The Duchess War (Brothers Sinister #1)

This woman, Minnie reminded herself, was going to be her mother-in-law for decades. It wouldn’t do to have her as an enemy.

It also wouldn’t do to have the duchess think her cowed. Minnie gave her the barest nod, as between equals. “Are you here to dissuade me? Demand a return of your five thousand pounds?” She lifted her chin and returned her attention to the toast on her plate. “I shall rip up your bank draught.”

The duchess snorted, sweeping into the room. She pulled back a chair for herself before the maid could jump to attention and then sat at the table expectantly.

“Well?” she demanded. “Pour the tea.”

Minnie did and then, at the duchess’s direction, added sugar.

As she did, her great-aunts stole looks back and forth, as if silently arguing with one another about whether they should intervene. But the duchess paid them no mind. She took a piece of toast—slightly burnt—and set it on her plate.

Minnie handed her the cup and saucer. She took a sip and then set it down, as if by so doing she’d satisfied the demands of good manners. “And here I thought you had some sense, Miss Pursling.”

“I do. Are you here to browbeat me again?”

The duchess shook her head. “Only the most deluded, romantic woman who found herself in my position would suppose that throwing a tantrum at her son’s bride-to-be would alter the outcome. You know the risks. My son knows the truth. I made my best offer and it wasn’t enough. The world rarely cares for my inclinations. When matters don’t go my way, there’s only one thing to do.” So saying, she lifted the toast and took a dainty bite.

“What is that?” Minnie asked.

The duchess swallowed her bite with a small frown, set down the toast, and then stirred her tea. “Do you like cats, Miss Pursling?”

Minnie blinked at this turn to the conversation. “I am fond of them, although I wish Pouncer would stop leaving mouse livers on my bed.”

The duchess waved away rodent innards with one lace glove. “Have you ever seen a cat apologize, or admit it was in the wrong?”

“Cats don’t talk,” Caro put in, her first words for the morning.

The duchess looked up, glaring at her. “A woman capable of keeping her infamous grand-niece in safety for a decade can surely bring herself to understand a little figurative speech.” She turned back to Minnie. “Have you ever seen a cat attempt to pounce on a target, and miss?”

“Of course.”

“And what does the cat do?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “It acts as if it intended to miss. ‘Yes,’ it says, ‘I let that one go as a warning to all the others. Now I shall lick my paws for the next five minutes, precisely as I had planned.’”

“It says that?” Minnie asked innocently.

“Figuratively speaking. My point is, be the cat. Everyone respects a cat.”

“Well, actually,” Eliza said, “in the time of the Black Plague—”

The duchess extended a hand. “Do not pollute my perfectly acceptable figurative speech with irrelevant facts!” she thundered. “There is no need for those.” She focused on Minnie once more. “Now, I have decided that you and my son must honeymoon in Paris.”

This abrupt change of subject had Minnie shaking her head. “That seems…romantic. Are you sure?”

“Exactly,” the duchess said. “It seems romantic, and as little as I approve of the actual existence of romance, I am well aware that you will need the appearance of it very badly.” She pursed her lips and then looked at the wall.

If Minnie hadn’t known better, she would have thought that the woman looked embarrassed. She finally spoke again—for the first time, not looking directly at Minnie.

“Second,” she said, “you might consider not consummating the marriage.”

“What? Why? So it can be annulled?”

The duchess rolled her eyes. “That is a horrid myth. You cannot annul a marriage for simple lack of consummation. Trust me; I have consulted every lawyer in London as to the ways in which one might end a marriage. I know the law to an inch. I merely think it best if your first child did not come until at least ten or eleven months after the marriage. Let nobody think that you married because you were pregnant. They will talk, otherwise. For decades.”

“Is that more of your figurative speech again?” Caro put in.

“Experience,” the duchess said grimly. “Robert was an eight-month baby.”

Minnie choked and shut her eyes, trying to expunge the implications from her mind.

“He was early,” the duchess said calmly. “First children often are. I have said so every day for the last twenty-eight years, and so it must be true.” She fixed Minnie with a glare. “So you’ll refrain from marital relations for a good two months.”