Page 80 of Marry in Scarlet
“No, I mean a woman’s own personal season. When she goes into... intoheat.” Her cheeks warmed.
Aunt Dottie choked on her cake. When she’d finished coughing and taken a good mouthful of tea, she said carefully, “In heat, dear? You mean like dogs and horses?”
“Yes, and cats—exactly. I suppose there’s a different term for it with people, but I’ve never heard it used. People are so secretive about things to do with, with congress and procreation. It’s ridiculous that girls are kept so ignorant.”
“But why do you ask, my love?” Her expression was warm and sympathetic.
George’s face burned. “Because, with the... with the duke, I can’t seem to help myself. I don’t want to, todesirehim, but I can’t seem to help myself. The moment he touches me... And I don’t even think Ilikehim, but...” She gave Aunt Dottie a tragic look. “I climb him like a tree.”
Aunt Dottie laughed. “Darling girl, don’t worry your head about it; feeling like that is perfectly normal.”
“Is it?” She thought about it a moment. “But I don’t want to feel that way. I need to know when my season will be over. When can I go back to being normal again?”
“I can’t tell you that, my love.”
“But—”
“Because there isn’t any such thing as a woman’s season. I can see why you might think so, of course, but we’re not like dogs or horses.”
“Or cats?”
“No. There is no ‘in season’ or ‘out of season’ for women, but...” She paused.
“But what?” George said hopefully.
“With the right man, my love, a woman is always in season.”
George was horrified. “Always?”
“Always,” Aunt Dottie said firmly. “That’s how it is with Logan and me. And always has been.”
“Since you were fifteen?”
Aunt Dottie chuckled. “WellIwas ready at fifteen, but Logan insisted on keeping us pure—well, pure-ish—until I turned twenty-one.”
“But you kissed him before that?”
“Oh, heavens, yes, once I’d had my two seasons—my London seasons, that is—we kissed and kissed and kissed. And how well I remember wanting to climbhimlike a tree—but he would allow nothing more than kisses. And a little cuddling. The dear boy wanted me to be sure. Noble, but so frustrating.”
“And now you still... um?”
Aunt Dottie laughed. “Oh, yes, we still very much um. Not as often as when we were young, but it gets better with age. Like fine wine.”
George couldn’t imagine that terrible out-of-control desperation being anything like fine wine. Though she supposed it might be a bit like being drunk on brandy. Drunk on the duke. Yes, she could see how that could happen.
“You’ve never regretted not marrying?”
“Not for a minute.”
“You didn’t want children?”
“Oh, yes, I wanted them, and so did Logan. And we had an agreement; if ever I found myself with child, we’d get married and go and live in America. Sadly it never happened.”
“Why America?”
“Darling girl, we could never live comfortably in England as a married couple. My people would never accept Logan—could you imagine your aunt Agatha sitting down to dinner with him?”
George tried to imagine it, and wrinkled her nose. “Not unless it was to eat him alive.”
