A Debutante's Guide to Rebellion (5 page)

“No, you have to say the whole thing,” Lady Eddie said with a little roll of her eyes.

“Lady Mildred, would you like me to accompany you on your walk?” he asked woodenly.

She stifled a laugh. “Oh, that was dreadful. You're terrible at conversation; I'm abysmal at dancing. What a pair we make.”

“We may be hopeless,” Ezekiel agreed.

“In any case, I should greatly enjoy your company on my walk,” Lady Eddie said, and turned primly on her heel, casting a look behind her. He hurried to join her, and she began a slow circuit of the greenhouse. The narrow aisles between the central table and those at the sides necessitated that they walk quite closely together, their sides brushing against the wood and their bodies nearly touching.

Ezekiel swallowed. He had never had such an awareness of another person's body. She was entrancingly constructed, with slim shoulders and a larger-than-average bosom, displayed with obvious intention by the cut of her bodice. The rest of her body was better concealed, but each time she stepped the fabric of her dress pulled against her legs, hinting at the shape of her hips.

“You're meant to make conversation while we walk,” Lady Eddie reminded him, and he twitched, certain that she had noticed his gaze straying to her ingeniously proportioned form.

“I don't know what I could possibly speak about,” Ezekiel said. “When I talk, I talk too quickly and too much. I become fixated on a subject, and I can never seem to determine when an appropriate time has come to stop. Even when I remember to pause, there is rarely a reply, and so I am forced to continue.”

“When you think to pause, you should ask a question instead,” Lady Eddie suggested. “Something simple. And perhaps limit yourself to a number of sentences. Say, five. Once you have said five sentences, pause, and ask a question.”

“What sort of question?”

“Oh, let's say that we are talking about the weather. You explain the difference between cumulus, stratus, and cirrus clouds. So you're explaining cloud modification and variations in the atmosphere, and then you realize you've said five things, so you finish with, oh,
I do enjoy reading a good book on a rainy day, don't you?
or
What sort of weather do you think we'll have next week?
”

“You know Mr. Howard's work on cloud modification?” Ezekiel asked with surprise. It did not seem like typical reading for a young lady. But then, the whole reason they were here was his lack of expertise on that particular subject.

Lady Eddie laughed. “I'm afraid I'm a bit of a magpie when it comes to bits of information. Once I hear something, I can't seem to forget it. And I was once stuck in a particularly gloomy cottage on a particularly gloomy day with nothing but scientific papers to read. I can also tell you a great deal about Lamarck's classification of invertebrates, if you like.” She glanced at him, horrified. “Don't ever tell my mother that we've spoken of this.”

“To do that, I would have to tell her something of the circumstances, which would not be prudent,” Ezekiel said, which made her laugh again. He decided to start keeping count of the number of times he could do that.

They made another circuit of the table, and then another, and then sat side by side on a short bench beside the bottlebrush to rest their feet—and keep talking. Their conversation ranged from cumulus clouds to carnivorous plants to tales of their childhoods and back again, and never once did she chide him that he was speaking too much, or that he was boring her.

She laughed seven times. She smiled more times than he could count.

On a whim, Ezekiel plucked the smallest of the bottlebrush blossoms from its branch. “I do know that it is a customary gesture of affection to give a woman a flower,” he said. He held it out. “A poor approximation of the usual varieties, but we are playacting, after all.”

She took it from him, and momentarily her fingers brushed against his. He felt a peculiar tingling sensation in his abdomen. The urge to pair and procreate was perfectly natural, he reminded himself, part of the human condition. And he was, despite the suspicions of his classmates and relatives, entirely human by every anatomical test that he could conceive of (and which could be performed prior to his death). It did not necessarily mean anything, this infatuation. It was only his instincts insisting that he beget another generation and preserve the species.

She tucked the bottlebrush behind her ear, looking downward with a closed-lipped smile. He rather forgot to breathe for a moment.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“See? You aren't so terrible at this after all,” she said. “When you court a lady in earnest, you may even earn yourself a kiss.”

Ezekiel blanched. “That would be the end of things. I have no idea—”

“How to even approach a kiss?” Lady Eddie guessed. She leaned in toward him a little, as if confessing something. “I've never kissed anyone, either. I worry about it sometimes. What if I'm rubbish at it?”

“It would not be indicative of your eventual level of skill, in all likelihood. Kissing seems to me an act like any other. Talent plays a role, but practice and persistence are sure to make up the difference in time.”

“But kissing isn't exactly something you can practice,” Lady Eddie pointed out. “Once you find someone worth kissing, you want to be able to do it right straightaway.”

“That is a problem,” Ezekiel admitted.

“You could kiss me,” she said. “As practice.”

His mouth felt very dry. He stared at her lips. He would definitely like to kiss her. He definitely did not want to do it merely for the practice. She was smiling that closed smile, as if a delighted laugh were waiting to escape the moment she parted her lips.

“Well?” she said. “Would you like to kiss me? For practice, of course. Purely an intellectual exercise.”

She had an excellent point. He wouldn't want to go into his first kiss unprepared, would he? It was an operation with a high potential for disaster.

“It seems prudent,” he acknowledged.

“It would practically be irresponsible not to,” Lady Eddie said gravely.

“Well,” he said. “All right.”

Eddie waited, but Mr. Blackwood did not move. He was making fists with his fingers and then stretching them out again, and he had his weight canted slightly away from her, as if he were prepared to run. “Unless you don't want to?” she said.

“No, no, you're right. It's an entirely sensible precaution,” Mr. Blackwood said.

She stifled an inward sigh. A sensible precaution. Of course Mr. Blackwood would be the one man in the world who would take her at her word when she claimed it was only for practice.

Her mother would be horrified. She was meant to be marrying his uncle, and yet she had spent their whole conversation wondering what a kiss from Mr. Blackwood might be like. Like him, she imagined. A little bit awkward at first, until he focused on the task instead of what someone might think of him. Then he would be precise. Serious. Thorough. He would kiss her as if there were nothing but kissing to think of, as if every variation and angle must be considered and experimented with. He would kiss her like she was a puzzle, or a question to be answered.

She leaned ever so slightly toward him. “The gentleman is meant to begin,” she prompted him. She rested her hands on his shoulders.

Tentatively, he leaned toward her.

There was a crash outside. “Drat!” Sophie said, and they sprang to their feet and apart so rapidly that Eddie banged against the table beside her, nearly knocking it over altogether. Sophie appeared, kicking her shoe against the door to knock a clod of dirt from it, and grinned at them.

“So. Have you figured it all out?”

“No,” Mr. Blackwood said. “We have not made any progress. I don't see why you thought we would, in the space of a single hour.”

“It's been three hours,” Sophie told him with a smirk.

He frowned. He did not lose track of time. He simply didn't. But he'd had no suspicion that so much time had passed.

“Oh, well,” Sophie said. “In that case, we'll simply have to talk up Lady Eddie to our uncle, plant suggestions about his need for an heir, and then get the two of them in the same place at the same time at the next ball so that they can talk.”

“That seems remarkably straightforward,” Eddie said with a frown. “Why did you need us to come up with a plan, then?”

“I suppose I didn't after all,” Sophie said.

Eddie narrowed her eyes at the older girl. She'd thrown the two of them together, alone, in an isolated space. Why? Was she trying to pair
them
up?

That was probably it. She viewed Eddie as unsuitable for her uncle, and thought that if she could be distracted or compromised, it would save him the trouble of marrying her. She had not believed Sophie thought so poorly of her, but she had been wrong about such things before.

The fact that the notion of marrying Ezekiel Blackwood inspired a faint tingle of delight only made the deception rankle all the more.

“Well,” Eddie said briskly. “Thank you for your help. I should be getting home.” She started for the door.

“Wait,” Mr. Blackwood said. She turned, half hoping that he would—oh, she didn't know. That he would make it all better. But instead he pointed to the bottlebrush behind her ear. “You should probably take that out,” he said.

She snatched the bottlebrush and tossed it onto the table beside her. “Thank you,” she said again, and turned to go.

***

Ezekiel didn't understand exactly what had transpired in those final moments in the greenhouse, but he knew that he had made some sort of grave error. Lady Eddie had looked distressed in a subtle way. He was not good at the subtleties of human emotion, however, and he couldn't say for certain what the nature of her distress had been.

Sophie was no help. “Don't be silly,” she said. “She likes you. It's obvious.”

“That was not my question,” Ezekiel said. They were walking home together, a long jaunt but a welcome one. It allowed Ezekiel the chance to fit in exercise as well as conversation with Sophie, both of which were essential for a day well-spent. Also on the list: reading, eating, proper hydration. However, none of these three tasks were easily combined with exercise, so this particular arrangement was the most efficient by far. “And I don't see how it is relevant at all. We are not trying to ensure that she likes me. We are trying to ensure that our uncle likes her.”

He did not enjoy the roil of jealousy that followed those words. He was determined to be enlightened about this arrangement. A triumph of intellect over base instinct, in the service of friendship.

“You must see that she deserves better than to be married to a man so much older than her, for the sole purpose of providing an heir,” Sophie said. “I cannot believe that Lord Averdale would be so callous and cynical as to pursue her.”

“He's only being rational,” Ezekiel said. “And I see no reason why she wouldn't be a suitable wife.”

“For whom, exactly?” Sophie asked.

“For Lord Averdale, of course,” Ezekiel replied. He was not enjoying this conversation; it was extremely uncomfortable, in fact, and he was relieved when they reached the town house and Sophie excused herself to her room. After some consideration, Ezekiel made for the library. He was certain he had seen several horticultural texts on the shelves, and he wanted to investigate the proper tending of the crimson bottlebrush. That way, he and Lady Eddie would be able to—

He stopped in the doorway. His uncle was already in the library, sitting in an armchair with a book open before him. Ezekiel could not read the title from this distance, but forced to guess, he would say it was a philosophical text. Lord Averdale was far more comfortable with the abstract than Ezekiel ever had been.

“Ezekiel,” Lord Averdale said, looking up. “I thought you were out with Sophie today.” His voice had a hint of a rumble about it, suiting his wide frame perfectly. He was not a fat man; only a large one. Ezekiel might have compared him to a bull, but for the gentleness of his demeanor.

“Our errand has concluded,” Ezekiel said. This was it; the perfect opportunity to begin this undertaking in earnest. If he truly wished to be a friend to Eddie, he must say something now. “I wondered if you might have a moment to talk,” he said.

“Of course,” Lord Averdale said, and indicated the other chair, angled slightly toward his own. Ezekiel crossed quickly to it and sat, tugging his coat down and clearing his throat. “What is it, Ezekiel?”

“I wanted to discuss the subject of matrimony,” Ezekiel said. “It has recently been pointed out to me that it can be extremely advantageous. A wife provides a great many services to her husband. The social sphere and the private are better tended to in partnership than in isolation. There is also the question, of course, of children.” He paused. That was five sentences. “What do you think?” he asked.

“I think you are absolutely correct. The right marriage can indeed be very advantageous,” Lord Averdale said. He had shut his book, but kept his finger between the pages to mark his spot. He pushed his spectacles up his nose. “However, you are still young to be worrying about such things.”

“Oh. I see I have been unclear,” Ezekiel said. He shifted. “I was not considering my own marriage. I was considering yours. It has been five years since your second wife died.” Five sentences, even if the first one was alarmingly short. Could one utilize the semicolon in the spoken word, he wondered, or would that be cheating? “Have you considered remarrying?”

“I have considered it,” Lord Averdale said slowly. “Though only because of the question of inheritance.”

Ezekiel nodded. “You'll require a male heir; it's obvious enough that I am unsuited to the role.” Hm. He'd count that as one. “I take no offense at that; it's clear to anyone who has spent any time with me, and I have spent more time with myself than anyone.” Yes, this was much more convenient. “Given the average lifespan of a man of our social class, it would seem prudent to acquire a new wife without a great deal of delay. Hopefully you will have many more years, but there's no sense in incurring more risk than necessary. And you will want to seek out a young wife, one more likely to be able to provide you with the requisite heir.” Five. Damn. “Have you considered any specific candidates?”

Lord Averdale laughed. “Ezekiel, I would have no qualms about passing the title on to you. None at all. You would hardly be the most unusual earl England has seen, believe me. You remind me a great deal of your father, in fact, and at times I thought he would have made the better earl than myself, had he lived.”

Ezekiel blinked. He spent so much time thinking about how
un
like his stepfather he was, he had never stopped to consider that he might bear some similarities to his natural father. He had never known the man, and his mother never spoke of him; not once.

“I have considered taking another wife, but I have rejected it for the very reasons you state,” Lord Averdale continued. “I would need to take a young wife, if my end was producing an heir. And I cannot bring myself to do it. To saddle a young woman with an old man such as myself.”

Ezekiel reflected that his uncle had used more than five sentences. Perhaps he should be allowed
seven
sentences instead. “I could present a number of arguments refuting my suitability for the role,” he said with a frown. Before he could launch into his next six sentences, though, his uncle held up a hand.

“Ezekiel, this is not an argument we need to have. I've made my decision, and I intend to abide by it. Why do you think I've invited you to stay here for the Season? As my heir, you'll need to spend a great deal more time with me. Whatever the statistics indicate about my life span, I hope we'll have plenty of years to get you settled and comfortable with the idea.”

Ezekiel stared at him. This made very little sense on a number of levels. “What about Lady Eddie?” he said.

“Who?”

Ezekiel shook his head a little. “Lady Mildred Weller. If you don't intend to marry, why have you been courting her?”

“Courting . . . ? Oh, dear. Have I given that impression? It certainly wasn't my intention. She's hardly more than a girl, Ezekiel. And the loneliest girl I think I have ever met. She reminds me of Jane.” His eldest daughter, now married. Ezekiel had met her only a few times, and spoken only a few words to her. At the time, he had imagined that she didn't like him. Now, he wondered if she had been as shy as he felt around strangers. “She's miserable every time I see her, so I try to cheer her up.”

“Oh,” Ezekiel said simply. He did not know how to react to the news. Part of him was exultant. Part of him was imagining what it would be like to relay this news to Lady Eddie. She would be devastated. He did not understand her reasons for wanting to marry his uncle, but it was obvious even to him how important it was to her. “I shall have to tell her,” he said softly.

“Tell Lady Mildred? Then she believes it as well.” Lord Averdale shook his head. “I never meant to mislead her that way. Poor girl. I should speak to her.”

“No, don't,” Ezekiel said. “I'll do it. We're . . . friends.” He wasn't sure that was precisely true. But if he was forced to name a friend, and Sophie was not an option, hers was the first name he would speak. Besides, it was he who had promised to help her, and therefore he who had failed her. He rose.

“Will you go to speak to her now, then?” Lord Averdale asked.

“Yes,” Ezekiel said. “Yes, I think I had better.”

“Ezekiel, you and Lady Mildred are perhaps the two young people most in need of friendship, out of all of my acquaintances. You are both unusual, and that is not an easy thing to be. Be kind to her.”

Ezekiel paused. Was it kinder to give her news that would sadden her, hurt her? Or to preserve her hope?

He knew which he would prefer, and as
unusual
as he was, it was the only measurement he had to go by. He would want the truth. And so the truth she would have.

***

Eddie returned to the house feeling vaguely sick. Had Sophie been playing with her? Taunting her? What about Mr. Blackwood? He had seemed to genuinely like her. They both had. And she'd liked them. She'd managed to forget her purpose in being there.

Perhaps she was so hungry for any kind of approval that she was an easy target.

“Darling, you look distressed,” her mother said. Eddie turned slowly. Lady Copeland was on the stairs, one hand on the banister and her eyes narrowed in appraisal. “Did Miss Osborn not return with you?”

“Miss Osborn had her own business to attend to,” Eddie said.

“Did she mention her uncle? Did he send her?”

Eddie cocked her head to the side. “Why him?” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Why Lord Averdale? Why do you want me to marry him? I'm still very young, Mother. Some people would say nineteen is too young to get married at all.” Though she might point out to those people that they did no favors by simply raising the floor of the appropriate marriageable age, without lifting the ceiling as well to compensate; it seemed that by the time one was mature enough for matrimony in some eyes, spinsterhood was already waiting to pounce.

Her mother sighed. “Oh, darling. You know I only want the best for you, don't you? Come upstairs. We can talk there. And I have something to show you.”

Eddie followed her mother dutifully up to her room. Her mother crossed to her vanity. A lockbox sat atop it, next to an old silver jewelry box that held her mother's less expensive baubles. Lady Copeland lifted a key from around her neck and fit it into the lockbox, opening the lid to reveal the Indian diamonds—without their necklace. A few folded sheets of paper were tucked in next to them, and Lady Copeland removed them and spread them out on the vanity. Eddie drew near. Sketches, she saw, of a new necklace. This one was more geometric, bolder, the lines making the diamonds seem somehow commanding.