Jem laughed. “There goes my reputation.”

“All you have to do is act in a normal fashion,” Harriet said, twisting around to look at him.

“How much you have to learn, love.”

“I shall enjoy watching it,” Isidore said, with a honey-like satisfaction in her voice. “I have a feeling that Lord Strange’s reputation is about to dive to a new level of disreputableness, and I shall be here to see it!”

“Nonsense,” Harriet said briskly. “I shall stay away from Jem when in public, and all he has to do is keep to his normal impolite habit of ignoring his guests. I see nothing in that situation that should threaten his reputation.”

Lucille obviously didn’t approve. Harriet saw all sorts of questions trembling on her lips, some stopped by Jem’s presence, others by the barriers between maids and duchesses.

“Be off,” she said to Jem, giving him a little push toward the door.

“Look at Harriet’s lashes,” Jem said, draping himself in the door.

Isidore and Lucille looked in the general direction of her face.

“Lushly feminine,” he said, his voice deepening. “I knew she was a woman the moment I saw her.”

“You certainly did not!” Harriet exclaimed.

“No man’s lip has such an erotic curve.”

“When did you discover Harriet’s sex?” Isidore asked curiously. “Did you really know from the beginning?”

“Villiers told me,” Jem said. “Though I guessed before he confirmed it.”

“I’ll thank you to take yourself out the door before you ruin Isidore’s reputation,” Harriet said. “You might find yourself in a duel. Remember, Isidore has a husband to protect her.”

“In a matter of speaking,” Isidore murmured. “I feel as if I’m learning so much about men and women just from watching the two of you. I may shock my husband if he ever arrives.”

“His arrival is a given,” Harriet pointed out. “Still, I would prefer that the household doesn’t find Lord Strange standing in your doorway, and you in bed. Your husband will arrive only to divorce you.”

Isidore’s eyes widened. “Out!” she said, pointing to the door.

And this time, Jem obeyed, only sticking his head back in to say, “Fencing at eleven.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

Sources of Inspiration

February 10, 1784

“I t’s very frustrating,” Isidore said, the next morning. “I would have thought to receive at least an answer from my husband’s solicitor by now. I first wrote everyone with my plans months ago. My mother-in-law should have been able to work her magic by now.”

“Your husband is a dunce,” Harriet said. “Are you coming to breakfast?”

Isidore was lying on her bed, deliciously gowned in a French negligée, reading a book. “Absolutely not. I’ve just started Tacitus’s war manuals.”

“Who is Tacitus?”

“Was,” Isidore corrected her. “A Greek tactician. If I ever need to lead an army into battle, I am entirely prepared.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Harriet promised, and left Isidore happily sipping hot chocolate and wiggling her toes.

Nell was waiting for her outside the breakfast room. Harriet slowed when she saw her, but Nell took her arm and pulled her to the side. “I just want you to know,” she said, “that I don’t blame you for it.”

“For what?” Harriet asked, confused.

“For taking him away from me,” she said. “It was as if my eyes opened up night before last, because after you left the table, he went all drab and silent. And I knew that he had been witty for you, but he couldn’t be bothered for me.” Harriet felt a terrible pang of guilt.

“I—”

“I just want to know one thing,” Nell said.

Harriet blinked at her.

“Did you laugh at me? Were the two of you making up that poetry and laughing at me all the time?”

“No!” Harriet cried. “Absolutely not. I wrote the poetry for you because I thought…” Her voice trailed off.

“You thought he was interested in women,” Nell said. “I did too, obviously. You know, in a way that makes it easier? I really thought he fancied me. I just want to say that if it had to be someone else, I’m just as glad it’s you. Because it’s not another woman.” Her eyes flashed. “I’d have to kill you if you were a woman, Harry!”

“Goodness,” Harriet said faintly.

“I’ve been thinking about it…this is why no one ever hears of Strange actually being with a woman.”

Harriet gulped.

“I should have known. I mean, I work in the theater. But I was just blinded by the way he is.”

“I know,” Harriet said, feeling a surge of sympathy.

“We’re giving our final performance tonight, and we’ll be off to London,” Nell said. “And do you know, I was talking to Miss Linnet last night. She was the lead at Drury Lane last year, and she had a very nice understanding with a prince. I think a prince would suit me just fine. Don’t you think so, Harry?”

“Absolutely,” Harriet said, nodding. “A prince would love you, Nell.”

After breakfast, Jem crooked a finger, and they ended up in the gallery, fencing. Except the fencing turned into something else. They went to visit Eugenia, and on the way back, Jem suddenly whirled her into a spare bedchamber.

That night at the Game she won the patent to a curious calculating machine that cast sums. It was very pretty, but not useful, to Harriet’s mind. So later she allowed Jem, who thought he could make improvements to it, to win it from her at another kind of game they played at night.

“I want to know exactly when you guessed I was a woman,” she said, sometime near midnight.

“Are you sure you don’t want it to be a secret? I could tell you on your fiftieth birthday. As a surprise.”

She snorted.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Jem said. “This is a bit embarrassing. I didn’t know from the very beginning.”

“Obviously.”

“In fact, it was utterly demoralizing, the way I kept looking at you and—well—desiring you, and there you were, a man.”

She laughed.

“You’re going to think I’m a fool.”

She just turned her head and looked at him.

“All right, I am a fool,” he said with a groan.

“Let’s take that as a given and move on,” she suggested, smiling at him.

He started kissing her and they both forgot the subject of conversation.

“I was idiotically slow in discovering your secret,” he said, some time later.

“Let’s take that as a given as well,” Harriet said. “Just when did it first occur to you?”

“The moment I accused you of kissing the stableboy. You were so horrified—and yet you had kissed him.”

Harriet snorted. “Degenerate beast that you are. I remember you suddenly got very cheerful.”

“I was. Do you know, I was actually starting to contemplate the unthinkable?”

She laughed. “For me?”