First Comes Marriage (30 page)

Elliott bowed to the ladies and nodded at Beaton.

“Oh, Lady Haughton,” his wife said, “and Miss Flaxley. Are
you
coming to have ices too? We have been to the British Museum to look at the ancient sculptures there, and now we have been here. Is it not a
beautiful
day?”

“Ah, Lady Lyngate,” Lady Haughton said, smiling—something she did not often do. “It is indeed a lovely day. Have you met my nephew, Lord Beaton? Lady Lyngate, Cyril.”

Vanessa curtsied, smiling brightly at the young dandy.

“I am very pleased to meet you,” she said. “Have you met Viscount Lyngate, my husband?” She laughed. “But of course you must have.”

“The female population of London has just gone into collective mourning, Lyngate,” Lady Haughton told him. “And you must expect many envious glances during the coming Season, my dear. You have stolen one of the most eligible bachelors from the marriage mart.”

Vanessa laughed.

“My brother is in town too,” she said, looking at Beaton. “He is the new Earl of Merton and is only seventeen years old. I am sure he would be delighted to make the acquaintance of a somewhat
older
young man, my lord.”

“I shall look forward to the pleasure, ma’am,” he said, making her a bow and looking gratified.

“Will you be attending the ball at Moreland House tomorrow evening?” Vanessa asked. “I will introduce him to you there, if I may. Are you
all
planning to attend?”

“We would not miss it for the world,” Lady Haughton said while Beaton bowed again. “
Everyone
who is anyone will be there, Lady Lyngate.”

“I can see,” Elliott said a few minutes later, when they were inside the carriage and on the way home, “that you have made several acquaintances already.”

“Your mother has been taking me about with her,” she said. “I have been trying to memorize names. It is not always easy, but fortunately I remembered Lady Haughton and Miss Flaxley.”

“It would seem,” he said, “that you do not need me for company after all, then.”

She turned her head to look steadily at him.

“Oh, but, Elliott,” she said, “they are all just
acquaintances
. Even your mother and Cecily and Meg and Kate and Stephen are just
family
. You are my
husband
. There is a difference. An enormous difference.”

“Because we go to bed together?” he asked her.

“Oh, you foolish man,” she said. “Yes, because of that. Because it is a symbol of the intimacy of our relationship. The total intimacy.”

“And yet,” he reminded her, “you do not like me walking into your private apartments without knocking. You have insisted that you need some privacy, even from me.”

She sighed.

“Yes, it is a seeming contradiction, is it not?” she said. “But the thing is, you see, that two people can never actually become one no matter how close they are. And it would not be desirable even if it were possible. What would happen when one of them died? It would leave the other as half a person, and that would be a dreadful thing. We must each be a whole person, and therefore we each need some privacy to be alone with ourselves and our own feelings. But a marriage relationship
is
an intimate thing for all that, and the intimacy ought to be cultivated. For the relationship ought to be the best of all relationships. What a waste to live two almost totally separate lives when the chance is there for one of the greatest joys of life together.”

“You have obviously given a great deal of thought to this subject,” he said.

“I had much time for thought when—” She did not complete the sentence. “I have had much time for thought. I know what a happy marriage is.” She turned her face away from him and gazed out the window. She spoke so softly that he could barely decipher the words. “And I know what a happier marriage could be.”

How had they got onto this subject? How did he get onto
any
subject with his wife?

One thing was becoming very clear to him. She was not going to allow him to settle into any comfortable sort of married life that might somehow resemble his bachelor existence.

She was going to force him to be happy, damn it all.

And joyful.

Whatever the devil difference there might be between the two.

Heaven help him.

“Elliott,” she said as the carriage drew up before the house. She set one gloved hand on his sleeve. “Thank you so very much for this morning—for the museum, for the ice. I have enjoyed myself more than I can say.”

He lifted her hand to his lips.

“Thank
you,
” he said, “for coming.”

Her eyes twinkled with merriment.

“This afternoon you may be free to do whatever you wish,” she said. “I am going shopping with Meg and Kate. Cecily is coming too. I will
not
suggest that you accompany us. I will see you at dinner?”

“You will,” he said. He spoke impulsively. “Perhaps you would arrange to have it served early. You may like to go to the theater this evening. Shakespeare’s
Twelfth Night
is being performed at the Drury Lane. Perhaps Merton and your sisters would care to join us in my private box there.”

“Oh, Elliott!” Her face lit up with such pleasure that he was dazzled for a moment. “I really cannot think of anything I would like more. And how
good
of you to invite my brother and sisters too.”

He was still holding her hand, he realized. And his coachman was standing beside the carriage door, holding it open. He had already put down the steps. He was staring straight ahead down the street, the suggestion of a smirk on his lips.

“I shall be home in time for an early dinner, then,” Elliott said after he had climbed down and held out a hand to help Vanessa descend.

Her smile was warm and happy.

And she did indeed look rather pretty in pink.

Just a couple of months ago an assembly at Throckbridge had seemed the pinnacle of excitement. Yet now, Vanessa thought as they all took their seats in Elliott’s box, here they were, she and her brother and sisters, attending the performance of a Shakespeare play in the Theater Royal, Drury Lane, in London. And tomorrow there was to be her presentation to the queen and then a grand
ton
ball in the evening.

And this was all just the beginning.

Sometimes she
still
expected to wake up in her bed at Rundle Park.

The theater was filling with ladies and gentlemen who were dazzling in the splendor of their muslins and silks and satins and jewels. And she and her siblings actually belonged in such company. Vanessa was even sparkling along with everyone else. She was wearing the white gold chain with a multifaceted and indecently large diamond pendant that Elliott had brought home with him during the afternoon and clasped about her neck just before they left the house. The diamond was catching the light whichever way she turned.

“Even without the play,” Katherine said to Cecily, though her voice carried to all of them, “this would be a memorable evening of entertainment.”

“It would indeed,” Cecily agreed fervently, fanning her face and gazing down into the pit.

The pit was where unattached single gentlemen usually sat to ogle the ladies—the dowager had told Vanessa that. She had been perfectly right. And
they
—or Meg, Kate, and Cecily anyway—were the subject of much of that attention. Some of the gentlemen were even using opera glasses to magnify the view. Meg and Kate were wearing new gowns, both blue, Kate’s pale, Meg’s darker. Both looked outstandingly lovely. So did Cecily in white.

Vanessa turned her head to smile happily at Elliott, who was seated beside her.

“I knew they would all attract attention,” she said. “Kate and Meg and Cecily, I mean. They are so lovely.”

She was holding a fan in one hand. He took her free hand and set it on his sleeve. He kept one hand over it.

“And you are not?” he asked her.

She laughed.

“Of course I am not,” she said. “Besides, I am a married lady and of no interest to anyone.”

His eyebrows rose.

“Not even to your husband?” he asked her.

She laughed again.

“I was not fishing for a compliment,” she said. “Of course, if you wish to pay me one anyway...”

“With a smile on your lips and in your eyes,” he said, “and clothed in that particular shade of green, you look like a piece of the springtime, Vanessa.”

“Oh, well done,” she said. “Are you about to add that so does every other lady present?”

“Not at all,” he said. “No one else does. Only you. And springtime is everyone’s favorite season, you know.”

Her smile faded slightly and for a moment she felt a desperate yearning for she knew not what.

“Is it?” she said softly. “Why?”

“The renewal of life and energy, I suppose,” he said. “The renewal of hope. The promise of a bright future.”

“Oh.”

She was not sure she made any sound. Was it a compliment? But of course it was. Had he meant by it all she dreamed he meant? Or had he merely found a deft way of avoiding telling her quite bluntly that no, indeed, she was not as lovely as her three companions?

Their eyes locked and he opened his mouth to speak again.

“Oh, I say,” Stephen said suddenly, sounding as exuberant as he had looked since the moment of their arrival at the theater, “there is Cousin Constantine.”

“Where?”
Katherine and Cecily asked together.

Stephen indicated a box almost directly across from theirs, and Vanessa looked and saw that sure enough, there was Constantine Huxtable with a party of ladies and gentlemen. He had seen them too and was smiling and raising a hand in greeting as he tipped his head side-ways to listen to something the lady next to him was saying. She too was looking across to their box.

Vanessa waved back with her fan hand, smiling brightly.

“It is to London he came, then,” she said to Elliott. “He is accepted here?”

“Although he is illegitimate?” he said. “But of course. He is the son of a former Earl and Countess of Merton and was raised as such. There is no real stigma on his name. It was just that legally he could not enjoy the privileges of the eldest son.”

“Does he have any money?” she asked. “I mean did he inherit anything?”

“His father provided for him,” he said. “Not lavishly, but adequately.”

“That is a relief to know,” she said. “I did wonder, especially after we arrived at Warren Hall and effectively turned him out of his home.”

“Con will always find a way of looking after himself,” he said, both his eyes and his voice hardening. “You must not worry about him, Vanessa. Or pay him too much attention.”

“He
is
our cousin,” she said.

“A relationship that is best forgotten,” he assured her. “And
he
is best ignored.”

She frowned at him.

“But unless you give me a good reason,” she said, “you cannot expect me to ignore him just because you hate him. I do not believe there
is
a good reason.”

He raised his eyebrows, his eyes still cold. But at that very moment a sudden hush descended on the theater. The play was about to begin.

Vanessa’s mood had taken a downward turn. She was very much afraid that the evening had been at least partially ruined. Her hand was still on Elliott’s arm, and his hand still covered it, but there was no real warmth in either and she wondered if it had been a move designed for the benefit of the audience rather than a spontaneous gesture of affection.

She glanced at Margaret, who was smiling, her attention already fixed upon the stage. She had scarcely stopped smiling since her arrival in London. The expression was like a mask. Vanessa could only imagine what lay behind it. Meg was studiously avoiding all personal conversation.

And then the play began.

And all else was forgotten.

There were only the actors and the action and the play.

Vanessa leaned forward in her seat, unaware of either her surroundings or her companions, unaware of the arm she gripped a little more tightly, unaware that her husband beside her watched her almost as much as he did the performance.

It was only later, when the interval began, that she leaned back in her chair and sighed.

“Oh,” she said, “have you ever seen anything more wonderful in your life?”

It was clear that four of her companions had not. They were all eager to talk, to exchange impressions, their voices bright with enthusiasm. Even Meg’s smile looked genuine.

“I suppose,” Vanessa said, turning to Elliott, who had not joined in the hubbub, “you have seen a thousand performances just like this and have become quite jaded.”

“One never becomes jaded by good theater,” he said.

“And is this good?” Katherine asked.

“It is,” he said. “And I agree with everything that has been said during the past minute. If you wish, we may all step outside the box to stretch our legs before the next act begins.”

The corridor outside was crowded and noisy as people greeted one another and commented upon the performance.

Elliott introduced his party to a few of his acquaintances, and Vanessa was gratified to note the interest with which everyone greeted Stephen as soon as they knew who he was. Even in such a glittering setting he looked bright and golden and handsome, she thought fondly—and very youthful. More than a few ladies stole second and even third glances at him.

And then Constantine appeared among the throng. He must have circled half about the theater with the express purpose of greeting them. He had on his arm the lady who had been sitting beside him in his box. She was extremely lovely, Vanessa noticed with interest. She had shining blond hair and a figure to rival even Meg’s.

“Ah, cousins,” Constantine said when he was close enough to make himself heard. “Well met.”

They all exclaimed with delight—except Elliott, of course, who made a stiff halfbow.

Cecily squealed with delight and caught his free arm and clung to it.

“Con!”
she cried. “Is this not
wonderful
? I am
so
happy you are here. You must not forget my come-out ball tomorrow evening. You promised me a set.”