wouldn’t let this go. I waited. The reproach wasn’t long in coming. However, it
wasn’t a screaming condemnation, as I was used to. No, when he spoke, his voice
was cold and precise. “I presume the duke is responsible for your unusual taste
in drink?”
“It certainly wasn’t my idea at the beginning,” I said, hoping perhaps to disarm
him with candor. “I found it revolting when I was thirteen. At fourteen,
Grandfather informed me he was pleased that he had educated my palate. Now it is
merely a habit of longstanding. I trust it doesn’t offend you.”
It wasn’t a bad defense, I thought. What made it better was that I hadn’t lied.
I was beginning to wonder if perhaps a lie would have served me better when my
husband said in a very calm voice that didn’t fool me for an instant, “It is
entirely inappropriate for a lady to drink port. It smacks of commonness, of
trollops in alehouses. I have always detested commonness.”
“I believe that excellent port is far too expensive for the mouths of trollops,
my lord. Oh, goodness, don’t blast me. My mouth is amazingly fast, isn’t it? My
brain is somewhere off in the corner, just watching. Do forgive me.” I decided
not to mention my love of brandy, from Armagnac, in the Gers region of France,
as every educated person knew.
He stared at me as if I was an amazing sort of creature he had never seen before.
“My grandfather,” I said, slowly, ready to do battle, because I wasn’t all that
different from any other young lady. I stopped, cleared my throat, and began
again. “My grandfather wasn’t ever common, not even for an instant in his entire
life. If he approved of something, then anyone who dared to question it would be
regarded as the common one, not him.” thought he would stand up and dump the
table over on me, but he didn’t. He drew a deep breath.
“I should know by now that one must accustom oneself to the habits of one’s
spouse. I have the experience. You do not. You are very young. I don’t wish to
break your spirit, Andrea, no, Andy, but I cannot allow you to continue this
habit when we will be in company. No, don’t argue with me. I offer you a
compromise. Your port drinking will be between the two of us. Isn’t that fair?”
“I never drank port in company,” I said. “It was always just between Grandfather
and me.”
“Then we have no argument.” He raised his glass and clinked it lightly against
mine. “To my beautiful new wife. May she not ever believe that she has married a
stodgy old man.”
“Hear, hear,” I said, and grinned at him like a sinner who’d escaped punishment.
I sipped the port. It wasn’t nearly as good as the port from Grandfather’s
cellar. If I’d been drinking it with Grandfather, I would have made a rude noise
and dumped it. I kept sipping. He was certainly fair, but life sometimes wasn’t.
I believe some people would say that I’d been hoisted on my own petard.
“You are perhaps strong-willed?”
“Not at all,” I said, blinking a couple of times. I looked down at my napkin. I’d
spread it, then folded and refolded it. “If I do anything to displease you, you
must tell me. As you said, when married, one must learn compromise. One must
bend. Perhaps one must even be in the wrong upon occasion.”
“Do I understand that you’ve just given me permission to correct you if I happen
to feel strongly about something?”
I hadn’t said that at all, but he was being quite indulgent, something I’d heard
older husbands many times were toward young wives. I was struck again how kind
he was, and so I said easily, “That’s right. You are a gentleman, Lawrence, just
as Grandfather was a gentleman.” The moment the words were out of my mouth, I
stalled. I just stared at him. To my absolute horror, I started crying.
I swear I don’t know where those blasted tears came from, but they just seeped
out of my eyes and trickled down my cheeks to drip off my chin. “Oh, goodness, I’m