The Obedient Bride Part 9

"I trusted you," she whispered before turning and letting herself out of the room. "I was proud of you. I was trying to be your friend. This is worse... Oh, this is ten times worse than losing Papa."

Frances had tears in her eyes when she entered the morning room later to find Arabella with her sewing in her lap, though she had sewn only two st.i.tches since picking it up half an hour before.

"Bella," she said, "I have been up half the night thinking. I am so dreadfully selfish. I have a dressing room filled with new and fas.h.i.+onable clothes, and scarce a day has gone by since we arrived in town when there have not been two or three entertainments at the least and many more invitations to choose among. And last night I lay down with the intention of persuading you to go shopping with me for a new parasol to replace my blue one, which I thought was dreadfully old-fas.h.i.+oned after all. And then it came to me."

Arabella bent her head over her sewing as Frances took her handkerchief from her pocket. "What came to you?" she asked.

"Mama and Jemima have had no treat at all," her sister said, her face tragic. "No new clothes and no visits to town and no entertainments. Nothing, Bella. How selfish I am! I have scarce spared them a thought, and I have written to them only when you have insisted. Dear Bella. You have such a good heart. I shall never forget the sacrifice you made for my sake."

"You forget," Arabella said quickly, "that Mama and Jemima are quite ecstatic to know that you have had such an opportunity, Frances. Mama derives her happiness from knowing that you are happy. And as for Jemima, her turn will come when she is older. I daresay his lords.h.i.+p will..." She paused and swallowed painfully. "I daresay he will see to it that she is brought out too when the time comes."

"He is so very kind," Frances said, smiling bravely, watery blue eyes sparkling over the top of her handkerchief. "And so are you, Bella. Will you come with me now to the shops so that I may buy gifts for Mama and Jemima? Mama would like a new pair of kid gloves. And for Jemima perhaps I will buy the parasol I would have liked for myself. Do you think that would be a selfless plan?"

Arabella smiled and folded up her work neatly. "I shall order the carriage," she said. "Don't forget to bring your book too, Frances. We might as well go to the library while we are close."

"Am I dragging you out against your will?" Frances asked, frowning and forgetting her tears and her handkerchief as Arabella looked up and rose to her feet. "You do not look well, Bella."

"I am all right," Arabella said. "Just a little tired, that is all."

"You do have this dreadful habit of rising at the crack of dawn," Frances said. "Perhaps that is it, Bella. You are not increasing, are you?" She flushed deeply.

"No," Arabella said firmly, "I am not."

They were walking along Bond Street later when they saw Lord Farraday on the pavement at the other side of the street. They raised their hands in greeting and prepared to move on, but he hurried across the road to meet them.

"Well met, Lady Astor, Miss Wilson," he said, raising his hat and making them a bow. "I was preparing to call on you this afternoon."

"We will be at home, my lord," Arabella said, "and will be pleased to receive you."

"Thank you," he said. "I had breakfast with your neighbor this morning. I told him that he must see Vauxhall Gardens, among other places, while he is in town. It gave me the idea to reserve one of the supper boxes there and organize a party for tomorrow night. There is to be music, it seems. And it is one of the nights for fireworks."

"How perfectly marvelous," Frances said. "I have heard it is a very romantic location, my lord."

"I hoped you ladies would be able to join the party," he said. "Sir Theodore will be there, of course, and will be glad to see familiar faces, I am sure. And Charlton will be coming, and Hubbard. Mrs. Pritcharda"one of my sisters, you knowa"has agreed to come, as my brother-in-law is in Portugal at present. And Lady Harriet Meeker is to be invited. May I hope that you do not have a previous engagement for tomorrow night?"

"No, we have not," Arabella said. She looked at Frances. "We will be glad to make two of your party, my lord."

"Splendid!" he said. "Will Astor come, do you think, ma'am?"

"I think not," Arabella said. "He does have another engagement."

"A pity," he said. "I shall do myself the honor, then, of taking you up in my carriage tomorrow evening? My sister will be with me."

He raised his hat and continued on his way after Arabella had expressed her delight.

"Oh, Bella," Frances said, taking her sister's arm after tucking the package containing her mother's kid gloves into her reticule. "Vauxhall Gardens! It is all winding pathways and hanging lanterns, according to Lucinda Jennings, who has been there more than once. And handsome gentlemen roaming everywhere. I can scarce wait until tomorrow night."

"We will have a lovely time," Arabella said brightly. "I have always wanted to see a display of fireworks. I am glad Theodore has been making some friends."

"Yes, so am I, I am sure," Frances said. "Though I do not greatly admire Lady Harriet Meeker, do you, Bella? However, she seems to be to Theodore's liking, and that is all that matters, I suppose."

"I believe he is merely friendly with her," Arabella said. "I would not worry that he is developing a tenure for her if I were you, Frances."

"Worry!" her sister said with a trilling little laugh. "I quite wish the best for Theodore. We have always been friends, as you know, Bella."

"I once thought you were more," Arabella said with a sigh.

"Well, that was very foolish of you," Frances said. "I had never even seen anyone else but Theodore and the others at home. Here there are far more eligible gentlemen. What do you think of Sir John Charlton?"

"That he is shallow and vain," Arabella said bluntly.

"Bella!" Frances looked reproachfully at her. "How dreadfully unkind you are. Is a gentleman shallow merely because he knows all there is to know about polite behavior and fas.h.i.+on? Is he vain merely because he is handsome and elegant? He has a very superior understanding, I believe. And I think he favors me. He is to be the Earl of Haig one day, you know."

"Yes, I believe he has told me so quite pointedly a half-dozen times," Arabella said.

"I see you are cross and out of sorts today, Bella," France said stiffly. "But I am glad you are taking it out on me. It would not do for you to speak thus to his lords.h.i.+p. He is like to be displeased with you. I think we will just avoid all sensible topics until you are in spirits again. Where is the best shop to look in for parasols, do you think?"

Arabella took her sister's arm and squeezed it. "Forgive me, Frances," she said. "You are quite right. I did not sleep well last night, as I told you earlier, and I am making you suffer as a result. Let us try this shop. This is where his lords.h.i.+p... This is where my fan was purchased."

"Bella!" Frances' eyes were filled with tears as she drew her sister to a halt outside the shop. "How can I ever reproach you for anything when you made such a great sacrifice for my sake? How very ungrateful I am. Dear, dear Bella! How fortunate it is that all has turned out well for you after all."

Lord Astor had ridden across Westminster Bridge and south away from London before he was fully aware that he was even on horseback. He drew back on the reins and looked down in some bewilderment at the sweat-beaded neck of his favorite stallion. When had he gone home to saddle the horse? What had been his intention when he did so? And where had he been going with such speed and purpose?

He pulled off a glove, touched his nose gingerly, and winced. It was still sore. No longer bleeding, though, he thought, looking at his hand and finding no telltale red streak. He should have known better than to challenge Jackson himself to a sparring match that morning. Normally he would have given the great pugilist a good go for his money, but this morning he had not been in any condition to concentrate. And Jackson himself, standing over him and offering a hand to pull him to his feet after planting him a facer that had had the blood spurting all down his s.h.i.+rt front, had reminded him that one of the first rules of boxing was that one must fight with a cool head. One should never box in order to work off one's anger or some other negative emotion.

Yes, he knew that. But why had he challenged the great man anyway? He could not remember. Had it been in the hope of pounding someone's face to pulp? He would have challenged one of the weaklings or novices if that had been his purpose, surely. He rather thought he must have issued the challenge in the hope that his own face would be reduced to blood and raw meat. He had wanted physical punishment. But Gentleman Jackson was just what his popular name said. He would never continue to pummel an opponent once he was down and clearly defeated.

So. Here he was with a sore nose that doubtless resembled a beacon, riding a sweaty horse, bound he knew not where. He might as well continue for a while, he decided, though at a pace that would be kinder to his mount, which had offended no one. After all, he had nothing to return home for. Not now or ever again, it seemed.

He could not have imagined Arabella behaving with quite such cold dignity. His mind touched back to the scene in his office that morning, and he found himself spurring his horse on again. He had never in his life felt such helpless guilt. That was what he was running from, doubtless. And that was what he had been hoping to have pounded out of him at Jackson's. Pointless efforts! He carried his guilt deep within, inescapable and inaccessible from without.

He would not have hurt Arabella for worlds. He had grown fond of her fresh innocence. He had taken her at a very young age from her own home and had undertaken to protect her with his name and his person. He felt a great responsibility for her. But he had hurt her quite dreadfully. She had looked wretchedly ill. Obviously some fiend had told her the night before about Ginny's connection to him, and she had been tortured all night by the knowledge.

But there had been more than suffering in her face that morning. If that had been all, he might have coped. He might have taken her in his arms and soothed her and promised her the earth as a recompense for having hurt her. But she had been quite untouchable, cold and controlled. Something had been killed in her overnight. The remnants of her childhood, perhaps. Her faith in him. Perhaps her faith in humanity.

Her great innocence was proving to be her worst enemy, of course. If she just had a little more worldly wisdom, she would realize that it was common practice for a gentleman to keep a mistress. There was no implied insult to one's wife in doing so. He was not less respectful of Arabella, less fond of her because he kept Ginny. But Arabella did not know that. She expected the marriage service to be taken literally. She felt slighted, rejected. This would be one more blow to her very fragile self-confidence.

And he was responsible. Lord Astor pulled his horse to the side of the road in order to allow a fast-approaching vehicle to overtake him. A mail coach went rattling past. It was time to turn back to London, he decided, for his horse's sake if not for his own.

And what was he to do about the matter? he thought. Give up Ginny and beg Arabella's pardon? Was he prepared to allow his wife such power over his life? Was he going to allow himself to feel that he had committed some heinous crime? What had he done that was so very wrong, when all was said and done?

By the time he was in sight of London again, Lord Astor was feeling somewhat angry with himself for having allowed his wife to upset him so. Sooner or later she had to learn some of the harsher realities of life. Eventually she had to grow up. He could wish that she had not found out about Ginny. But the truth was that she had, although it was not his fault that she had done so. She must just learn to live with reality. Other wives did, yet appeared to have quite contented marriages.

He must speak to Arabella, he decided, without either harshness or apology, and explain to her what their marriage was to be like. There was no reason why they should not develop a friends.h.i.+p and an affection for each other. There was no reason why they should not have a satisfactory marriage. And there was certainly no reason for him to give up Ginny.

Arabella had admired him to such a degree that she had been nervous with him.

She had liked him.

She had trusted him.

She had been proud of him.

She did not wish to see him or speak with him. She did not wish him to touch her.

d.a.m.nation! Why had he had to be burdened with such a child for a bride?

She had looked haggard and gaunt that morning.

How would he be able to face her with the proper firmness of manner, without allowing her appearance to act as a reproach to him again?

How would he be able to a.s.sume a normal relations.h.i.+p with her? Had there been anything normal about their relations.h.i.+p anyway?

How would he be able to make love to her again at the end of the week, knowing that his touch outraged and repulsed her? d.a.m.nation!

Lord Astor dined at White's again that evening and accepted an invitation to move on to Brooks' later to play cards. By some miracle he won what a mere year before would have seemed a small fortune to him. Yet he would as soon have lost and been able to feel that his fortunes matched his mood. He drank to the point at which he had hoped to be roaring and blissfully drunk. Instead, his head was as clear and his mood ten times blacker than they had been when he had arrived hours earlier. He considered going to Ginny's but could feel no stirring of desire for her whatsoever. He slept somewhat less than he had the night before. He wondered if Arabella was awake and miserable.

Arabella dined at home with Frances, and the two of them joined Lady Berry at the opera in the evening, where Arabella sparkled with good humor and during the interval entertained both Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Hubbard with her bright chatter. In the middle of the first act she quietly removed her pearls when she realized she was wearing them, and dropped them into her reticule. She slept almost as soon as she lay down, being both physically and emotionally exhausted.

12.

Lord Astor rose to his feet in some surprise when his wife entered the breakfast room the following morning. One glance at her face told him that her mood was as cold and set as it had been the previous day. She looked pale and surely thinner than she had when he first knew her.

"Did you miss your walk with George this morning, Arabella?" he asked. "The weather does look rather gray."

"It is chilly," she said, "but quite bracing. George had a good run. I took a maid with me, my lord. I was the height of respectability."

She came from the sideboard with the usual m.u.f.fin and nodded to the butler to pour her coffee. Lord Astor looked at her, not knowing what he should say or whether he should say anything at all.

"Do not let me keep you from your paper," she said, cutting into her m.u.f.fin.

He did not immediately resume his reading. "Did you enjoy the opera?" he asked.

"Yes, I thank you, my lord," she said.

"And do you have plans for today?" he asked.

"Frances and I are to call at Lady Berry's this afternoon," she said. "We are going to Vauxhall tonight."

"Vauxhall?" he said. "It is beautiful during the evening, Arabella. Also potentially dangerous. You will need to be careful."

"We are to be of Lord Farraday's party," she said. "Mr. Hubbard is to be there. Sir John Charlton. Theodore. Others. I shall be quite safe, thank you."

She had not once looked at him. Her voice was coldly polite. Lord Astor dropped his eyes to the paragraph he had been reading but found after two minutes that he no longer remembered even so much as the topic of the article. He closed the paper, folded it, and set it beside his empty cup.

"If you are not planning to be busy during the next hour, Arabella," he said, "I would like to talk with you in the library.''

"After breakfast I always consult with the cook and the housekeeper," she said. "But my first duty is to you, of course, my lord. Are you leaving me now? Will you give me ten minutes?"

"At your convenience, Arabella," he said, rising to his feet, bowing to her, and walking from the room.

Arabella would not let her shoulders sag. The butler was still standing at the sideboard. And she would not leave half the m.u.f.fin on her plate. She ate it in small mouthfuls, chewing tediously what felt like straw in her mouth. She would not show by even the smallest sign that she suffered. This day was to begin the pattern of all the rest of her days. She would approach it with dignity. She would not become a weepy, vaporish female.

There was still something very unreal about the whole situation. Soon she must wake up to find it all some dreadful nightmare. But she knew that there was no waking up to do. It was all true. She had married a man without any sense of honor or decency.

Whenever she allowed herself to think about the last three weeksa"and just as much when she did not allow ita"she felt nauseated again. And panic constantly threatened to grab her by the stomach. She had known all along that her husband could not care for her deeply, that she was not the type of lady to attract the very handsome Lord Astor. She had been beset by a strong sense of her own inferiority all through her acquaintance with him.

But she had never dreamed that he would be unfaithful to her. She must be very naive, she supposed. She knew that men kept mistresses. She knew there were such creatures as courtesansa"she had seen some of them in the streets close to the theater and the opera house. But she had never thought that any of the fas.h.i.+onable gentlemen of her acquaintance would a.s.sociate with such females. Perhaps some of the noisy, foppish young men who crowded the floor of the theater and ogled one with such impertinence might do so, but not the more respectable married men. And certainly not her husband.

She thought in great agony of the nights when he had come to her and she had been so scrupulous about giving herself completely to the man she had freely agreed to marry. Even when she had been afraid on the first two occasions. Even when she had been shy at the beginning. Mama had told her that men derived pleasure from the marriage acta"it was not just for the creation of children. And she had wanted her husband to have pleasure even from her less-than-desirable person. She had wanted to be a good wife.

Yet he could have had no pleasure with her at all. All those nights in the past week and more when she had looked forward to his coming with some eagerness and had enjoyed his touch when he came, he had come only in order to create children in her. He would not have kept Miss c.o.x if he had had pleasure with his wife. He went to Miss c.o.x for pleasure. The beautiful, voluptuous Miss c.o.x. He did with Miss c.o.x the same things that had become so precious to her.

That terrible dull ache that was in her stomach, in her throat, in her nostrils threatened yet again to turn to panic. Arabella picked up her cup, held it with both hands in order to steady it, and sipped the strong, tepid coffee. He wanted to talk to her. Her husband had summoned her. She would obey.

"Thank you," she said, pus.h.i.+ng back her chair even as the butler came to a.s.sist her. "You may clear away now."

She walked along the hallway to the library, nodded to a footman, who rushed to open the door for her, and stepped inside.

Lord Astor closed a leather-bound volume with a snap and got to his feet.

"Come in, Arabella," he said, "and have a seat."

She perched stiffly on the edge of the chair across from the one he had just vacated. He did not sit down again.

"I see that your purpose has not cooled since yesterday," he said, pausing and looking down at her.

She was regarding the hands that were clasped in her lap. "No," she said. "I did not speak impulsively."

"We must talk this out," he said. "Otherwise our life together will become intolerable."

She looked up at him slowly, her eyes stony. She said nothing.

"Arabella," he said, "when I met you and married you, Ginny was my mistress. During the weeks when you have been growing to like me and become proud of me, as you put it yesterday, Ginny has been my mistress. I am not a different person suddenly because you have discovered the truth. I am not a monster."

"You are a liar," she said. "You lied to me on our wedding day, anda"worsea"you lied to G.o.d."

"I am sorry," he said. "You cannot know how sorry I am that you have discovered the truth. Not because I enjoy deceiving you. And not because I am ashamed. But because you have been hurt. But you need not be, Arabella. I respect you. I have grown fond of you. I hopeda"and I still hopea"that we can develop a friends.h.i.+p and an affection for each other."

"May I ask you something?" Arabella asked, looking steadily at him. "If you were to discover that I had been... had been... that I was Mr. Hubbard's mistress or Lord Farraday's or someone else's, would you be satisfied with my explanation that I still respected you, that I was still fond of you?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Arabella," he said impatiently. "That is an entirely different matter."