Chapter One
I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking.
âOthello, II, iii, 31
January 2, 1890
âJulia, I shall count to ten. If you arenât thoroughly awake by then, I am going to dash the contents of this pitcher into your face, and I warn you, Iâve only just cracked the ice on the surface of it.â
My sisterâs voice pierced the lovely morning hush of the bedchamber with all the delicacy of a gong. I reached out one finger to poke my husbandâs naked shoulder.
âBrisbane. Portia is here.â
He heaved a sigh into the eiderdown. âYouâre dreaming. Portia wouldnât dare.â
âWouldnât I?â she asked. âAnd, Julia, this is the first time Iâve seen your husband entirely unclothed. May I offer my congratulations?â
With a violent oath, Brisbane flung himself under the bedclothes.
âModest as a virgin, I see,â Portia remarked. âJulia, Iâm still counting. Silently. Iâve reached seven. Are you awake yet?â
I flapped a hand at her but didnât raise my head.
âEight.â
Brisbaneâs voice was muffled but distinct. âIf you donât leave this room, Portia, I will toss you out the nearest window. If memory serves, itâs forty feet down, and I wonât be gentle.â
Portia clucked her tongue. âHow high will you count?â
âI wonât,â he told her flatly.
He sat up, bedclothes pooling about his waist, grim determination etched on his face.
Portia backed up swiftly. âVery well. But do hurry, both of you. Youâre terribly late for the Revels rehearsal and two of our sisters have resorted to fisticuffs. Oddly, not the two you would think.â
I sat bolt upright, and Portia winced. âFor Godâs sake, Julia, have a little shame and put your breasts away.â
I scrabbled for a sheet, regarding her through gritted eyes. âWe have four days to perfect the Revels for Twelfth Night, and it isnât as though weâve never done them before, is it? Thirty times in the last three centuries, Portia. I rather think the family have the hang of it.â
âBut Brisbane has never played St. George before, and he is the centre-piece of the entire Revels. Now, get up and put on clothes, you disgusting hedonists, and come down at once. Fatherâs threatened to come himself if you arenât there in a quarter of an hour.â
She turned on her heel and made for the door. âOh, and thereâs an abandoned baby in the stables. Father expects you to find out from whence it came.â
She slammed the door behind her, and I winced. âWhat day is it?â
Brisbaneâs expression was thoughtful. âSecond of January. Do you need the year, as well?â he asked sweetly.
I put out my tongue at him. âSurely I wasnât that intoxicated.â
He snorted. âYou started in on your brotherâs punch on New Yearâs Eve and carried on right through the first. No wonder youâre the worse for it today.â
I turned my head very slowly and blinked as he came in and out of focus. âWhen did you get a twin?â
His mouth curved into a smile. âHave a wash in cold water and some strong coffee with a big breakfast. Youâll feel right as rain.â
The notion of food made my stomach heave, but I did as he instructed, eating everything my maid, Morag, carried up on a tray. She helped me to wash and dress, slamming hairbrushes and powder boxes with unmistakable relish.
âMorag, you are a fiend from the bowels of hell,â I told her flatly.
She gave me a look of reproof. âAnd no lady drinks to excess.â
I opened my mouth to retort, but waved a hand at her instead. âOh, God, I havenât the strength to argue. Fine. Iâm a disgrace. Just make me look presentable so the rest of the family do not suspect what wretched shape Iâm in.â
She did her best, wrestling me into my corset and a pink morning gown that brought a little colour to my bilious cheeks. She rouged me lightly and stepped back. âItâs the best I can do with what I had to work with,â she remarked.