Page 39 of A Marriage is Arranged
Gareth Wandsworth returned to his bedchamber, his temper rising. What was the matter with the woman? He would have sworn her answer to that question would be an enthusiastic yes. He was sure she enjoyed their coupling as much as he did. No one could be that good an actress. Then he thought about his wife’s attitude. She was usually smiling and talkative. Last night and this morning she had answered practically in monosyllables. Why? Could she be overtired from the damned Ball? Could it be her time of the month? If so, why the hell didn’t she just say that instead of that complete negative?
Between Diane throwing herself at him last night and Louise utterly rejecting him this morning, he was sick of women. They were nothing but a damned nuisance. When you wanted them they played coy, and when you didn’t they were only too keen. Well, the devil take them both.
He strode downstairs, barked at Lisle for his cloak and hat, said curtly, “I won’t be in for luncheon,” and left. He went to his club where he proceeded to gamble ferociously and lose a great deal of money. Since this behavior was so unlike him, his colleagues rightly surmised he had wife trouble. They had all been there and the only thing that surprised them was that it was so soon.
Louise consumed a solitary meal, grateful not to have to make polite conversation with anyone .
The doorbell rang constantly with deliveries of invitations, notes, flowers, and small gifts of thanks. She listlessly arranged the flowers around the rooms and sent the boxes of sweetmeats and bonbons down for the servants. Amongst the offerings was a poem from Bertie Smithers. Beautifully lettered on parchment tied with an ivory ribbon, it read:
A naiad she, whose mark is naught
Upon the water gliding,
But on my heart the print she made
Will be forever biding.
She couldn’t help smiling at the unlikely image of herself gliding on water. Under normal circumstances she would have shared the verse with her husband and they would have chuckled over it together. She had to blink back tears. Those days of easy camaraderie were over.
At tea-time the Dowager and her mother arrived, eager to talk over the triumph of the ball.
“The gowns! The parures! I’ve never seen such a sight,” sighed her mother. “And who was that woman wearing the gown with the swansdown? She looked beautiful!”
The Dowager had seen Diane, of course, and had deliberately snubbed her. How dared she come! Now she simply said, “Oh, no one of any account. She’s one of the women who are always on the fringes of the ton . Apparently she inveigled the boy Youngbrough to bring her. He’d better be careful. She’ll snap him up in one bite!”
Then she deftly turned the subject. “I’ve been giving the matter of your hair some thought, Louise. I see you are back into your braid today. I suppose it’s well enough for indoors, though you must know it doesn’t really become you.”
“So I’ve told her again and again,” chimed in her mother, “but it’s no use.”
“I can’t do anything else and neither can Rose,” said Louise defensively. “And I do not wish to replace Rose. She and I deal well together.”
“So you’ve said,” answered Lady Esmé, “and I’m not proposing you get rid of her. But Booth has a niece who wants to be a dresser. Apparently she’s quite good. If Booth says she is, she must be. Anyway, I propose sending her to you. If you like what she does, she can stay here. An extra maid is always useful, anyway, and she’s a quiet, well-behaved girl. She can be your personal maid, or, better still, Rose can be your personal maid and this girl Susan can be your dresser. After all, Rose has no qualifications for the job apart from a pretty face and a willing nature.”
“Yes, I’m afraid that’s so,” said Mrs. Grey. “But she’s niece to my own treasure Wilkins and I didn’t have the heart to refuse her. These women with their nieces!”
Louise was too miserable to enter into any protracted discussion on the relative merits of dressers and quietly agreed with the Dowager. “Please send her over tomorrow,” she said quietly, “I’ll talk to Rose.”
“It’s obvious you’re overtired, my dear,” said the Dowager, looking at her narrowly. “We’ll be off.”
“And I shall say goodbye, Louise,” said her mother. “As you know, I’m leaving the day after tomorrow and her ladyship and I have been invited to tea at Lady March’s tomorrow, so I shan’t see you again. I daresay you’ll be at Overshott soon, so I hope to receive an invitation there.”
“Of course, Mama,” said Louise mechanically. She embraced both women and walked them to the door.