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dear?"
    "Respond
somewhat ... with rather a great deal of enthusiasm for. . ."
    "Do
speak plainly, Helena. You know I do not appreciate inane niceties."
    "Did
you ever beg for your husband's lovemaking?" Helena asked in a rush.
    Marianne
gave a startled laugh. "Beg? Of course not!"
    "'Tis
true, then. I am a whore." Helena spoke the words with dull acceptance,
though her bottom lip quivered. "Harteford will never love me now."
    "I
am sure there is no need for such dramatics." Marianne reached for her
tea. Grimacing after a sip, she set the cup and saucer back on the table. "If
you were simply to explain ..."
    "Last
night, Marianne, I ... I acted like a wanton! I begged my husband to—"
    "Yes,
well, as I have said that is rather common in happy marriages."
    "You
said you never begged for your husband's attentions," Helena pointed
out.
    "That
is because I have not had the privilege of a happy marriage," her friend
responded tartly.
    "Oh.
I—I am sorry."
    "It
is of no consequence. After all, I gained a great deal from the match,
including the freedoms I now enjoy." Marianne raised a delicately arched
eyebrow. "Freedoms that would allow me to comment that the enjoyment of affaires is a commonplace thing."
    "But
you do not understand. I truly enjoyed it. So much so that I begged Harteford
to ..." Helena felt a panicked sob rise in her throat.
    "To
what, Helena? You will have to tell me if I am to help."
    Helena shut her eyes. "To fuck me. I begged him to fuck
me. With his ... his cock ."
    "My,
that is rather forward." Marianne cleared her throat. "Where exactly
did you learn such words?"
    "Well,
from Harteford, of course. He told me to say them last night." Helena blinked. "Where else would I learn them?"
    "And
how did your lord respond when you uttered those words to him?"
    Helena
paused, coloring. "He grew rather ...  frantic in his movements."
    "My,
my." Marianne fanned herself with her gloves. "And you found his
passion enjoyable, yes?"
    "It
was the most wonderful thing I have ever experienced," Helena said
fervently.
    "Then
why should he feel any differently about you?"
    Helena
tilted her head. "I beg your pardon?"
    "Why
should your husband not likewise enjoy passion from you?"
    She
had not thought of it that way before. "It's just that ... before we were
married, when he seemed quite fond of me, he commented often about my proper
nature. In point of fact, he once praised me as a paragon of virtue. Like
Caesar's wife—beyond reproach."
    Marianne
rolled her eyes. "My dear, no man wishes to bed a paragon, no matter what
he says. May I be frank with you?"
    "Yes,
of course." Struck by the enormity of her confessions, Helena suddenly
giggled. She had never talked so honestly in all her life. "After all I
have confided, need you ask?"
    "Your
husband married you for a reason. Despite his unfortunate origins, Harteford's
fortune still caused many a matchmaking matron to fall into paroxysms of
excitement. But he chose you. Why did he, do you think?"
    "Because
of my family's connections?" Helena ventured.
    "Marrying
into the peerage was a boon," Marianne conceded. "But then again,
there were several ladies on the market with titles and dowries that surpassed
your own. If it was simply blue blood that Harteford was after, why did he not
pursue a greater matrimonial prize?"
    "I
do not know." Without thinking, Helena reached for one of the pastries.
She stopped, her fingers trembling a hair's-breadth away from the fluted buttery
edge. Swallowing, she said, "But you are correct in one regard.
Financially speaking, I was no prize. You know that after ... after Thomas
passed, our fortunes changed."
    The
clock grew louder in the silence that followed, as did the hustle and bustle of
the servants as they carried on their duties beyond the drawing room doors.
Helena wondered if a time would ever come when she could talk of her older
brother's death without feeling the ache of emptiness. To compound the darkness
of that time, Marianne had