Tears started sliding down Isidore’s cheeks. “I was never unfaithful to Cosway. The Comte de Salmont told me—in rhymed couplets—that I was more delicious than a 1764 cognac, and given his cellars, that was a true compliment. I finally returned to Italy because Salmont was so extravagant in his pursuit, but I didn’t sleep with him, even when he threatened to kill himself.” She sniffed, and Jemma handed her a handkerchief.
“I kept to my part of the bargain, although any woman in her right mind would expect her husband to show himself when she came of age.”
“Childhood marriages are a huge mistake,” Jemma said. “I shall never allow Beaumont to arrange one for a child of ours. People should be adults when they marry.”
“I’m not fussy. Truly I’m not. I may have flirted with men as handsome as Salmont, but I like men of other types too. Even short ones. I’ve told myself for years that no matter how Cosway looked when he finally staggered out of the jungle, I would do my marital part charitably if not enthusiastically. But—”
“Is he unacceptable?” Jemma asked with some curiosity.
“Oh, oh—no,” Isidore said. “That’s not the point. His looks are irrelevant. He’s manifestly odd. Odd!”
“I have another idea. Perhaps Cosway is just too intelligent to have interested himself in carnal matters.”
Isidore gave her a watery smile. “Show me the man who’s too intelligent to use his tool, and I’ll show you a dunce.” The words came out more harshly than she intended.
“The most obvious explanation is that he’s following some sort of religious law. Did he say anything about going to church? Likely he’s a Puritan. Aren’t they terrifyingly severe when it comes to base appetites?”
“I spent almost no time alone with him,” Isidore said, “and if he has converted to a puritanical sect, he neglected to inform me. He arrived at the house party, scooped me up as if I were a parcel he’d left behind, announced that we were to be remarried, and dropped me in London.”
“What do you mean, dropped you in London?” Jemma said, frowning. “Dropped you where?”
“At Nerot’s Hotel,” Isidore said dispiritedly. “We stayed there last night. I hardly need say that we didn’t share a room. He told me—without asking my opinion—that I should wait in the hotel until he returned from his estate.”
Jemma cleared her throat. “Obviously Cosway is not au courant as regards English customs. What did you reply?”
“Not as much or as sharply as you might expect. He assumed that I would unthinkingly obey him, and though I can hardly believe it, I did. Now all I can think of are the cutting things that I should have said.”
“You’ve discovered one of the primary activities of married life, and so quickly too,” Jemma said. “I’ve lost weeks formulating the witty remarks that I should have said to Beaumont.”
“I did manage to tell him that I would stay with you rather than remain in the hotel.”
“Why didn’t you discuss this hotel business on the way to London from the house party?”
It was humiliating to admit the truth of it. “He barely entered the carriage before he fell asleep.”
“Cosway fell asleep after meeting you for the first time? Meeting his wife for the first time?”
Isidore nodded. “I believe the truth of it is that I am not what he expected, Jemma, and certainly not what he wanted. When he arrived, the night before, he seemed taken aback by my gown. I was wearing my silver gown. Do you remember that costume?”
“No one could forget the twist of cloth pretending to be a bodice. I’ve seen larger diamonds.”
“It seemed to me that from the view of convenience, not to mention desire, that the gown was the perfect welcome to a missing husband,” Isidore said with a deep sigh. “When I wore it in Paris, the Comte de Salmont said—well, never mind what he said. My husband just asked if my taste was always this unorthodox. I did not take that to be a compliment. He then retired to bed. By himself, one hardly need add.”
“Few men could resist you in that gown,” Jemma said, a frown pleating her forehead.
“The following morning,” Isidore said with a sniff, “he ordered everything packed up and I barely said goodbye to Harriet before he bundled me into the carriage. Whereupon he went to sleep rather than talk to me. I’ve married a monster!”
“If he is indeed a monster, then you needn’t stay married to him,” Jemma said practically.
“How can I not? He’s planning a wedding celebration in the chapel at Revels House. Which means that I have the prospect of seeing my mother-in-law, a pleasure that I have carefully avoided for years.”