“Let’s go back to what you told me in the beginning.” Layla tossed her cheroot out the window.

“Layla! What if you start a fire?”

“I extinguished it.” Layla pointed to a dark mark on the floor. Then she peered closer. “Don’t tell me His Almighty Grace has put carpets in here.”

“He has.”

Layla collapsed back into her corner. “So the duke goes at it so long that you’re wincing.”

“He’s simply too big.”

A short silence ensued.

“I could say something, but I won’t,” Layla said with a sigh. “It would be indelicate.”

“When has that prevented you?”

“I’m getting older. Listen, darling, the important thing is that it’s hurting less than it did at first.”

“It does seem to stop hurting as he keeps going. But that’s not the only problem, Layla.” Edie made herself say it. “That petit mort? It’s not happening to me, obviously. I don’t think it ever will.”

“Do you feel good down there?”

“Sometimes, but then it drains away as soon as I think about it.”

“Believe me, I know what you’re talking about,” Layla said, sighing. “I remember the mindless days—or, I should say, nights—before I started thinking too much about babies. Those brains of yours are the enemy of a happy bedchamber.”

“What am I going to do? I can’t tell Gowan; I just can’t.”

“Why not?”

“He never fails at anything. I have to solve this problem, because the failure is mine.”

“There’s no failure,” Layla said decisively. “Don’t you dare blame yourself; it’s a bad precedent in a marriage. What’s missing is romance. The air of a boudoir. A bottle of champagne.”

“He tried that,” Edie said, tears welling up again. “He ordered supper in his bedchamber and served champagne. But there was a footman to bring the meal in. And then, just when I was starting to relax, he had the footman come back in, with another fellow as well, to remove the plates. I feel as if Bardolph is hovering in the corridor all the time. And when Gowan spent the night in my chamber, his valet marched straight into the room in the morning. I hate it!”

“It sounds as if you’re trying to be intimate in the middle of Hyde Park,” Layla offered. “Do you know, darling, I’ve never heard you be so passionate about anything other than music in all the years I’ve known you?”

“Gowan is never alone,” Edie continued. “I’m never alone anymore, either. I had to threaten to dismiss everyone in his retinue if they didn’t keep interrupting me while I was practicing. While I was practicing, Layla!”

“You simply need to get your husband alone.”

“It’s impossible. I was thinking the other day that his life reminds me of throwing a piece of bread into a stream and watching a whole flock of little minnows come up and start nibbling at it. People come and go around him at all hours.”

“I don’t think minnows flock,” Layla commented.

“Who cares?” Edie demanded. “You see what I mean, don’t you?”

“So you need to make changes in his household. That’s not as easy as keeping footmen out of your bedchamber, but it can certainly be done. You’re simply going to have to intervene.”

“He takes care of every problem that arises, the moment it’s presented to him,” Edie said disconsolately. “He doesn’t need anyone. He’s perfect in every way, Layla. I could hate him.”

“Except you love him instead,” Layla said calmly. “Do you mind if I smoke another?”

“Yes, I do mind!” Edie said.

Layla reached for her cheroots.

Edie sat up. “I mean it! I hate those things. I hate the way they make my clothes smell after I’ve been around you. I hate the way they make you smell. I hate the way they make your breath smell.”

Layla’s mouth fell open.

Edie had the impulse to say something to smooth it over, but she did not give in. “I shan’t apologize.”

“Very well,” her stepmother said cautiously. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

“No.” Then she added, “Not that I can think of right now.”

“My breath?” Layla frowned at the box of cheroots she was holding. “I don’t like that.”

“You shouldn’t,” Edie snapped.

“Right.” The box flew through the window. They heard a faint thump as it hit the road.

“Thank goodness the second coach is a distance behind us,” Edie said. “You could have brained one of the horses.”

“If I were going to brain anyone, I’d brain that Bardolph,” Layla said, reclining again. “I don’t like the way he looked at me, as if I were some sort of aging hag come to steal the virtue of the young prince.”

“Wait until you see what he thinks of me. Are you really going to quit, Layla? Just like that?”

“I began smoking in order to irritate your father. Why keep it up, now we’re no longer living under the same roof? But I don’t want to talk about my miserable marriage. You need to teach your husband to be romantic.”

“I suppose I could ask him to give me flowers,” Edie said dubiously. “Is that what you mean?”

“Picture His Dukeness on one knee, handing you a bundle of violets tied with ribbons. How do you feel?”

“A little sick. Violets are so funereal.”

“Very fussy,” Layla said reprovingly. “If your father handed me a bunch of daisies he’d plucked off a coffin, I’d be thrilled.”

“Have you written to him?”

“I wrote and said I would be paying you a visit. He didn’t reply, which is unsurprising, because he didn’t reply to my first two letters, either.”

Edie sighed.

“So we’ve decided that you need to reform the duke’s household,” Layla continued, “and teach him how to protect your privacy. What else? Is he a bungler in bed?”

Edie thought about it. “I don’t think so.”

“Have you told him what you have particularly liked?”

She shook her head.

“You have to take some responsibility in that respect,” Layla advised. “Men like a road map. No: men need a road map. My mother told me that years ago, and she was absolutely right.”

Edie was trying to imagine herself giving Gowan directions, when Layla sat up jerkily. “Are we going to be sitting in this carriage all day long? We’ve been here two hours at least.” She reached up and thumped on the ceiling.

A slat slid open. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“It’s Lady Gilchrist!” Layla shrieked. “Stop this carriage. I need to stretch my legs.”

“We’re very close to His Grace’s borders,” the coachman hollered back. The horses didn’t slow.

“ ‘His Grace’s borders’?” Layla repeated, throwing herself down on the seat again. “Have you noticed that they act as if your husband is a monarch?”

“Because he is a monarch to them, Layla. They practically kiss his toes every time he leaves a room.”