“A duchess’s prerogative.” Corbin moved to the other costume. “But if with the one gown you flaunt your extravagance, what exactly do you wish to flaunt—and why—with this gown?” His voice was silky, but delivered its insult for all that.
“It’s the very newest fashion,” Jemma said indignantly, coming to stand next to him. “A chemise gown. Queen Marie Antoinette has at least four, I assure you.”
“Ah, but the lucky queen doesn’t live in England.” Corbin picked up the gown. It was made of a sweet flow of fabric in a pale peach, caught up here and there with bunches of pearls. Rather than being made of stiff satin, the cloth was as thin as a chemise—hence the name. It would barely skim her breasts, flowing down over her body like a delicate night garment.
“Are we so stuffy in England?” she asked.
“So cold,” Corbin said. “In both senses of the word. My darling duchess, you will cause the women to thrill with rage and cause the men to thrill with something else. But meanwhile you will freeze.”
“Freeze?” Jemma stared down at the chemise gown.
“There is nothing more unattractive than flesh dimpled with cold,” Corbin said flatly. “And the king’s fête takes place on his yacht. On the river. Unless you wish to spend the evening inside longing for a fireplace and a woolen shawl, you should wear the green gown. Which, by the way, is gorgeous.”
“But—”
“And not so desperate,” he continued.
Jemma whipped around. “I am never desperate!”
Corbin met her eyes in the glass. “Then why the desperation?” he asked gently.
“I am not desperate. I am…”
“Interested?” Corbin’s eyebrow rose, and his smile was so amused that she couldn’t help smiling back.
“In my husband,” she told him impulsively.
She surprised him. He dropped into his chair with something less than his usual insouciance. “Your husband? Your husband?”
“No one else’s,” she said, adding, “I have never meddled with a married man.” It was a frail claim to virtue, but all she had.
“I thought you had decided on Villiers,” Corbin said.
“No.” She didn’t say that it was a near miss.
“Your husband. I don’t even have the faintest idea what to advise you. I am shocked. Husbands are so—so—”
“Uninteresting.”
“Of course, Beaumont is all that is admirable.”
Jemma sighed. “I know.” She picked up the chemise gown and held it against her body, looking in the glass.
“Essential to the future of the country, from what I hear.”
“Tedious.”
“I didn’t say that! He holds deep moral beliefs, of course.”
“He’s my opposite,” Jemma said dismally. She threw the chemise dress back on the bed.
“How clever of you to recognize it,” Corbin said.
“Life is so much more interesting when people understand how angels and devils differ. I hear His Grace is most sincere in the House. You can—” He hesitated.
“—I believe you can trust everything he says.” He sounded horrified.
“I know, I know,” Jemma said, sighing again. “He’s a veritable Puritan.”
“We need good people,” Corbin said firmly. “It’s just a pity that they’re so—so—”
“Good.”
“I expect I feel so only because I myself am quite errant. I have never considered taking a seat in Parliament. Everyone—but everyone—wears those snail wigs. The ones with small crustaceans ranked around the ears like soldiers on parade.”
“I can easily imagine you in Parliament,” Jemma said, moving behind her friend so she could meet his eyes in the mirror over her dressing table. “You’re certainly more clever than most of them. I’d much prefer to see you running the country.”
He laughed at that. “I hope we are not friends due to some hopeless misconception about my character, Duchess.”
“We are friends because you are funny,” Jemma said. “And because you tell me the truth if my stockings are at odds with my slippers. And because you gossip cruelly about everyone and pretend to me that you will never do so behind my back.”
“It’s not a pretense. I can have room for only one woman in my heart at a moment,” he said, “and you are she.”
Jemma bent and kissed his cheek. “We are admirably suited.” She sat back down next to him.
“Except you are so serious this evening,” Corbin pointed out. “So passionate.”