, loudly. “I suggest that Andrea play a Mozart sonata
for us. She is very talented. She can also sing, only not as well as she plays.
Come along, Andy, perform, now.”