“We will survive, I daresay,” he said, eyeing her glass until she emptied it and he could pour her more champagne. The damned bottle was empty, and he didn’t even feel the least bit tipsy. He prayed she did. He said, “Badger should have realized that a bride and groom have a greater need for spirits than ordinary folk. He should have packed another bottle.”
Jessie picked around in Badger’s basket. “He did,” she said, lifting another cloth-wrapped bottle.
James offered a prayer of thanks toward Chase Park’s vast kitchen. “An excellent man is Badger. Well, why not? Let’s get drunk then here in this lovely meadow. It’s warm. When you’re too intoxicated to know what I’m about, I’ll pull up your riding skirt, unfasten my breeches, and take your virginity. Then it will be over, and we can go along to Candlethorpe and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow it will all be forgotten, and we can muck out stalls side by side. Perhaps we’ll be so at ease with each other that we’ll whistle together, perhaps even sing some of the Duchess’s ditties. What do you say to that, Jessie?”
She didn’t say anything. He’d hoped for a smile; just a hint of a smile would have relieved him, but she didn’t dredge one up. She was trying to remove the cork on the other bottle of champagne. She couldn’t get it out. She put it in her mouth and gnawed on it.
James leaned back, the sun on his face, the scent of the flowers in his nostrils, and laughed. She was the old Jessie, the brat, chewing on a straw, licking the remains of a candied almond from her fingers, gnawing on a champagne cork, it was all the same thing. When he heard the cork pop, he simply lifted his glass and thrust it toward her.
Jessie began to laugh after her fourth glass of champagne, thank the munificent Lord. She waved her hand to ward off a bee and James said, “Careful, Jessie, you nearly knocked over our remaining precious bottle.”
She shoved the bottle down between her legs. “There, now it’s safe.”
He looked at that bottle and knew he had to act before he was too drunk to do more than belch. “Do you think you’re feeling silly enough now to lie back and let me kiss you?”
She stared down at him. She looked worried, eager, and more afraid than a sinner in a roomful of preachers. “Yes,” she said, “let’s kiss.”
“Put the bottle over there. Yes, that’s right. Now, just relax, Jessie.”
“Just one more small glass, James,” she said, poured it, drank it down in one gulp, and then gave him the silly smile of a girl who, sober, would have been terrified out of her mind. She lay on her back, stretched out, and arranged her hands over her chest as if she were dead. He felt he should pick a foxglove and put it between her fingers.
He leaned over her and kissed her closed mouth, smiling even as he said, “Open up, just a little bit. Pretend I’m a small but succulent piece of something good to eat, say a bit of Badger’s garnished tongue.”
She opened her mouth beneath his, and James felt as though he’d been struck in the gut. She tasted of champagne—he’d expected that—but she also just tasted sweet and strangely exotic, and he wanted more. She didn’t taste like a brat. He was careful to keep his hands on her arms, careful not to stick his tongue in her mouth, careful to control himself. He feared he’d kiss her yet again and really get things started when suddenly she’d turn into the fourteen-year-old again—a girl, not a woman.
He stopped a moment and pulled back. Her eyes were open, as was her mouth. She was staring up at him.
“What is it?”
To his surprise and amusement, she flushed. She actually turned red and looked away from him.
“What’s the matter? Come now, I’m your husband and you’ve known me since you were barely able to ride a horse.”
“The champagne is wonderful, but I have a problem.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t be obtuse, James. I have to relieve myself.”
He tried not to laugh; he couldn’t help himself. “Undone by a bottle of champagne. Well, I’ll wait for you here, Jessie. There are some lovely bushes just over behind that stand of maples.”
She struggled to her feet, smoothed down her skirts, and turned to walk with exaggerated care toward that stand of maple trees. She never looked once at him.
He lay back against that sun-heated rock and began humming one of the Duchess’s ditties. He hummed another ditty, and then a third. He drank another glass of champagne. Then he frowned.
He rose, cupped his hand around his mouth, and called out, “Jessie? Are you all right?”
There was no answer, only the soft rustle of the summer leaves in the light afternoon breeze.
“Jessie!” He was on his feet, worried now, surprised that he wasn’t all that steady. He dumped the rest of the champagne on a bed of nestergroot, hoped they wouldn’t croak, and went to the trees.
He found her on the ground, on her side, her face pillowed on her hands. She was in a sodden stupor.
“Well, hell,” James said. Now he’d have to do it all over again. He wondered if she’d be ill when she came out of her stupor. He was willing to bet Badger hadn’t thought this would be the outcome of his generous gift.
Jessie wanted to die. She didn’t want to say good-bye to anybody. She just wanted to breathe her last, slowly, gently, and then waft away. She opened her eyes just once, but the intense bright light made her head pound so violently and her belly twist in gigantic knots that she knew the end must be very near.
“It’s a hangover, Jessie. Here, Mrs. Catsdoor made you a special brew that should help a bit. I’ll just lift you, there, that’s it. Now drink it all down.”