Page 36 of A Marriage is Arranged

Diane watched Gareth leave his wife and make his way across the room. She intercepted him before he got to his destination.

“I have to talk to you,” she said urgently, drawing him into the shadows at the corner of the room.

“I don’t think we have anything to say, Diane,” he replied. “You made your choice.”

“What can you mean?”

“You didn’t wait long. I saw Youngbrough leaving your house on my wedding day.”

“Impossible!”

“If you say so. I’m not going to stand here arguing with you. I am due to dance with my mother-in-law.”

“Mother-in-law!” spat Diane, and couldn’t stop herself adding, “Is she as lovely as her daughter?”

“You’ve said enough.”

The Earl began to walk away. Diane clutched at his sleeve.

“Meet me in the garden when supper is announced. Everyone will go inside and it will be empty. Do it, Gareth, or I’ll make such a fuss the old tabbies will have gossip for weeks!”

He sighed. “Very well, but it will be for the last time.”

He walked away without looking back.

The crowd was such that Louise did not see her husband in conversation with the pretty lady whose gown she had admired. Hardly anyone did. But the few who observed it were not shocked. Everyone knew about Shrewsbury and Diane Courtland, though they were surprised he should be en tête à tête with her at the Ball thrown to introduce his wife.

“I wouldn’t have thought him so loose in the haft,” remarked one gentleman to another.

“No, and his wife seems a good sort. Spoke very kindly to us when we came in. M’ wife appreciated it.”

They shook their heads and, as gentlemen will, dismissed it from their minds.

Louise was busy until supper, talking with her guests between being solicited for every dance. At that point she went quickly down into the dining room to see that everything was in order. It was. She silently blessed Mrs. Smith and the kitchen staff. People came in to fill their plates and sat at the many chairs ranged around the sides of the room. As those filled, she told puzzled-looking guests where other chairs had been set. Gareth did not come in and she wondered where he was. She knew he had dined early and must be hungry.

She herself was too keyed up to eat anything, and she was very hot. It was a pleasant summer night, not overly warm, but the many candles and the heat of all the dancers had caused the temperature to rise uncomfortably in the ballroom. Ladies were vigorously plying their fans, and the men were running their fingers around wilting collars. She beckoned Lisle over.

“I want the windows of the ballroom opened while the guests are at supper. Please bring one of the footmen up to help.”

The heat in the long room was stifling. Louise went to one of the far windows overlooking the garden at the back of the house, and was just about to raise the sash when, looking down, she recognized the shapely figure of Diane Courtland hurrying down one of the candle-lit paths. A moment later, the unmistakable form of her husband followed .

Without thinking, she left the window and ran down the stairs. In the foyer, she was stopped by guests with a kind word here, an enquiry there, and then, to her extreme frustration, by Lisle who touched her arm.

“I cannot find his lordship to ask the question,” he said, “or I would not bother you, my lady. But we are out of the Hock in the dining room. Alas, there is no more of the Niersteiner in the Cellar. I am proposing to open the Ausbruch if you permit.”

Louise knew nothing about wine, and at that moment cared less. “Please do as you see fit, Lisle,” she said. “I’m sure his lordship would approve.”

Finally, she was able to get to the breakfast room, slip through the open doors and out into the garden. She followed the path, her slippers making no sound on the packed sand. She came around a bend in the path as it skirted the side of the fountain and stopped next to one of the larger trees. There, at the end of a side alley, stood Diane and her husband. The woman’s hands were clutching the lapels of his coat, and her face was turned up to his. It was too dark to see her expression or his, but the intimacy of the moment was unmistakable.

Gareth had reluctantly found Diane a few minutes before and had drawn her onto the shadowy path.

“Gary, dearest,” she had said, turning her wide eyes up to his. “You know Youngbrough is nothing to me. How can you think I would entertain him in preference to yourself?”

“The evidence of my own eyes, Diane,” he replied coldly. “I saw him leaving your house and he’s going about looking like the cock of the dunghill. Don’t tell me he hasn’t enjoyed your ample favors.”

“Only because he implored me so. I was sorry for him. He means nothing to me.”

“Then I’m sorry for you. But as I said, you made your choice and now I’m making mine. Don’t cry over spilt milk. You got the emeralds you wanted.”

She reached up and grasped the lapels of his coat.

“It’s not the emeralds I wanted, it was you! You said your marriage would make no difference, but it has!”

She looked into his face. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with that plain wife of yours!”

“I shall not now, or ever, discuss my feelings towards my wife with you, Diane.”

With the splash of the fountain behind her, Louise could hear nothing of what they were saying. She stood stock still, her heart thumping. It was suddenly all so clear. Her mother had agreed that her husband most likely had an inamorata. All the fashionable gentlemen did. And this Diane Courtland obviously was her husband’s. He must have been with her all those times she hadn’t heard him go to bed. He had stiffened when Lisle introduced her and here he was, gazing down into her eyes. With a stifled sob, she watched him bring up his hands to cover Diane’s, and unable to watch more, ran blindly back up the path.

It was a pity she hadn’t waited another moment. She would have seen her husband remove Diane’s hands from his lapels, push them to her sides and shake his head in a decided negative.

She ran into a dark corner of the garden and fell to her knees. From somewhere the scent of evening primroses came to her nose. For ever after she would associate that sweet perfume with great sorrow. She wept with her knuckles pushed into her mouth to prevent her sobs. In her misery she didn’t see the shape of her husband stride purposefully up the path and into the house, nor, a few minutes later, that of Diane slowly follow.

She didn’t know how long she was there, but she gradually realized she could stay no longer. She was the Countess. She had to do her duty. She crept to the fountain and dipped her tiny lace-edged handkerchief into the cool water. She put it over her eyes for a few moments then opened the fan on her wrist and plied it vigorously in front of her face. She thought for a moment, then walked boldly back into the house with the handkerchief over her eyes.

“My lady!” Lisle abandoned his stately tread and almost ran to her. “Whatever is the matter? May I help you?”

“No, Lisle,” she managed a small laugh. “It was so hot, I went outside to cool down. In the dark I walked into the branch of a tree and stung my eyes. It made me cry. But I shall be fine presently. Oh dear! Look at my gown! I stumbled and fell. So silly!”

This was said in a loud enough voice for bystanders to hear, and within moments word had spread that her ladyship had injured her eyes in the garden. No one doubted the veracity of her tale, a couple of the old tabbies shaking their heads and remarking that’s what happened when one allowed people to roam around outside in the dark.

Mrs. Grey tried to make Louise go to her room to rest until her eyes were less red, but received the response, overheard by a number of others, “Don’t fuss, Mama. I was not pretty before, and red eyes can hardly make a difference. The second half of the Ball is about to begin and I’m only sorry my poor partners will have an even worse fright to dance with.”

So saying, her head held high, the Countess remounted the stairs to the ballroom.