Prelude to a Scandal. Delilah Marvelle

your grandmother, heaven rest her soul, gave me this solid advice on the eve of my wedding, which I am now gifting you. Never allow for more than two encounters per week. Feign headaches, if need be. That always works. For although a husband will try to convince his wife otherwise, twice a week is more than sufficient to produce children and still allow for pleasure.”

      Justine’s brows went up. “Is that a suggestion or a rule?”

      “It’s a suggestion, dear. Limiting contact is simply best for your health. You don’t want to end up with fifteen children.”

      Justine paused, then genuinely grinned, imagining the entire house overrun with beautiful, happy little boys and girls. And though yes, she knew there was far more to being a mother than holding soft, pudgy hands and sharing stories about fairies and bogies, she couldn’t help but linger on all the fun she’d have along the way.

      Justine shrugged. “The amount of children doesn’t concern me. At least I’ll be marrying a man who can afford them. Unlike father, who could barely afford me.”

      Lady Marwood set her hands on her hips and glared at her. “Justine!”

      “I meant it lovingly.”

      Lady Marwood rolled her eyes. “My advice is that you bite your tongue whenever possible during the first year of marriage. At least until he grows fond enough of you and doesn’t feel the need to kill you.”

      Justine smirked. “Yes, Mother.”

      Lady Marwood sighed, approached her and held out the etiquette book. “I know you’ve already read this many, many times. But I suggest you read it again and allow the words to govern your new life. Our family hasn’t always catered to society’s conventions. But you will be a duchess, and London society doesn’t hand anyone respect. It must be earned.”

      Justine dropped her legs back over the side of the bed and leaned forward, slipping the red, leather-bound book from her mother’s hand. Patting the book enthusiastically, Justine set it on the bed beside her. “I promise to earn full respect not only for myself and my husband, but also for you and father.”

      “I have no doubt you will.” Lady Marwood leaned toward her, bringing with her the scent of lilacs, and kissed her cheek lovingly. “Sleep. You have a long day ahead.”

      Her mother caught her hand and smiled, causing the aging lines around her hazel eyes and full mouth to deepen. “By tomorrow, you will be a duchess. As you well deserve to be.” Her mother released her hand, still smiling, then turned and swept out of the room, apparently quite pleased with the thought.

      Justine smoothed the coverlet on the bed around her and muttered, “God save the King and all of his subjects I am about to unknowingly torment in the name of respect.” There was a quick knock. Heaven forbid her mother forgot to mention something critical. “Yes?”

      The door edged open, and her father, Lord Marwood, whose lanky frame was still encased in full evening attire, hurried in. The deep, aging lines surrounding his blue eyes crinkled all the more as he grinned and held up a sizable, leather-bound book. “It took me half the night to find it amongst all the crates, but here it is.”

      Justine sat up, surprised he hadn’t already retired. It was well past his usual hour of sleep and he still hadn’t entirely recovered from his long stay at Marshalsea. Their brief walk through Hyde Park earlier in the day had completely exhausted him. But at least he was eating again.

      She smiled, more than pleased to see him.

      “Restless?”

      He nodded his graying head. “Yes. Though in a good way. It isn’t every day my daughter becomes a duchess.”

      She quirked a brow at the book he still held up. “And what is that? My very last bedtime story?”

      He chuckled. “No, no, no.” Striding the length of the room, he set the book beside her on the bed, atop the book her mother had just given her, and patted it enthusiastically. “‘Tis one of my earlier compilations. Before my days in South Africa. This here is what ultimately convinced the duke to become my patron. The man was only one and twenty at the time, you know, but even then he had an eye for a good thing.” He dragged a hand through thick, silvery hair and then dropped it to his side. “You should read it before going to bed. It should assist you in matters of the bedchamber.”

      Justine bit back a laugh. It was obvious her mother and father had two entirely different opinions as to how she should conduct herself as duchess. Though she knew her mother’s advice was more in keeping with what London would want, she was nonetheless curious to see the book that had convinced Bradford to support her father all these years.

      Justine smiled and glanced down at the book he’d placed beside her. She turned the large gold lettering right side up and blinked. “Principles of Animal Husbandry?” Gad almighty. “How … lovely. Thank you.”

      How humiliating was more the word. She’d officially been categorized by her own father with all the sheep, cattle and horses. As opposed to all the far more interesting mammals he’d studied throughout the years. And what on earth did this say about Bradford’s tastes in copulation?

      Her father cleared his throat. “The illustrations are quite good. Not to mention detailed. With the duke’s reputation, I’m more than certain you’ll make good use of it. Only this isn’t yours to keep, seeing it’s the only copy I have. Be sure to read it tonight and return it to me in the morning.”

      Any insight on Bradford and his tastes would certainly be appreciated, as she had no intention of disappointing him or herself on their wedding night.

      She bit her lip and glanced up. “Uh … Father? Might I ask a more involved question? About copulation?”

      He tugged on the lapels of his jacket and grinned, proud to be of assistance. “Why, this is rather unexpected. You haven’t asked me an involved question since you were twelve.”

      She let out a laugh. “That is because you’re notorious for answering questions before they’re even asked.”

      He nodded. “So true. What is your question?”

      Her grin faded, and she cleared her throat. “Do, uh … certain men have … well … how shall I say this … abnormal copulation habits? As in obsessive habits that may be a cause of concern for a woman?”

      Both his bushy gray brows went up as his hold on his lapels tightened, causing his knuckles to go white. “Why do you ask?”

      She shrugged, not wanting to betray what Bradford had confided to her. She had a feeling it wasn’t something he wanted everyone, especially her father, to know. “Curiosity is all.”

      Lord Marwood released the tight hold on his coat, then scratched at his shaven chin for a moment. “In my opinion, a man who does in fact have any sort of abnormal copulation habits is most likely never to discuss it unless forced. Which makes it rather difficult for anyone to assess. But, as in nature itself, I would imagine there’s always some form of abnormality to be found within a species.” He pointed at her. “For example. You remember that one male Equus Burchelli whose mate had unexpectedly died? And how he kept returning to her body to mount it even though there was very little left of it for him to mount?”

      Justine wrinkled her nose, remembering that all too well. Heaven forbid that was the sort of abnormality Bradford was referring to. It would certainly give a whole new meaning to the term until death did them part … “I wasn’t referring to that sort of abnormality. I was referring to a man’s urge to pleasure himself more than what would be considered necessary.”

      “Oh. I see.” He exhaled through his nostrils and shrugged. “Unlike animals, humans have an annoying tendency to censor their behaviors, which doesn’t allow for anyone to come to any real conclusions. So sadly, I must profess complete ignorance to this particular subject.”

      That was helpful.

      Lord Marwood sighed and drew