Free Talk of the Town by Joan Smith

dozen of them hanging around.”
    “For shame, and you a married lady.”
    “Oh, the single ones weren’t allowed any fun at all, only the married ladies. But I was the only one who paid such a price for her affairs,” she said, a little sadly.
    “Did you have an affair with St. Felix?”
    “No, and not with half the others I was supposed to have had, either. He never suggested an affair—he was too much of a gentleman. We spoke of getting married when Arthur sued for divorce.”
    “That was impossible—St. Felix was already married.”
    “Oh, yes, and divorce was an even worse scandal in those days than it is today. Practically no one did it then. Bad enough I was divorced, but to lead St. Felix to abandon his wife, and he with three children! The present duke was on his way then, as well, and the eldest daughter getting up to the age where she was soon to be presented. I couldn’t let him do it. It was too great a sacrifice.”
    “But he wanted to?” Daphne enquired, feeling a surge of exultant power over her foe.
    “My, yes. I lived on at Half Moon Street all through the divorce. Arthur moved into a club. Mrs. Elders stayed there with me for the looks of it. St. Felix came every night for a week to try to talk me into running away with him, but I brought him to see it would not do,” she said and then laughed merrily.
    “He was quite persistent, I gather?”
    “I’ve never told a living soul this, Daphne, for Georgiana is dead now, and she is the only one I ever told. My, how she laughed, ready to split her sides. She was a love. What I did was this. I took a page from Prinney’s book—you remember his trick of pretending to commit suicide because dear Marie Fitzherbert wouldn’t have him? I pretended to St. Felix I meant to kill myself after the duel.”
    “The duel!” Daphne gasped. “I heard nothing of a duel. Oh, but I suppose Arthur had to defend your reputation.”
    “That wretch! No such a thing. He said he couldn’t be duelling with half the gentlemen in London, and he knew perfectly well it was only Ansquith I ever—Well, it was not Arthur who defended my name, but St. Felix.”
    “Oh!” Daphne was stunned into silence. She had been cheered to hear of the romance between her aunt and the Duke, but a duel having been fought was more than she counted on, or knew quite what to do with. It sounded so very shady, and Effie’s own husband not being willing to fight made it worse. “How—how did it come about?” she asked weakly.
    “Well, the little story about Arthur discovering myself and Ansquith together got about. It happened at Sprocket Hall on a house party. Everyone was talking about it, as people will do. When St. Felix learned Arthur didn’t mean to defend my name, he said he would do it himself or other gentlemen would try to take advantage of me. I daresay he thought to shame Arthur into it, but he didn’t; and the next thing I knew the duel was over and done with, with only a shoulder scratch. They used swords in those days, which is less likely to be fatal than a gun, and much more civilized, I’m sure. Ansquith was touched in the shoulder and St. Felix never hurt at all. He said I had to marry him for he was ruined anyway fighting a duel over another man’s wife, but we managed to keep it hushed up. Georgiana knew, of course, but she wouldn’t tell a soul. So that is when I thought of suicide; oh, not committing it, of course, for that would be so very fatal, but of pretending, like Prinney. So the next night when St. Felix came to see me and tried to talk me into running off with him, what did I do but have a glass of wine and vinegar sitting by me. I kept looking at it nervously, and a little later, St. Felix picked it up to take a sip, for I made sure not to offer him a glass. He noticed the odd taste right away, and I knocked it out of his hand as though I were scared to death and said he must not drink from that glass. But I let him get one sip first, and he