A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(38)

This must be The Book, the subject of Lucy’s insistent hinting and Sophia’s equally insistent denial.

Tilting the leather binding until the embossed letters caught the candlelight, she read the title in a whisper. “The Memoirs of a Wanton Dairymaid.”

Oh my.

Bel recognized that this moment was one of those little tests life presented, from time to time. She held The Book in her hand, and now she must decide what to do with it. The right thing to do with it, she suspected, would be to put it back in the drawer, take the sleeping draught, and return to her bedchamber immediately.

But then, here was one of those little ironies life presented, from time to time. Knowing the right thing to do was far simpler in daylight, with people looking on and all potential regrets fully illuminated. When one was alone at midnight in a candlelit bedchamber, and any future beyond the present moment was as vague as the shadows … discerning the right course—or, more to the point, following it—was considerably more difficult.

A very large, very curious part of her wanted to open the book. And that was what she did. It began innocently enough. There was a printed text, and then there were pen-and-ink illustrations, which looked to have been inserted after the printing. In parallel, both words and images told the story of a courtship between a dairymaid and her gentleman employer. The dairymaid possessed a buxom, rounded figure, which immediately endeared her to Bel. And perhaps she imagined it, but the gentleman suitor bore a passing resemblance to Toby—lean, dashing, classically handsome.

Feeling reassured, Bel fixed her taper in a candlestick and settled herself on the edge of the bed to continue reading.

The beginnings of the lovers’ assignations were almost sweet, she thought, despite her general disinclination to romance. A kiss on the hand here, a whispered endearment there … She lingered over one depiction of the couple in a lovely pastoral scene, with rolling countryside in the background and gauzy clouds overhead. Those deft, light strokes, the attention to detail—it was the oddest thing, but Bel felt that the style of illustration was somehow familiar to her. Feeling certain that a proposal of marriage would be imminent, Bel eagerly flipped another page

—and nearly dropped the book.

The dairymaid’s sweet, meandering romance had taken an abrupt, quite carnal turn down the road to ruin. There she was in the dairy, reclined against the tiled countertop, hiking her skirts to her knees while the gentleman reached for her bared breast. Bel quickly scanned the preceding pages. No, no proposal of marriage therein. She felt more than a bit disappointed in the moral character of this dairymaid, with whom she’d come to identify. But then, considering the word “wanton” in the title, perhaps she ought to have been forewarned. Even the gentleman looked different in this illustration—less refined, more dark and devious. Still, she turned the page with great curiosity. Not curiosity of a prurient nature, of course. This was purely academic interest. Gentleman’s hand on lady’s breast—this much Bel had experienced. But she was to be married in less than a week, and everything that filled the pages beyond could prove invaluable education.

Lady Violet’s remarks still haunted her. Toby had such a rakish reputation. Surely he was experienced in what God intended to be the marital act, even though he had not been married. She was keenly afraid of disappointing him in her ignorance and ineptitude. She was even more afraid he might turn to another—adultery being a sin even greater than fornication—

should her efforts fail to please.

That was it. She was reading the rest of The Book for the good of Toby’s soul. Certainly not to slake her own depraved curiosity.

With fumbling fingers, she leafed through the next several printed pages, barely skimming the text. A strange rustling sound gave her a start—until she realized it to be her own raw-edged breath. Finally she came to the next illustration.

What an education it was. There were all sorts of body parts on display—male, female—but they remained fortunate blurs in Bel’s peripheral vision as her gaze trained in on the gentleman’s face. She realized, for the first time in several chapters, the illustration offered a full view of the hero’s face. A face that had altered, since the first pages of the book. It now looked a great deal like her brother’s.

Oh dear sweet heaven. It was. It was Gray’s face. And these illustrations were Sophia’s artistic hand at work—that was why the style had struck Bel as so familiar.

With a cry of horror, she clapped the book shut and flung it back in the drawer. She rose from the bed, rubbing her hands briskly up and down her arms. Never mind the hour-long soak she’d taken earlier that evening—Bel felt unclean. And well she should, for spying through her sister’s personal belongings. She ought to have known it was the wrong thing to do. No wonder Sophia had resisted all of Lucy’s hints that she should pass along The Book. How could she, after filling it with illustrations of such … such a private nature?

Well, if Bel had been after an education, she’d certainly learned her lesson. She made up her mind then and there that all further instruction in marital relations would come from her husband, and her husband alone. She did not need That Book, nor anything like it.

“Appalling,” she muttered, referring to her own behavior. With a resolute shove, she slammed the table drawer shut.

A moment later, she opened it again.

She might not need That Book, but one thing was clear. She now had desperate need of that sleeping draught.