Chapter Twelve

Jilly did not expect that Nora would prove to be the strictest of chaperones, but there was no way that Aunt Marcheline would know that. Everyone approved of Nora; she was known to be a perfectly proper young matron of good reputation, who had married a fine, upstanding husband, also of good reputation.
Only Jilly knew that Robert not only permitted but encouraged his wife’s vices—the three of them had, on more than one occasion, whiled away the hours playing cards, drinking whiskey to excess, and occasionally indulging in one or two of Robert’s cigars. Despite his honorable reputation, in private Robert could be said to be a bit of a reformer, and found it abominable that what was prized in a man was considered reprehensible in a woman.
And so it was not a surprise to find, when she was handed into James’ carriage, Nora looking exasperated, and Robert looking speculative.
“What do you think, Jilly, Hypatia or Dionysus?” he inquired.
Caught off-guard, Jilly sank into her seat beside Nora, facing forward in the carriage. “Er—Hypatia, I should think,” she said. “Better a sensible woman than a dissipated Olympian.” She set her reticule in her lap and crossed her hands over it, cognizant of the blank stares she had received following her pronouncement. “What, precisely, are we discussing?”
“Racehorses,” Nora said, with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“Ravenhurst,” James put in, “is presently deciding which horse he will elect to relieve me of.”
“Oh,” Jilly said, and then because she knew not what else to say to that, “I see.” Robert had subsided into thoughtful consideration, his brow furrowed and his hand tucked beneath his chin, and so she asked. “Is it truly a matter of so much deliberation? I must admit I know little of horse racing.”
Nora gave an anguished groan, and James dropped his head back against the seat.
“Deliberation is critical,” Robert said. “Hypatia is out of Matchem’s line, and Dionysus out of Eclipse’s.”
Jilly blinked, turning to Nora, whose face had gone carefully blank. James, too, was doing level best to appear unaffected. Presumably both had been inundated with more speculation on Robert’s potential new acquisition than either had been prepared to deal with. “I see,” Jilly said, even though she did not. Horse racing had never been among her interests.
“You see, Jilly,” Robert began, “breeding is everything in a racehorse.”
Nora rested her forehead against the side of the carriage, subtly banging her head against it. James covered his mouth with his hand, but his shoulders shook in amusement and his eyes were fixed straight upon the roof of the carriage. And for the next several minutes, Robert pontificated on the virtues of each line, while Jilly could only murmur polite noises of acknowledgment.
By the time the carriage reached the theatre, Jilly knew more about racehorses than she had ever wanted, and Robert showed no signs of slowing down. As James assisted her down from the carriage, she looked him in the eye and murmured, “Help.”
For a moment she thought he would refuse.