“Apparently, it is customary for a bride to be naive as well as innocent,” Adelaide muttered as Madame Hubert arranged and folded the fabric at her bodice, pinning gently. “No doubt to ensure the husband does not look a fool. Or perhaps to avoid disappointing his bride.”

“Really, Adelaide,” her mother hissed, showing a sign of backbone Adelaide had not seen in years.

Would wonders never cease?

“I was the same before I married, my lady,” Madame Hubert insisted in a thick French accent that Adelaide suspected was false and well-practiced. “A spiteful cat, my father called me.”

Adelaide glanced down at the woman with mild interest. “And what did your husband call you?”

Madame met her eyes, looking almost mischievous. “Something far more vulgar. He did not care for me, either. It made for some rather interesting evenings. Passion, you know. Great energy.”

Her mother cleared her throat loudly as Adelaide tried to navigate her way through that particular riddle and came back over to them, her eyes fixed on her daughter earnestly. “Lord Basset has been very generous, and he will not disappoint you.”

“He will not disappoint Father, you mean,” Adelaide told her firmly. “Lord Basset has no care for me other than my name and connections. Even Mary Smith in Cheapside can marry for affection, but not the youngest daughter of Lord Tunbridge, who already has three sons-in-law to rival any in the ton. No, she must marry where he pleases, and all without complaint.”

“Affection?” her mother repeated, her face wreathed in confusion, if not horror. “When have you ever wished to marry for affection?”

Adelaide caught how Madame Hubert looked away at the moment and sensed her earlier claim had not been entirely accurate. It only reinforced Adelaide’s suspicions that the rest of the world married for the heart, not the head. Or the paper, as it were.

“Does it matter?” Adelaide asked as the image of her darling, perfect, charming Phillip rose in her mind. “Even if I had placed my affections in a particular quarter, it would be Father’s decision in the end.”

“And there is nothing you or I can do to alter that.” Her mother’s jaw was set, her fair eyes bright with some new light in them. “I did not marry your father for affection or anything of the sort, and our marriage has been a good one. A happy one, I dare say. I have everything I’d hoped for in a marriage.”

And what had her mother wished for? Had she wanted affection? Friendship? Romance? A comfortable home?What did wanting something in a marriage have to do with anything?