He opened his mouth, then closed it again, bereft of any comment suitable for mixed company.
“I am not at all clever,” she said. “But I have no difficulty asking people to explain things. Some people do, you know. But I don’t. For instance, I would like to ask you a question.”
“Fire away,” Tristan said.
“Would you like milk? Oh, that isn’t the question. That’s just an inquiry.”
“No, nothing, thank you.”
“Well, tea, of course, so not quite nothing.” She poured him a cup of tea and handed it to him.
He had just taken a sip when she asked, “Are you diseased?”
With an effort, he kept from either spitting it out or choking on it; when he’d managed to swallow, he asked, “I beg your pardon?”
Her demeanor was as calm as if she’d just asked him the time. “Diseased. I overheard my brother Daniel discussing you with my papa, and he said I would be lucky if you weren’t diseased. He said that you made a habit of… well, I can’t say the word, it’s most improper, but it
means
that you lie with ladies and that that frequently breeds disease.” A faint frown appeared on her forehead. “I don’t understand quite how that would happen, but I thought I’d better ask.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “No,” he said in amusement, “I’m not diseased. I take precautions to avoid, er, engendering offspring, and it seems to have a salutary effect on the spread of… illnesses.”
She cocked her head, like a little wren. “What
sort
of precautions?”
“This is a most improper conversation,” Tristan said, fighting back the little imp of depravity that was encouraging him to elaborate.
“But we are betrothed. I do most sincerely wish to confirm that you are not ill before I marry you. Please explain how you prevent this.”
“Are you
serious
?”
She blinked. “Yes, why?”
“Well-bred ladies do
not
discuss such things with gentlemen they have just met.”
“Perhaps if they did,” she said meditatively, “there would be less spread of illness.”
He opened his mouth, then shut it again. And sipped his tea. Finally, he said, “I always use a French letter.”
She frowned. “A French letter? You mean one of those like the
c
with the little squiggle beneath, or the
o
with the hat?”
He laughed out loud. “Lady Charlotte, you are a delight. No, it is a sheath that fits over the—” He started to say, “Membrum virilis,” which was how his tutor had described it when he’d given Tristan “the talk,” but realized quickly that she would have no idea what he was referring to. So he took a breath and went on, “The male member. My dear Lady Charlotte, you must
swear
that you will never repeat a word of this conversation, or your papa will have me horsewhipped!”
Her eyes met his, thoughtful and innocent. “Of course not. It is a private conversation. How does this prevent engendering?”
“By keeping a man’s seed from the woman. Did your mama or your governess ever tell you
anything
about how babies are born?”
“Of course not. They said my husband would explain it to me. And you are my husband, or you will be on Monday, and that is quite the same thing. I thought since you were here you might take the time, because I’m sure on Monday we will be
quite
busy with the wedding, and the wedding breakfast, and all.”
“Right.” He took a deep breath. “Babies are engendered by the man placing his male member inside the woman in a special place between her legs and releasing seed. There. That’s it, in a nutshell.”
She pursed her lips, thinking. “But if you don’t want to engender babies, why do it?”
“Because it is an exceedingly pleasant experience. However, there is always the danger of babies. And disease, if your partner is not completely clean.”
Again the wrinkling of the nose. “I should not want a partner who was not clean.”
“Neither would I, but it is not something that one notices in one’s excitement,” Tristan said dryly.
“Do you lie with a great many ladies?”
“Lady Charlotte….”
“That is very personal, is it not? I apologize.”
“No need. I can understand that it would be a concern of yours. Pray believe me when I tell you I will do nothing that will cause you any harm.”
“Except lying with me and making me have babies,” she said. “I have often heard that women die in childbirth. It makes me wonder why they bother.”
“For the propagation of the species,” Tristan said, confused. Didn’t all women want babies? Well, all ladies, anyway—a good number of the women he consorted with would be horrified to find themselves increasing, but not because of fear of death in childbirth. He blinked. “Don’t you want babies?”
“Oh, I suppose one or two would be acceptable,” Charlotte said. “As long as one can afford nurses and whatnot. Do the ladies you lie with not want babies?”
My God, this girl was a mind reader. He shook his head. “No—at least not mine.”
“Pity. I would imagine you would have pretty babies. I trust any babies I have of yours will be pretty.” She took a sip of tea. “I will, of course, be placing my life in your hands, but I suppose it is necessary for you to have an heir. Papa explained that to me when he told me I would be marrying you.”
“‘Told you’? He didn’t ask you?”
Her eyes went wide. “Whatever for? I do not have an opinion on the matter.”
“You don’t? You aren’t being forced into this or anything?”
“No, of course not. I knew I would be married eventually. Papa and Daniel both found you agreeable—except for the issue of disease, of course, and I am most satisfied with your answer. So how should I object?” She cocked her head again, birdlike. “I am quite satisfied, Mr. Northwood. You are a gentleman, you have answered my questions honestly, I believe, and you are not unattractive, so our children should be pleasant to look upon. And Papa tells me you are comfortable financially, and heir to a great deal more, as well as to an honorable title. No, I am quite content. I would prefer to correspond with my brother Charlie about this; I am used to taking his advice, for he is a very wise man. He is a cavalry officer, you know.”
“I have heard,” Tristan said between his teeth.
“However, there is certainly not enough time for that! No matter. For my part, I assure you I will not object to your continuing in your habits as before; I certainly do not expect you to dance attendance upon me. I expect that once I have produced an heir—and perhaps a second child, just to keep him company—I will be permitted to return to the country. I have no great love for Town.”
Tristan stared at her blankly. He hadn’t quite expected to come here and make love to the girl, but he had at least expected to have to charm her a bit. She was so completely disinterested in their marriage that it shocked him, despite his familiarity with loveless society unions—and the bored wives that resulted. He’d expected that his own would end up that way as well, but somehow he felt that Charlotte would not even consider expending the energy to have an affair. Peculiar creature.
Still, he was getting what he wanted: a wife who would not interfere with his activities and would provide him with the heir his father demanded.
“Yes, of course,” he said with a feeling of relief. “I myself prefer Town living, but I do have a very nice hunting box in Leicestershire, not far from my family home—which of course we will inherit in due time. It’s called Lilac Cottage. The hunting box, not my family home—that’s Wareham.” He was vaguely aware that he was rattling. “And even had I not, the settlements include a property that will be yours outright upon the birth of your second child. So you will be able to be mistress of your own establishment, and not required to tolerate the company of the baron unless you wish it.”
“I probably shall not,” she said. “I’ve met him, of course, but I don’t see the need to maintain any great acquaintance with him. Thank you. A small manor will be quite acceptable. And until then, a townhouse here, and your Lilac Cottage.”
“Well, then. If you have no more questions?”
“Just one.” Charlotte put her tea cup and saucer back on the table and folded her hands. “You said that the engenderment process requires a man to place his member inside a special place in a woman. I believe I am acquainted with the area you mean, from suffering the monthlies as all women do. However, do not men possess the same orifice?”
“No. Our equipment is entirely external.” Really, this conversation was the strangest Tristan had ever experienced.
“Hmm. Then when two men lie together, how do they manage?”
A vision roared through Tristan’s head at her words: an accidental drunken stumbling into the wrong inn room late at night, the sight of broad shoulders, lean flanks, the arch of a back golden with sweat and firelight; a pair of equally muscular legs wrapped around that strong back and a man’s voice urging the other on with incomprehensible cries. The sight had never left Tristan since that drunken night three years before. Sometimes, just as he was ready to spend, the memory came again, blocking out the face of the woman beneath him. “I
beg
your pardon?!” Tristan’s face burned with unaccustomed embarrassment, and he wasn’t sure if it was at her words or at the memories they dragged up.
“Well, they do, sometimes, you know.”
“And how the dev— How would you know that?”
She cocked her head and regarded him thoughtfully. “I do not think I should say,” she said finally. “It was a private conversation—much like this one.”
“Well, you should not have had that conversation, and if I ever find out who it was I shall horsewhip him myself!” Tristan said furiously. “That sort of union is an abomination, not only illegal but immoral. Men who lie with men are deservedly hanged. It is appalling that anyone should have sullied the ears of a gently bred lady such as yourself!”
“Oh. It is very bad, then?”
“A terrible sin!”
She nodded, not flustered in the least. “Interesting.” Then she smiled at him. “It’s very kind of you to be concerned about my well-being,” she said in the same sweet voice. “I’m very happy that you should be anxious about it. It bodes well for our acquaintance.”
He sat a moment, speechless. Then the door opened and the companion peeped in. Lottie glanced up and smiled at her with the precise same smile she’d given him: sweet and warm, but ultimately dispassionate. “Come in, Ellen. We’re quite done here.” She stood and he followed suit, taking the hand she held out to him. “Mr. Northwood, thank you for stopping and for setting my mind at ease. I am quite looking forward to Monday morning. Ellen, dear, would you see Mr. Northwood out?”
“Certainly,” Mrs. Bayes said, and opened the door wider for him. He went out and down the stairs beside her, still reeling from the strange conversation he’d just had.
As he took his hat and coat from the butler, Mrs. Bayes said, “She’s not stupid, you know. Or slow. People think that about her, but it isn’t true. She’s actually very bright in her own way. So you needn’t worry about your heir being daft or anything. She’s just… different.”