Page 22 of A Marriage is Arranged

The landing was quite dark in the late afternoon and a footman was engaged in lighting the candelabra that stood in mirrored alcoves in the walls and down the stairs. He stopped and bowed as Louise walked past. She smiled at him and looked so girlish in her ill-fitting gown and tumble-down hair that he afterwards told his colleagues, “She ain’t no beauty, that’s fer sure, but she don’t hold herself so high she wouldn’t give yer the time o’day.”

Louise went boldly into the library and found the newspaper next to a leather armchair, where her husband had obviously been reading it. She would have liked to curl up in the same chair surrounded by the delicious scent of leather and old books but didn’t dare to do so. This was his private domain. He’d said he’d meet her in the drawing room, so that’s where she went.

She had just sat down when Lisle came in.

“My lady!” he exclaimed. “I had not thought to see you down here so soon, or I would have made sure the room was lit.”

Then, seeing the newspaper, he fussed over her, bringing a branched candle holder to a small table next to a chair he thought she would find comfortable.

“I would have brought you the paper, too, my lady, if you had asked me,” he said.

Louise smiled up at him. “Thank you, Lisle,” she said. “But I’m not accustomed to asking people to do things I can do myself.”

If he thought that now she was the Countess of Shrewsbury, she should perhaps expect a little more, he said nothing, except to ask if he could bring her anything else. When she declined, he bowed and left her.

She settled down and was soon immersed in the news of the day. Princess Caroline, long estranged from her husband the Prince Regent, had apparently moved to Italy where she had set up household with a certain Italian gentlemen who was reputed to be more than just her majordomo . The Regent himself, it was reported, was spending the summer in Brighton at the palace on the Steyne to which he had added stables built in an ornate Indian style. He had significantly enlarged the palace itself ten years ago and was now considering another extension. He was closeted with an architect called Nash and there was talk of an extravagant design in the Oriental Style.

Then in another article, a self-styled Diplomat asserted that exiling Bonaparte on Elba was too close to home. Hadn’t he heard almost immediately of the death of his wife back in May and reportedly locked himself in his room for two days? If news could reach him that fast, he was not far enough away. There were some who claimed he was even now plotting an escape.

Louise was plunged in these and other fascinating pieces of news when she heard a step and a voice in the hall. Evidently the Earl had returned from wherever he had been and Lisle had informed him his wife was awaiting him, for he came into the drawing room, still clad in the same clothes he had worn at the wedding. He appeared to be in a bad mood. His dark brows were drawn together and his face looked even more than usually stern and craggy.

“Louise!” he said. “You’re here.”

“Yes,” she smiled. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“Of course not,” he replied, not responding to the humor in her tone. “But I didn’t think you’d be downstairs so soon.”

He advanced into the room and looked at her narrowly.

“Did you, er, dress for dinner?”

She understood at once that neither her gown nor her coiffure announced that she had, in fact, done so.

“Yes,” she replied lightly. “Though I realize it doesn’t look much like it.”

He drew his brow together again and seemed about to say something, but evidently changed his mind.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Please ring for Lisle if you desire anything."

"I'm quite happy, thank you. Take your time.”

She smiled at him, determined not to be affected by his mood. He nodded briefly and left the room.

He went swiftly upstairs and barked at his valet, a thing so unusual that his man looked at him in surprise. The Earl was a man used to having his own way, but his demands were not excessive. He expected his clothes to be ready when he wanted them, his meals to be hot and on time, and above all, for his horses to be well looked after. He didn’t like surprises, but his household was so used to his requirements he didn’t encounter any. He rarely had to speak sternly to his staff.

What had put him in his present mood was something he had seen on the way home. After leaving Louise upstairs that afternoon, he had read the newspaper and then wondered what to do. His bride was asleep, and her confusion when she mentioned lying down hadn’t escaped him. There was no chance of an afternoon dalliance. In fact, he wondered how difficult she was going to be that night when he approached the ticklish question of the consummation of the marriage .

He didn’t want go to his club, where everyone knew it was his wedding day and he’d be subjected to salacious conjecture as to why he wasn’t at home with his bride. He thought he’d take a look in at Jackson’s Boxing Saloon where there was a promising young boxer Jackson had told him he should look at. Glad to have something to do, the Earl rode over there and watched the would-be champions being put through their paces. The young man in question had been everything Jackson had promised, and his lordship had agreed, as he quite often did, to finance his training.

His way home took him past Diane Courtland’s little townhouse. He had been both surprised and annoyed to see Denis Youngbrough come down her front steps with a jaunty air and walk down the linkway, swinging his cane with the air of a cat that got the cream. It could mean only one thing. Gareth was half inclined to rein in his horse and go in to have it out with her, but his sense of honor forbade it. He would not visit his mistress on the very day of his wedding.

So he had been simmering with discontent when he arrived home, and to find his wife calmly reading the newspaper in a bunched up gown and her hair all anyhow had not improved his mood. And she hadn’t seemed remotely concerned about it. He remembered how she had looked when he met her. She had made no effort then, either. Was that what he had to look forward to? He glowered and drew his brows together so fiercely that his valet began to think he must have offended his master in some way.

“Have I, er, displeased you, my lord?” he asked tentatively.

“What?” The Earl looked at him as if he didn’t know what he was talking about, then, realizing what he meant, answered in a softer tone, “No, you fool. You’ve done nothing. I’ve had a bit of a disappointment is all.”