《The New Girl at Uskweirs Manor》


 A Fateful House Party

    Monmouthshire, May 1812


    Miss Amelia Wright gained access to Uskweirs Manor by supplying a false name.  The attendant at the door dipped his head, murmured, ¡°Of course, sir,¡± and gestured her within.


    There was a party being held at the manor, but by popular account there was always a party being held at the infamous country estate.  The dull echo of music had flowed out of the open windows into the courtyard; as she stepped inside, the full cacophony of strings and voices and laughter washed over her.  The tide of noise was more than Amelia was entirely comfortable with, but she pressed on.


    The foyer of the venerable manor house was peppered with guests standing in twos and threes, drinks in hand and smiles on their lips.  With so many conversations happening at once, everyone¡¯s voice was raised in genial competition to be heard.  Amelia registered few personal details outside of the sweep of skirts and breeches pulled taut across finely-turned legs.  She was on a mission.


    Lord Ashbourne, Viscount of Monmouth and master of Uskweirs Manor, was somewhere within this house party.  Amelia intended to secure an audience with the nobleman.  She willed herself not to think about the propriety of sneaking into someone¡¯s house party without an invitation only to seek them out.


    Her old self was not usually this brazen, but she reminded herself that this was the new her.  This was the Amelia who didn¡¯t deny herself what she wanted¡ªwhat she needed.  She was the Amelia that reached out, the Amelia who seized opportunities, the Amelia who made her own opportunities if need be.  Or at least, she hoped she was.


    She was terrified.


    Amelia drifted through a pair of flung-open double doors into the ballroom.  Ruffles and lace and ribbons and fabric whirled and twisted before her.  She knew what Lord Ashbourne looked like¡ªtall and regal, almost stretched out, but that might only be how the engravers illustrated him in the papers.  No one in the ballroom seemed a likely match and she turned to go.


    But she turned to stare again at the dancers, to confirm what she had thought she¡¯d seen.  There was a man out of place in the quadrille.  She watched as he bobbed and pranced through the steps to make sure she had seen right, but she had.  He was dancing in place of a woman, sharing a smile with his dancing partner when they joined hands again.  Amelia dragged her eyes away and hurried out of the ballroom.


    Surely, she thought, scanning the rest of the thronged party, there were enough guests here that no man would be unable to find a partner.  Or the rumors really were true and the parties here really were as scandalous as she¡¯d heard.  As she¡¯d hoped.


    She passed through a sitting room filled well past capacity.  The couches and chairs were packed to bursting, hips abutting, arms stretched out behind and tucked in front, a tangle of bodies stuffed together with no sense of propriety.  Every tabletop, too, was full of half-drunk glasses.  Gales of laughter and giggling filled the room.  Amelia spied one young woman who, for want of a seat, had simply sprawled across three other guests, smiling up from the lap of her conversation partner, chatting away merrily.


    What would Amelia¡¯s parents think of such a party?  What would they think of her, if they knew she was here?  Her heart pounded in her chest.  She didn¡¯t care, she told herself, which wasn¡¯t wholly true, but it was more true now than it had been yesterday.  Besides, they had never properly debuted her to society, so really, her ending up here was on their heads.  The thought made her titter uncontrollably.


    A footman appeared at Amelia¡¯s elbow, bearing a platter of coupes filled to the brim with champagne.  She gratefully accepted one, if only to forestall her titter from progressing further.  She thanked the servant and caught his eye long enough to ask, ¡°Do you know where I might find Lord Ashbourne?¡±


    Lord Ashbourne apparently preferred the cool of the gardens to the heat of the house, and the footman gave her simple directions to get there.  She sipped at her champagne and set off, fussing with her ill-fitting jacket.  This, in turn, reminded her of the breeches she¡¯d struggled into, how maddeningly tight they were, and how if she walked too quickly the fabric would audibly creak.  She downed the rest of her champagne and let her head swim at the fuzzy burn of alcohol rather than let her mind blunder onward to complaining about the cravat, too.


    Her route out of the house took her through a spacious parlor that had been turned into a labyrinth of guests sitting at small tables playing cards.  The din of conversation was muted, here, but interrupted every few moments by shouts and groans from one table or another.  Amelia threaded her way through the tables, trying not to bump into the players, who were all focused on their cards, anyway.


    A man seated across the table before her threw down his cards in crowing victory.  The rest of the table¡¯s melodramatic groans quickly gave way to jeers and pointing at another player who had revealed his cards with good-natured chagrin.  The winner beckoned him to draw closer.  He complied with a smile.


    Amelia watched in fascination as the two men shared a lingering kiss as the rest of their table cheered them on.  When one of the men began to crawl into the other¡¯s lap, she realized that she was staring.  She beat a hasty retreat¡ªbut turned back when she had put two tables between her and the display.  They were still kissing.  The rest of their table had apparently turned to conversation and shuffling the cards for a new deal.


    Where in hell was she?


    Amelia burst out of the house and onto the back portico.  The cool night air seemed to welcome her, brushing away the cloying atmosphere from inside.  She took a long, steadying breath and looked around to orient herself.  Steps swept down onto a wide terrace, the first of many that structured the elaborate gardens behind the house.  There were scattered guests out enjoying the gardens in the gathering twilight.  A few pavillions were set out on the lawn below.  That must be where the master of the house was holding court.


    She had some time to collect herself as she decended the steps, chiding herself for her shock.  She had come all the way out to the edge of Wales, to the most notorious manor in the kingdom, to sneak into a party she hadn¡¯t been invited to.  And she¡¯d done it all alone, without a chaperone or guide.  She had no reason to be scandalized.


    Was she scandalized, though?  Shocked, certainly.  None of this was something that one was accustomed to seeing.  She had imagined quite a lot of it, if she was being honest, but her mind¡¯s eye was not the same as seeing.  And sure, she¡¯d slipped out of her father¡¯s townhouse before, to visit houses of ill repute, even.  There she saw everything put on gaudy display, but somehow it was different when it was ladies and gentlemen, not professionals plying their trade.


    Perhaps it just took some time to get used to.


    Amelia hoped that she¡¯d have the opportunity to get used to it.


    Snippets of a conversation came to her through the cool garden air, equal parts muffled words and smothered laughter.  Probably a pair of lovers, she thought, flirting on the other side of the tall hedge she walked down.  Scandalous anywhere else, of course: a man and a woman, out of the sight of their chaperones, would ruin both their reputations.  But perhaps it was different, here at Uskweirs.  Perhaps it could be simple, innocent fun, instead of needlessly and permanently labelling them as a slut and a cad.  Amelia turned the corner at the end of the hedge, stumbled to a halt, and gasped.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    It was not a man and a woman.  It was a man, a woman, another man, and another woman.  They were not flirting.  They were quite naked.  Clothes were strewn all around them on the close-clipped garden grass.  The four of them were arranged like nested spoons except for the last woman, who sat astride the other woman¡¯s face¡ª Amelia looked away.


    ¡°Hey there, handsome!¡± called the woman whose tongue wasn¡¯t already engaged.  It took a moment for Amelia to realize that she was being addressed.  She hazarded another glance at the quartet, who had not slackened their pace for her sake at all.  The woman crooked a finger at Amelia.  ¡°You wanna join us?¡±


    Amelia stammered something politely negative as she staggered back around the thick hedge.  Laughter followed her, but she couldn¡¯t tell if it was directed at her, or the natural product of the open-air bacchanal she fled from.


    She was more careful about her route through the gardens from there on out, keeping to the broader, more open areas, where she could see what she was walking into.  This did not mean she avoided other nude couplings¡ªthe gardens were apparently full of such assignations¡ªbut she was at least able to give them a wide berth.


    It occured to her that the viscount might be one of the disrobed men that she was avoiding, and she worried not only over missing him but also making a poor first impression.  Finally she concluded that, even if he were, she would hardly be able to have a chat with him while he was¡­ otherwise engaged.


    Someone, somewhere, was calling out a name, now, not in the throes of passion, but as if they¡¯d lost their friend in the maze of gardens.  That seemed plausible enough.  Amelia turned at another call, this time clearer; the caller had appeared at the opposite end of the terrace that she was about to exit.  A stout gentleman in a dark blue jacket and cream breeches, it looked like.  She turned onto another gravel pathway and down the steps to the next terrace below.


    ¡°Mister Frobisher!¡± rang out the call again, and Amelia shook her head at the futility of the search.  Wherever Mister Frobisher was, it was doubtful he wanted to be found.  The searcher was apparently following the same path that she was, as the voice seemed to grow closer and clearer.


    Something nagged at the back of Amelia¡¯s brain.  She was most of the way across the terrace before she remembered where she¡¯d heard the name Frobisher before: it was the false name she¡¯d supplied to the doorman.  She stumbled to a halt and looked behind her.


    ¡°There you are, Mister Frobisher,¡± laughed her pursuer, and strode down the pathway with an extended hand.  ¡°I didn¡¯t expect to see you here, but in London next week.  What a happy coincidence.¡±


    Amelia bit back a swallow.  As the figure came closer to both her and the light of a nearby bonfire, she could see that what she had mistaken to be a stout gentleman was in fact a woman in the clothes of a gentleman.  A handsome woman, with strong features, jet black hair cut short and pulled back in a sailor¡¯s knot, and a generous bustline gamely contained in what must have been a inventively tailored jacket.  Amelia hardly knew what to make of her.  She extended her hand to shake and said something clever, like ¡°Um.¡±


    ¡°Theresa Chesterley,¡± the woman introduced herself with a fierce smile.  ¡°We¡¯ve corresponded by post.  You¡¯re printing some pamphlets for me.  The Daughters of Wollstonecraft.  I can¡¯t tell you how happy I was to find someone who¡¯d take on material that is so maligned and yet so important.¡±


    Of course; Amelia had only realized the need for a false name while reading in the carriage-house the night before.  She had seized the name closest to hand: the publisher of the book she was reading.  ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she stammered.  ¡°I think you¡¯ve¡­ got me confused with someone else.¡±


    Chesterley tipped her head, expression cloudy.  ¡°The doorman said you were Mister Frobisher.  You¡¯re not Edwin Frobisher of Fleet Street?¡±


    ¡°Oh, ahm, no,¡± Amelia scrambled to answer.  ¡°That¡¯s my¡ªmy brother.  I¡¯m¡­ John.  John Frobisher.  I¡¯m not in printing.  Like my brother.  Edwin.¡±


    The woman considered Amelia for a long moment, eyes slowly narrowing.  And then, quite suddenly, her hand came down like a clamp on Amelia¡¯s elbow and a knife had appeared in her free hand.  ¡°Edwin Frobisher doesn¡¯t have a brother.¡±


    ¡°Oh my, that¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s not at all necessary,¡± Amelia begged.  ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s a false name, I admit it; but there¡¯s no need for¡ª¡±


    The knife pressed up against Amelia¡¯s ribs.  ¡°Who¡¯d you come to malign and denigrate, hm?  Which of my friends¡¯ lives did you think you¡¯d ruin with exposure?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not that¡ª¡± Amelia gasped, but her captor wasn¡¯t hearing any of it.


    ¡°Start walking,¡± she directed, with a shove towards the lawn.  ¡°I¡¯m taking you to Ashbourne.  For his sake, not yours, because I¡¯m a considerate guest.¡±


    Amelia decided not to mention that she was looking for the Viscount, herself.


    Ashbourne was, in fact, under the white pavillion on the lawn.  A number of rugs had been laid out across the grass, populated with couches and chairs and endtables to hold the ubiquitous drinks.  Most of the seating stood empty; twilight had fully fallen and what guests had been enjoying the lawn had since left it to seek other diversions.  Two older men reclined on a single couch, one in an eye-wateringly bright fushcia jacket, the other in pale powder blue.  The man in pink was resting his head in the lap of the man in blue, and they were sharing a private chuckle when the two ladies came into the tent.


    The man in blue noticed them first.  ¡°Miss Chesterley, have you brought me a present?  At knifepoint?¡±


    ¡°An interloper,¡± the woman responded, not letting go of Amelia¡¯s arm.  ¡°Impersonating my publisher.  I don¡¯t know who he¡¯s here for, but I thought I¡¯d bring him to you.¡±


    The pink-clad man didn¡¯t bother to sit up, but watched Amelia from the other man¡¯s lap, eyes alight.


    ¡°I apologize, Lord Ashbourne,¡± Amelia blurted quickly, before everyone else in the tent could decide her fate for her.  ¡°I gave a false name.  I¡¯m here without invitation.¡±


    The man in pink tittered.  ¡°Invitation.  Invitation!  Can you imagine?¡±


    ¡°My dear, no one is here by invitation,¡± Ashbourne chuckled, absently petting the balding pate of the man in his lap.  ¡°Committing such details to paper is just tempting fate.¡±


    ¡°If it comes to it, my lord,¡± Chesterley offered, ¡°I can dispose of a body so no one will find it.¡±


    All the blood rushed out of Amelia¡¯s head and she teetered on her feet.  What had she got herself into?


    But the viscount¡¯s lips only twitched upwards at the woman¡¯s suggestion.  ¡°I don¡¯t think that will be necessary, Theresa.¡±  He then leaned back and considered Amelia for a long moment, his pale grey eyes roving up and down, lingering on her hands, her face.  ¡°In fact, I think you can dispense with the knife entirely.¡±


    ¡°Milord?¡±


    Now Ashbourne rolled his eyes.  ¡°Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Miss Chesterley, but I think I have the situation under control.  You may go.  I¡¯d like to speak with my guest in private.¡±


    Whatever other civilized rules were ignored here, a dismissal from a viscount was not one of them.  Chesterley released Amelia¡¯s elbow, made the knife disappear, and stalked off into the night.  The handful of others under the pavillion decided it was time to see the rest of the party.


    ¡°Won¡¯t you have a seat?¡± Ashbourne asked as if Amelia had not been held at knifepoint until a moment before.  ¡°I am, of course, Lord Ashbourne.  This creature splayed out like a drunken kitten is Lord Mulvey.  And what may we call you, my dear?¡±


    ¡°Think before you answer,¡± Mulvey advised, eyes closed.  ¡°You shouldn¡¯t lie to a great lord of the land.¡±


    Amelia sat down on a chair that was mostly facing the two lords, folding her hands together between her knees.  She obviously couldn¡¯t continue with Frobisher.  Not that she had come here to lie to Ashbourne, great lord of the land or no.  She had imagined this moment, over and over again, in her mind¡¯s eye.  She would stand before Lord Ashbourne, give her proper name, and ask for his help.  But now that the moment was before her, she quailed before it.


    ¡°I thought I¡¯d be standing up,¡± she murmured.


    Ashbourne didn¡¯t answer immediately.  ¡°Then by all means, stand, if it makes it easier for you.¡±


    She laughed off the suggestion, but then she stood, anyway.  He watched her patiently.   ¡°My name is Amelia Wright, milord.  And I am hoping that you can help me.¡±


    He nodded once, slowly, as if he had known her name all along, breeches and cravat or no.  ¡°A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Wright.  How can I help you?¡±


    ¡°You see, it¡¯s a¡­ it¡¯s a strange request.¡±


    ¡°We get a lot of interesting requests here at Uskweirs,¡± the viscount assured her, the correction so mild she almost missed it.


    ¡°Yes, milord,¡± she agreed with a slight smile, and paused to gather herself.  She¡¯d already given him her name, after all.  ¡°They say a lot of interesting things about Uskweirs.  That you can help with a lot of interesting situations.  And perhaps you can help with mine.¡±


    Lord Ashbourne lifted a single eyebrow.  ¡°I¡¯d like to try, Miss Wright, but you¡¯ll have to tell me what it is, first.  You need to say it out loud.¡±


    Amelia steeled herself, fists clenched.  Forced herself to speak the words: ¡°I don¡¯t want to live as a man any more.¡±


    When she opened her eyes¡ªwhen had she closed them?¡ªLord Ashbourne was watching her with a soft, avuncular smile.  ¡°Of course you don¡¯t, my dear.  It doesn¡¯t seem to suit you at all.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t,¡± she breathed.  ¡°But it seems¡­ impossible.¡±


    ¡°Difficult and impossible are two different things,¡± Lord Mulvey opined from Lord Ashbourne¡¯s lap.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± the viscount agreed.  ¡°Miss Wright, may we have the pleasure of your company for an extended visit to Uskweirs?  We¡¯d be ever so happy to have you.¡±


    Amelia sat, hard, as the relief hit her.  Distantly she realized she was crying.  ¡°Thank you, milord.  I¡¯d love to.¡±

 The Impossible

    Monmouthshire, May 1812


    The dress was nothing special, but it was taunting her from across the room.


    That is where the maid, presumably, had laid it out while Amelia slept.The Uskweirs house staff had also fetched her luggage from the nearby carriagehouse and quietly unpacked it into her room.She could see her trunk in the corner; her hair brush had been placed on the vanity.But in addition to the breeches and waistcoats and cravats that she¡¯d brought to Monmouthshire, someone had added a house dress, carefully spread over the back of the vanity chair.


    And it really was nothing special: light cream falling in soft folds, the same short bodice and long skirt as almost everyone had been wearing last night. She could feel its silky texture from across the room.Under that sheer colored fabric lay a white muslin shift, neatly folded in the seat of the chair.


    The latter was presumably an identical garment to the one that Amelia was already wearing, that she wasn¡¯t terribly sure the provenance of.The details of the prior evening were all murky after accepting the Viscount¡¯s invitation.She had been shown to a room, the bed had been turned down, she didn¡¯t have a nightshirt but the shift had been provided (had it been laid out on the bed?).She had stripped off waistcoat and breeches, pulled on the sleepwear, and collapsed into bed.


    This morning she¡¯d spied the dress before rising, and like a terrified prey animal, she hadn¡¯t moved since.Now she and the dress were locked in a staring contest.


    Her belly informed her that it expected breakfast soon.Breakfast, which would be served downstairs among all the other houseguests, strangers all.Did the Viscount expect her to come down dressed in that?That was exactly what Amelia wanted to do¡ªthe impulse was thrumming under her skin, compelling her to snatch up the soft, silky garment and bury her face in its folds¡ªbut the prospect was nothing short of terrifying.


    If she went down dressed in that, everyone would look at her.They would know.They would wonder what was wrong with her¡ªor perhaps they wouldn¡¯t wonder, because they were houseguests at Uskweirs, after all, but then that was worse because then they would know.


    She briefly considered vomiting, which would preclude hunger and postpone dressing that much longer, but didn¡¯t want to make a mess for the house staff to clean up.


    She debated putting it on in the privacy of her room.Trying it on, seeing what it looked like in the mirror: that didn¡¯t necessarily mean that she had to wear it downstairs.But would she be able to take it off again?If wearing the dress felt like she hoped it would, she would be filled with such terrible confidence that she might just march downstairs in it.


    She couldn¡¯t.


    Her stomach complained again¡ªdimly, she realized she hadn¡¯t eaten anything the evening prior¡ªand she hauled herself out of bed.Without looking at the dress, she crossed the room to the wardrobe and found her familiar ugly clothes.They would do for breakfast.


    Only once the Viscount had led her outside, the breakfast table far behind them, did Ashbourne ask how she was feeling that morning.His voice was gentle, his expression kindly.Amelia stopped up the immediate rush of tears that threatened to spill all over everything.


    ¡°That well, hm?¡± he murmured, and glanced backwards.¡°We are out of everyone¡¯s sight.It is terribly forward of me, but I can offer you an embrace and a shoulder for you to cry on.I¡¯m sure there is an absolute tumult inside of you.¡±


    Grinding tears from her eyes, Amelia looked back herself, finding only hedgerows and flowers behind them.¡°That¡¯s¡­ very kind, but¡­ I don¡¯t think I could¡­¡±


    ¡°An arm, then?¡± he suggested, proferring said appendage.


    She grasped it as if it were a liferaft in a freezing storm.


    ¡°There, now,¡± he murmured, patting her hand on his arm and directing them deeper into the garden.¡°And before your brain leaps forward to worry how anyone might perceive two people in breeches leaning on each other in the gardens, I assure you it¡¯s quite an ordinary sight around here.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ came upon a few people in the gardens last night,¡± Amelia said, without thinking.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure they did, too,¡± the Viscount responded with a twist in the corner of his lip.¡°What happens here can be rather¡­ intimidating to the uninitiated.Was it a difficult gauntlet to run?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she answered immediately¡ªpolitely, deferentially¡ªbut the trailing vowel drew out longer than she intended, and to her surprise she found she wasn¡¯t done speaking.¡°Well.There were a few rather shocking tableaux¡­ more than a few, in all honesty.But the difficulty wasn¡¯t in seeing them, but in feeling¡­ somewhat guilty at being shocked by them.Naked lovers in the garden aside, most of it was just¡­ a party.¡±


    The Viscount made an encouraging sound and turned a corner down a hedgerow, letting her speak.


    ¡°There was one woman, early in the¡­ well, early in my run through your gauntlet,¡± she went on, a slight smile tugging at her cheek.¡°There were three or four people hip-to-hip on the sofa.¡±


    ¡°Scandalous,¡± Ashbourne hissed, softly enough so as not to actually interrupt.


    ¡°Yes, but on top of them, laid out across them all, was this young woman.And she was simply talking with the gentleman in whose lap she rested her head.¡±She paused, looked at a rosebush without really seeing the blooms.¡°She looked so comfortable.I envied her desperately.And also I was shocked at her pose.And also I didn¡¯t think I should feel shocked.Because it seemed so¡­ natural to her.At ease.I think that¡¯s what I envied the most.¡±


    ¡°The siren song of the libertines,¡± Ashbourne mused.¡°Drop your burdens and be at ease with yourself.Which is easier said than done, of course.¡±


    ¡°It seems impossible.¡±


    He nodded, looking off into the trees.¡°It¡¯s meant to, I think.The walls of the corral must look unscalable, lest the sheep remember they can jump.¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t wear the dress you had laid out for me,¡± Amelia confessed, rather needlessly given that she was plainly not wearing said dress.¡°I¡­ I wanted to, but¡­ I didn¡¯t know who would be at breakfast, and I couldn¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hush, dear,¡± Ashbourne soothed, petting her hand.¡°I apologize if it was too much.I wanted to give you the option, if you were inclined to take it.Most of the current houseguests will trickle off over the course of the day.Breakfast tomorrow will be a much more private affair.You can wear the dress then, or not, however the morning takes you.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps it is for the best,¡± she found herself saying.¡°I haven¡¯t embarassed myself before the crowd.I can set out today as well,¡± her mouth kept moving, flapping along on a wave of panic flooding through her.¡°We can forget I was ever here.¡±


    Ashbourne rested his hand on top of hers and brought their leisurely pace to a halt.¡°I think that would be a poor choice on your part,¡± he told her gravely, seeking out and holding eye contact.¡°If you wish to leave, of course you may, and if you wish to be forgotten, I will do that for you.But I think that path will only deliver you to sadness.¡±


    She looked into his grey eyes for the longest time.Finally, she breathed, ¡°But it¡¯s impossible.¡±


    He smiled, making the wrinkles around his eyes bunch up tighter.¡°I can tell you with certainty that it is not.I¡¯ve seen it with my own eyes.Watched the entire process.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s heart threatened to hammer right out of her ribcage.


    Ashbourne started moving again, his arm under hers gently guiding her back into motion.For a moment she stared down at their intertwined arms, trying to make sense of the image.His arm jutted out, elbow gently cocked, steady and unmoving.Hers wrapped around and over his, curved and coiled, taking the proferred support.Had she ever linked arms with someone like this?Like a woman?


    ¡°Tell me how you came to us?¡± he suggested, the soft upturn in his voice making it clear that it she could dissemble as easily as answer.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had your name for months, nearly a year, but I hesitated,¡± Amelia admitted with a sigh.¡°I was referred to you, if you can call it that, by Mademoiselle d¡¯Eon.¡±


    Ashbourne immediately made an awkward, half-choked sound, as if he were beating down an involuntary response.¡°Nasty business,¡± he growled, and then his voice turned even darker to snarl. ¡°Those proceedings should never have been performed, let alone published.¡±But then he sniffed and forced a smile to bestow on Amelia.¡°But I gather it brought you to us.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she answered with a bob of her head.¡°You see, I thought at first that she¡¯d been putting me on.I¡­ paid to have an audience with her, which sounds tawdrier than I like to admit.And I thought perhaps she was only telling me what I wanted to hear, to string me along.¡±She looked at the gravel path slowly passing under their feet and tried to not remember the damp little room with its moldering wallpaper and the pathetic little bed in its center.¡°The interview was not pleasant, and to be perfectly honest I had a decidedly uncharitable reaction to the conditions to which she¡¯d been reduced.I resolved to put it from my mind entirely, but then the autopsy¡­¡±


    The Viscount looked off to the horizon.¡°¡®Roundness of limbs, breasts remarkably full,¡¯ if I remember correctly.So kind of the newspapermen to banish all speculation as to the lady¡¯s sex at the trivial cost of stripping her corpse of what small tatters of dignity remained.¡±


    Amelia nodded guiltily.¡°As you say.It should never have been performed or published, no matter how much celebrity she¡¯d gathered in life.But I am ashamed to say that I was just as tempted as any other voyeur, and when I read the articles¡­ there it was, in black and white.Which made me consider her referral in a different light.¡±


    Ashbourne nodded slowly.¡°The mademoiselle was a regular guest here for some time.As far back, in fact, as when she called herself Charles.¡±He pronounced the name with a French curl to it, and a soft ch.¡°We knew she was a spy, of course¡ªshe never made it much of a secret¡ªbut she was also a friend.For some time.¡±


    ¡°And the¡­ techniques she used,¡± Amelia pressed, ¡°she learned here?¡±


    He chuckled at that.¡°In the end, I think she taught us as much as we taught her.But yes.The techniques she used are available here.If you¡¯re willing to apply them.¡±


    ¡°How can I not?¡± Amelia breathed, heedless with relief and hope.


    ¡°Some are rather distasteful,¡± he told her, as if she wanted an answer to her question.¡°And many take a great deal of time, and patience, and quite frankly harder work than that which someone of your station is accustomed.It is not an easy thing, and others have started only to give it up.¡±


    She bit back her immediate response.Unlike many of her peers, Amelia understood that she enjoyed a life of relative luxury.She knew from experience that her family¡¯s money and station meant that she could have most anything she wanted. The girl had blown through all manner of indulgences, especially after she had realized what she actually wanted.That one, the impossible one, she could never ask for.So she asked for all the others for a good long time, not that they ever satisfied for long.Not when she knew what she really wanted.


    [unsure of this]Here in the cool morning air of the most disreputable manor house in the kingdom, she wondered at her long refusal to ask.She had not shared how she felt with her parents, her brother, her best friend.Had it been fear of their censure that held her back, or the fact that this want, unlike all the other trifles, would take work?


    She hadn¡¯t known it was even possible¡­ but no.That was a lie she had told herself.She had known it was possible.Possible and scandalous.Unnatural.Sinful, even.But there had always been stories, and for all her adult life there had been the Mademoiselle-Chevalier d¡¯Eon gallavanting through the newspapers.The crowing over whether d¡¯Eon was a ¡®he¡¯ or a ¡®she¡¯ banished all confusion.The possibility had always been there.


    The simple fact was that she had made herself forget that it was possible many times over.She had convinced herself that d¡¯Eon was a charlatan, that the other stories were just rumors.She told herself that it might be possible for some blessed others¡ªspecially touched by the gods like Tiresias¡ªbut not for her.Possible for those who would put in the work.


    All she had ever been was a spoiled little girl.The daughter of a duke who didn¡¯t know he had a daughter because she¡¯d never screwed up the courage to tell him.She¡¯d never worked at anything her whole life.And now she thought she could do this?


    ¡°A friend of mine recently passed,¡± she found herself saying.¡°We¡¯d grown up together, gone to school together.He was thrown from his horse in the street.Broke his leg.We thought he would recover, but¡­ a fever took him.He was gone before I could even visit.¡±


    Ashbourne¡¯s hand was warm atop hers.¡°Condolences, my dear.It¡¯s so much more difficult when they go too young.¡±


    ¡°He was going to propose,¡± she tried to explain.¡°He¡¯d written me, confiding that he was¡­ quite smitten, and hopeful.He had her father¡¯s permission.He had been riding to her home when¡­¡±Her grip on his arm tightened involuntarily. ¡°When something startled his horse.¡±


    They stepped out of the hedge maze onto a promontory that overlooked the manor grounds and the landscape beyond.The rugged welsh terrain rolled out before them; the ribbon of the River Usk glimmered among the rippling fields and horse-dotted pastures.Fingers of morning mist were still retreating into the crooks of hills.


    ¡°Anthony didn¡¯t get to live his life,¡± she told the tableau.¡°And I haven¡¯t been living mine.When my time does come, I want to have been living my life.No matter how much work it is to do so.¡±


    The Viscount contemplated the landscape with her for a long while.¡°Very well, then.¡±


    ¡°Finally, some housekeeping details,¡± he said later, waving his hand as if they were trivial and unimportant even as he added, ¡°Rather important housekeeping details.¡±He scowled ahead to the house, which they were fast approaching.


    She nodded and tried to look attentive.


    Ahead of them, a handful of guests lounged about the patio, chatting and reading.Ashbourne slowed his steps to keep the conversation private.¡°You must treat Uskweirs a bit like Faerieland,¡± he explained.¡°There are different rules here which must be followed, and there are grave consequences if they are not.¡±


    She smiled in no small measure of relief.¡°Your grace, there is nothing I would appreciate more than having the rules of this place laid out clearly and explicitly.That is a favor which I have often longed for in other milleux.¡±


    ¡°No one is invited to Uskweirs,¡± the Viscount began, his measured tone belying how often he had recited the faerie rules of his manor.¡°Everyone who is here found their own way here.We went over that last night.So no one is invited to Uskweirs, but also: no one ever visits Uskweirs.¡±


    Amelia frowned softly.¡°I¡¯m not following.¡±


    ¡°No one admits to visiting Uskweirs,¡± he clarified, watching her closely for understanding.¡°You don¡¯t talk about your time here.You don¡¯t talk about who you saw here.You don¡¯t talk about what you saw here.Not to anyone that you haven¡¯t seen here at Uskweirs with your own eyes.¡±


    She nodded, but that didn¡¯t seem sufficient.¡°I would never betray this confidence, your grace.¡±


    He patted the small of her back with a smile that turned from affectionate to indulgent. ¡°Now, feel free to talk about what you heard happened here all you like.Hearsay.Gossip.Make up even more salacious details that you heard about; it¡¯s something of a little game that many of our guests play.But you were never here, yourself.So you never saw anything yourself.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°Uskweirs is a house of secrets and trust,¡± he went on with less cant and more fluidity to his voice.Off script, perhaps? ¡°No one comes here for reasons that can be public knowledge. And many of us have more than one reason, layers of secrets, that bring us here, that make here make sense to us and for us.If someone trusts you with any of their secrets, you keep them, even from other guests at Uskweirs.¡±


    Amelia tried to make her nod as earnest as possible.


    ¡°There are some men here who enjoy sex with other men,¡± Ashbourne explained, without a trace of reproach to his voice.¡°Some men here long for romance with other men.Some men want both.Some men are here because their wives enjoy sex with other men. Or the man may not be a man at all.You can¡¯t tell why any given man is here at Uskweirs, you should not presume to know, and you ought not ask.A man might proposition another man for some naked exercise in the gardens, of course.But that¡¯s quite a different thing than asking if he¡¯s here for dick over the canap¨¦s.Does that make sense?¡±


    ¡°I think so,¡± Amelia nodded.¡°Just because manners are a bit more relaxed doesn¡¯t mean discretion is completely disregarded.¡±


    Ashbourne nodded.¡°You will grow accustomed to it, and rather quickly. Just¡­ err on the side of tact until then, hm?¡±


    ¡°I usually err on the side of intimidated silence,¡± Amelia said with a wan smile.¡°I don¡¯t think that will be a problem.¡±


    Ashbourne chuckled, and then started his litany from the top again.¡°House of Secrets and Trust.No one has ever been invited to Uskweirs and no one has ever visited Uskweirs¡­ but a few people have been banned from visiting.¡±His voice grew grave.¡°They spoke when they ought not.They took it upon themselves to invite others.And now they¡¯re no longer welcome.I hate to do it, but it is occasionally necessary to preserve the safety of everyone else.Many of our guests are of a social caliber that protects them from consequences, but most are not.And I take the safety of my guests very seriously.¡±


    ¡°Despite no one ever visiting you,¡± she agreed with a slight smirk.


    But he did not mirror her amusement back.Instead, he looked pained to continue. They stopped, at the edge of the gardens with the doors back into the solarium a stone¡¯s throw away.¡°And lastly¡­. understand that if you try to go to the authorities¡ªa magistrate, the church, the House of Lords¡ªto stir up trouble for us¡­¡±His blue-grey eyes were suddenly on her, boring into her.She could not look away.¡°I will destroy you.Socially.Politically.Financially.In every way that matters.¡±


    Amelia tried to smile, to chuckle, to alleviate the sudden, vicious seriousness in his previously avuncular manner.But her face refused to answer her; her eyes were trapped in his icy gaze.She managed a shaky nod without moving her eyes at all.¡°Yes, your grace.Of¡ª of course, your grace.¡±


    He held her gaze for a moment longer, and then nodded.¡°Good.Now since you¡¯ll be staying with us for some time, I¡¯d like to introduce you to my daughter.¡±With gentle guidance, he directed the both of them toward the house.