Christiana breathed out a little sigh and said, “He probably didn’t gamble at all.”

“Oh God.” Suzette dropped weakly back in her chair. “I was so cruel to him the morning we arrived in London. I said some awful things.”

“It is understandable under the circumstances,” Christiana assured her. “How were you to know Dicky may have drugged him to bring about his downfall?”

“Damn Dicky!” Suzette sat upright again, anger sizzling up her spine. “If he weren’t already dead, I think I’d kill him myself.”

“Hmm.” Christiana was silent for a moment, but then said, “Although, if it weren’t for Dicky and what he’d got up to, I wouldn’t now be married to Richard and you might never have met and proposed to Daniel.”

“That’s true,” Suzette realized with dismay. She probably never would have met Daniel without Dicky’s actions bringing it about. Or perhaps she would have, but only in passing, never exchanging more than polite greetings and having no idea the passion that could burn between them. The idea was rather startling, almost scary really. She couldn’t imagine never having experienced his kisses and caresses or anticipating everything else she was looking forward to in the future. Well, mostly looking forward to, Suzette supposed. She was still worried about the pain and blood. While Daniel had assured her it wasn’t like that, he also had never bedded a virgin, so what did he know? On the other hand, Christiana had been a virgin until very recently with Richard. Eyeing her speculatively, she asked, “So you are content with Richard?”

“I think we might have a good marriage,” Christiana answered carefully.

Suzette snorted at the prim words. “Oh, give over. A good marriage? I’ve heard the moaning and groaning coming from your room, both the night Dicky died and last night as well. Oh Richard, oh . . . oh . . . yes . . . ooooooh.” She rolled her eyes. “Then you scream like you’re fit to die.”

“You could hear us?” Christiana asked with horror.

“I’m sure the whole house can hear you,” she said dryly. “He roars like a lion, and you squeal like a stuck pig.” Suzette paused and then added, “Which I suppose is an apt description from what I read in Fanny’s book.” When Christiana didn’t comment, she asked, “Did it hurt very much the first time he stuck his maypole in your tender parts?”

“His maypole?” Christiana gasped, her eyes gone wide.

“That’s what Fanny called it. Well, one of the things,” she added with a shrug and then repeated, “Did it hurt?”

Christiana groaned and covered her suddenly flushed face. She also didn’t answer.

“Well?” Suzette asked persistently. Good Lord, what were big sisters for if not to help at times like this?

“A little perhaps,” Christiana admitted finally. Her hands dropped from her face and she stiffened her spine as if headed to her own execution.