Clarissa considered asking her friend about the assault upon the late Lady Blakeborough. But Edwin hadn’t said when it happened, and there were eight years between brother and sister. Yvette might not even know about it. It certainly fell into the category of something Edwin would never reveal.
Probably for the same reason Clarissa had never told Yvette about the Vile Seducer. Certain things were so dark, so shameful, that one couldn’t even tell one’s best friend or sibling. After all, Niall had ended up in exile, trying to keep her ruin a secret. She wasn’t going to dishonor his sacrifice by blurting it out to the world.
“You didn’t answer my question about being happy with Edwin,” Yvette said softly. “Are you?”
Lord, this was awkward. “We get along very well. He’s . . . not what I expected. I knew he had a dry sense of humor, but I had no idea that he could actually be fun.”
Yvette raised an eyebrow. “We’re still talking about Edwin, right?”
“Yes.” She felt an odd need to defend him. “He’s not half the somber fellow I took him for.” She walked over and picked up the automaton, which had held pride of place on her dressing table ever since her arrival. “He gave me this. He said that you had him make it for me last Christmas, but you never got the chance to give it to me.”
Her friend’s eyes gleamed with humor. “That’s true. And did he tell you why I never gave it to you?”
“He said he didn’t get it completed in time.”
Yvette laughed. “Because he wouldn’t stop altering it. Nothing was good enough, nothing was close enough, nothing seemed correct to him. ‘The eyes aren’t the right green,’ he told me one time. ‘Clarissa doesn’t move like that,’ he said another. I chalked it up to his usual attention to detail, but now I wonder . . .”
“Don’t,” Clarissa said, past the lump growing in her throat. “You’re attributing to him feelings for me that he doesn’t have.” His words floated through her mind: I’ve imagined having you like this for ages. “I mean, he is attracted to me, but—”
“But what?” Yvette sat up in bed to pounce on that admission. “Things are all right in that area, aren’t they? I know that Edwin is stodgy, but surely—”
“It’s not him,” Clarissa blurted out.
Yvette’s gaze narrowed on her, and Clarissa could have kicked herself for the admission. “What do you mean? If there’s a problem in the bedchamber, it most assuredly is him. He knows more about doing that than you, I’m quite sure, so it’s his responsibility to make it pleasant.”
“Pleasant?” Clarissa said incredulously.
At her tone, Yvette paled. “Oh, Lord, he’s not awful at it, is he? He hasn’t hurt you or anything? I wouldn’t have expected it of Edwin, but, well . . . one doesn’t know such things about one’s brother . . . I did always hear stories about Samuel, but Edwin—” She stopped as if realizing she was babbling. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but if it was as bad as all that—”
“We haven’t yet done that,” Clarissa said baldly.
She really must stop blurting things out. But if anyone could tell her how to get past the difficult part of marriage, it would be Yvette. For one thing, she had never minded discussing such things. For another, she obviously had a very talented husband in that respect, given how she doted on him.
“What do you mean, ‘done that’?” Yvette asked. “Surely you’re not saying that after a week of marriage, you still haven’t made the beast with two backs.”
“The beast with . . . What?”
Yvette waved her hand dismissively. “You know. You haven’t wapped or swived or joined giblets.”
A hysterical laugh bubbled up in Clarissa’s throat. “Oh, Lord, I forgot that you collect street slang.”
“And I taught you all the naughty words, too.” Yvette crossed her arms over her chest. “So, have you done the deed or not?”
“Well . . . no. We haven’t.”
“Whyever not?” Yvette exclaimed.
Now came the tricky part. More than ever, she didn’t want Yvette to know her past shame. Yvette would pity her, and Clarissa hated that. But there were certain things Clarissa wanted to learn, and Yvette seemed the only person likely to tell her.
“As I said, it’s not him. I’m just . . . so afraid of the pain. You know how I am about pain. I am most sensitive to it.”
“Nonsense.” As always, Yvette saw right through her. “You’ve never been sensitive to pain a day in your life. And besides, it’s only painful the first time. And even that isn’t all that bad.”
“Really?” Clarissa said skeptically. “That’s not what I heard.” Or experienced. It had seemed pretty awful to her.
“If the man knows what he’s doing, and is careful with you—”
“What if he isn’t?”
The bitter words seemed to give Yvette pause. “Has my brother ever hurt you? Has he ever given you reason to believe he would not be careful with you?”