Page 42 of A Marriage is Arranged

The next invitation was to Lady Whitlow’s dinner and card party. On their way there in the carriage Louise said, “My lord, (she no longer called him Gareth), I hope you understand I know the rudiments of whist, but I am by no means an expert player. I shall not be at all offended if you prefer to partner someone else.”

She was hoping not to have to partner her husband. It was so much easier when she wasn’t near him. The truth was, she had played cards a good deal at school. The new head teacher had encouraged it as an excellent training in mathematics. As she put it, use your brain, girls. You’ll find it’s for more than working out whether you can afford a new bonnet. They had learned loo, whist, and piquet. Louise was quick and had a good memory. She proved to have some talent for cards, and when she played it with her school friends usually won. They only played for buttons, for the girls were not allowed to bet real money, but she enjoyed it very much.

But her husband was confident in his own ability. “So long as you know the rudiments,” he said. “I am sure we can manage between us. Just remember that if I lead a card it’s either because I have no more in that suit and therefore can trump it, or I have a number of high cards in it and can win on points. In either case, when you get the chance, lead the suit back to me.”

Since this was elementary, she didn’t need the instruction and therefore merely nodded .

After dinner, the guests went into the card room, where tables were set with their names. Louise saw at once she had been placed to partner her husband. When the first rubber began and he led her a heart, she deliberately led him back a diamond. When he could not stop himself from drawing his brows together with impatience, she said quietly, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I played that badly, didn’t I?”

The Earl nodded, still frowning. The rubber continued, with Louise making one mistake after another and at the end they were significantly down.

“I thought you said you knew the rudiments of the game, Louise,” said her husband, “but I think you exaggerated.”

Lord Veness and his lady were their opponents. His lordship, who had been her admirer since the dinner party, quickly responded, “Don’t be like that, Shrewsbury! We all make mistakes. Her ladyship is just beginning. Tell you what, let’s switch partners.” He addressed his wife, “You don’t mind, do you, my dear?”

She did not. She was a keen player and felt herself equal to the Earl.

During the next rubber the Countess appeared to have learned her lesson, for she played without error. She and her new partner won.

“See, I told you she was just beginning,” said Lord Veness, pleased to think he had not only brought out Louise’s abilities by his generosity but also beaten Shrewsbury, who was known to hate losing.

The third and deciding rubber was played in concentrated silence. Louise clinched the win with a finesse that no one expected, least of all her husband. Her partner crowed with delight and congratulated her for her cleverness.

“But it was pure chance,” said Louise untruthfully, “I really didn’t know what I was doing. But I did enjoy playing with you, Lord Veness. Thank you.”

The Earl took his lady home feeling he had somehow shown himself in a bad light. He had been unfriendly towards his wife and had seen another man bring out the best in her. Illogically, he blamed her for placing him in that position.

The ball at Almack’s was even worse. The Earl had studiously avoided the place for years. He hated having to wear the knee breeches and silk stockings that were de rigeur . They certainly did no justice to his thick, muscular legs. And in his opinion, the damned chapeau bras they were forced to carry under the arm made them look like generals looking for work when the war was over. He also hated the low-stakes card games and the insipid refreshments. You couldn’t get a decent glass of wine and all they gave you to eat was stale cake!

But his wife had received vouchers from the patronesses and it would have been the height of disrespect not to go. She was as well dressed as he had come to expect. These days even when at home she always appeared perfectly turned out. Ironically, there were times he missed the old brown gown.

For this occasion, Veronique had sent her a lilac silk ballgown that appeared simplicity itself. It had short puff sleeves and the hallmark V neckline. It fit narrowly over the bodice and from under the bosom the silk fell in a sheer line to rows of narrow pleats at the hem. From just below the shoulder blades at the back there was a deep inverted pleat ending in more rows of narrow pleats at the bottom. The weight of the pleats caused the gown to swing out elegantly as she danced. There was no train. This was deliberate on Véronique's part, for she had heard the Almack’s balls were a terrible crush and gowns with trains were constantly being ripped. The modiste sent over-the-elbow matching gloves. Louise clasped her diamond bracelet over her left arm and wore the matching earrings.

Amid an array of elaborate gowns with ruffles, lace, ribbons, fringe, gimp, and cord, its simple elegance stood out like a swan amongst peacocks.

She had no lack of gentlemen signing her dance card, and her husband was lucky to put his name to anything. The poet Bernie Smithers was there and literally ran to her side. He signed up for the first country dance. Louise was surprised. She expected him to want a waltz, which Almack’s had recently allowed into its hallowed portals.

The reason soon became obvious. He had chosen the country dance because it lasted much longer than the waltz, and he wanted not to dance, but to sit and talk with her. He led her to a secluded bench.

“Thank you for the pretty verse you sent,” she said lightly. “I’m flattered you see me in such a light.”

“You are an angel!” he declared emotionally, and would have taken her hand, had she let him. “But that scribble was nothing! Let me tell you about my new oeuvre!”

She agreed, knowing that the dissertation could only last as long as the dance.

He needed no further encouragement. He first gave her a lecture on poetic forms, declaring at length that the Elegy was the finest, which is why he had chosen it. It exactly suited his mood, with its sense of loss and glories past.

“ Who would not sing for Lycidas?” He quoted with affecting sorrow , “… he knew/Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. Ah! The sublime Milton.”

In fact, Louise knew those lines, because while her mother might deplore the freedom with which the young ladies discussed unmentionable topics, her school had provided her with a very good education. She was therefore able to respond intelligently.

Young Bernie then went on to some of his own poetry, which, truthfully, she found very derivative.

“Who would not mourn the loss,” he intoned,

“Of France’s flower’d youth,

Its hope betrayed and freedom gone,

In bloody wounds and anguish borne?”

For, of course, many were declaring the ideals of the French Revolution were now lost.

“Do you think, then, the French people have lost all the freedoms they fought so hard to gain?” asked Louise.

This led to another lecture, to which she listened as attentively as she could until the final chords of the country dance sounded. In fact, she was covertly looking to see if Diane Courtland was there. She was not. The lofty morals of the Patronesses would never have permitted it.

Mr. Smithers was forced to relinquish Louise to the next gentleman, and since there were no other dances left on her card, he soon took his leave. He couldn’t bear to watch her with other men, and turned an even more envious eye on her husband. What had Gareth Wandsworth done to deserve such a jewel for a wife, except have a title and be as rich as Croesus? Damn him.

The Earl observed her tête à tête with the poet and the fact that she was constantly solicited for the dances. Her card had quickly filled and he had been unable to procure a waltz with her. He watched her through narrowed eyes as she twirled around smiling at her cavalier, her beautiful gown swinging out behind her. He could not even bring her a glass of lemonade during the breaks, for she was well supplied by other gentlemen. The fact she had done nothing to which he could take exception did nothing to quell his mounting ire. And when she answered his remarks with polite distance on their way home in the carriage, his black looks and scowl would have alarmed anyone. But she wasn’t looking at him.