The Pleasure Merchant (18 page)

“Mrs. Dryden,” he muttered, as he did whatever he was doing. “
Sabina
. Come back to me. You hear my voice, I know you do. See this, and…”

Hallux noticed Tom watching. His expression went from concerned to furious in an instant.

“You little sneak!” he cried, jumping to his feet. “How
dare
you spy on me!”

Tom stood his ground. He would not be cowed by a blackguard who had not only recklessly distressed guests at a party, but also sent his wife into a highly embarrassing public fit.

“What were you doing?” he asked boldly, though his question only seemed too make Hallux angrier. “Why do you show her that watch when she is distraught? Three times now I have seen you at it, and—”

“Hallux?”

Sabina was sensible once again, distracting Hallux from whatever he would have done next, either answering Tom or—more likely—boxing his ears.

“Sabina!” He knelt beside her. “You have had a shock, dear wife. You fell from your chair.”

“I do not recall,” said Sabina vaguely.

“I believe you drifted off, and had a nightmare,” said Hallux, looking at Tom when he said this, as if challenging him to deny his account. Tom said nothing, for Sabina’s sake.

“Of course,” she said, pushing herself into a seated position with her husband’s assistance. “I’m so very sorry. Please… will you make my excuses? I should… I should go to bed. It’s dreadfully rude of me, I know, but lest I fall asleep again… I am so very tired… and I have a headache.”

“Yes, of course,” said Hallux. “I will help you to your rooms.”

“No, let me go on my own,” said Sabina. “Please, go back… go and reassure our guests that I am well, merely… overtaxed. They will understand.”

Hallux seemed disinclined to allow his wife to go anywhere on her own, so Tom, seeing an opportunity, butted in.

“Let me see Mrs. Dryden upstairs,” he volunteered. “My society will be missed far less than yours, Mr. Dryden, and likewise, my report on Mrs. Dryden’s health will be given less credit than your own. I promise I shall see her safely to her chambers, and send her maid up directly.”

“Absolutely not,” he declared.

“Please, Mr. Dryden,” she begged, “I should be much easier, I assure you, if I knew your night was not ruined because of my indisposition. Do this for me, my darling? Please? Our guests would be sorry to lose you for a moment more, I’m certain of it.”

Tom saw Hallux’s resolve crumbling, and secretly rejoiced. “It is a husband’s fate to always be overruled by his servants and his spouse,” he said, looking from Tom to his wife. “Go then. Tom—upon Sabina’s vanity you shall find an opaque green bottle with a cork stopper. See her settled, but be sure tell the maid to give her three drops of that tincture in a glass of wine before letting her lie down.”

“I don’t need any medicine,” Sabina protested. “It was just a nightmare, dearest, please—”

“You have suffered a shock,” insisted Hallux. “As your husband and your physician, I insist on it.”

“Of course, Mr. Dryden.”

It had not occurred to Tom that Sabina might be receiving treatments for her nerves from her husband. He could not fathom why he had not intuited this part of their relationship, especially with Sabina’s delicacy of mind and body. Just the same, he had never heard it mentioned by anybody, not even the servants—and she never saw any other doctors, Mr. Fitzwilliam or otherwise. His realization did not sit easily with him… what business did the man have to be always fucking her when she was prone to fits; treating her for nerves when he seemed to enjoy nothing better than hassling her, and denying her pleasures?

“Thank you for helping me,” said Sabina, as Tom helped her from the room, one hand on the small of her back, and the other under her elbow. She smiled up at him. “It is very gracious of you, to leave behind a party to walk with such a dullard as myself.”

“You are mistaken, my lady,” said Tom. “It is not gracious of me at all. It is entirely selfish.” He left her to open the door to the gallery, then took her back into his arms. “Your company—and the privilege of ensuring your complete comfort—is more satisfying than any assembly.”

“It is kind of you to say. But I cannot help feeling like the selfish one.”

They had reached the stairs, and began progressing slowly up them, resting at the landings to let Sabina recover from the exercise. Tom kept an eye on her as she breathed slowly in and out through her nose, mentally comparing her to the vivacious likeness in her portrait. She might look no paler, nor weaker, than her painted twin… but
something
was different. She was still the picture of beauty and health; she merely
seemed
ill, and most of all, she believed herself to be. It was very strange. Tom wondered if her portrait below had been painted before or after she married Hallux Dryden; if her current state was the fault of marriage—or something else.

He decided to ask.

“Mrs. Dryden…”

“Yes?”

“I hope it is not an impertinence to ask, but I happened to notice the portrait of you in the gallery. You were playing the harp, and it occurred to me that not once have I ever had the pleasure of hearing you.”

“Oh.” Sabina revived a little. “Yes… it’s been a long time since I played… or even wished to play. I used to practice, for hours every day… how I loved it…” Sabina smiled wanly. “But you must understand, an unmarried girl and a married woman occupy themselves very differently. I am so busy… I can simply never find the time.”

Tom had never before heard Sabina claim to want more time to herself, or be too busy for anything. To the contrary, she often expressed a want of intelligent employment.

Then again, any time she did step forward to occupy herself in some useful manner typically incurred disastrous result—like the time she burned her hand in the kitchens.

As Tom opened the door of Sabina’s private sitting-room he feared that now even parties at home would become forbidden entertainments, for the sake of the lady’s poor nerves. Poor Sabina!

“Thank you, Tom,” she said, and stepped inside her room—only to trip on the edge of the Turkish carpet. Before Tom could catch her, Sabina windmilled her arms and fell, crying out as she caught the edge of the sofa in the small of her back before collapsing onto it.

“Mrs. Dryden!” Tom was beside her in an instant, horrified. Her eyes were closed, and she was panting rapidly and shallowly. “Are you hurt?”

“I can’t,” she gasped, “please, my dress…”

For the first time, Tom was glad of Hallux’s insistence that his wife dress plainly—there were relatively few buttons, ribbons, and other fasteners on her gown. It was but the work of a moment to loosen her garments, and rather than stays or a corset, she wore a soft jump that was also quickly undone.

Only when he saw Sabina’s white shift, and the sliver of her exposed neck at the top did Tom realize what liberties he had taken. Drawing back after letting her lie down, he apologized, blushing.

“No,” she said, breathing much more easily than before, “your presence of mind saved me, I’m certain of it. Had you shown more propriety, you should have done me more mischief.” She sighed. “Oh, but I am so
clumsy!
I was not always so, but illness has marked me for sorrow.”

“What—” Tom stopped himself; it was not his place to enquire what on earth could have precipitated such a shift from vivacious musician to drowsy invalid. But Sabina anticipated his question.

“Mr. Dryden calls it a result of shock.” She winced as she shifted into a more upright position. “Several years ago, my dearest friend and I were out riding… her father had bought a new horse, and she would ride it though we did not know its temperament. Lysandra had high spirits and a strong will; she and the horse were… much alike. She was an excellent rider, but the beast threw her. She fell—her neck was broken. She was gone and growing cold before I could dismount.”

“By Jove!” cried Tom, so shocked he forgot himself and pulled up a chair to sit closer to her.

“When at last our servant caught up to us, I was insensate with grief. Her loss… it affected me deeply, and for many months I had no interest in much of anything, least of all company.” A tear ran down her perfect cheek, and Tom’s handkerchief was gratefully received to dry it. “Music was my only solace… until my father arranged for me to meet a young doctor. Mr. Dryden was, he said, a man learned in the art of treating nervous complaints. He believed he could help me—and he did. We spent much time together, naturally, and became very attached to one another. He has cared for me ever since, and I am grateful he was able to love someone as frail as I.”

Tom was doubtful. “He treats you for nerves, you mean?”

“Yes… with many revolutionary techniques not known to men of science or the lay public,” she said evenly, sounding as usual like a pamphlet or advertisement when she spoke of her husband.

Perhaps whatever Hallux did with his pocket watch was one of these ‘techniques.’ “Does he think you will recover?
Fully
recover, I mean?”

She shook her head. “He says I must be grateful for the health he has restored to me, and not hope for miracles.”

It was more of a history than Tom had expected to receive. Sabina’s frankness explained her trust in her husband, as well as her dependence on him. Perhaps he had misjudged Hallux… then again, perhaps not. Not only did her story not quite match up with other accounts he had heard of her—like that she had been more vivacious when she first married Hallux—it could not be right for a woman as young as Sabina to give up hope of ever being truly well again. She could not be more than five and twenty; she had her whole life ahead of her! In Tom’s opinion, Hallux ought to be more eager for his wife to return to society—ought to encourage her to mingle more, rather than less. Right here, with just the two of them, she was conversing almost normally; surely her nervousness in company was as much the result of lack of practice as anything else. So much for his revolutionary techniques!

“Tom,” she said, “would you… would it be too much to ask for you to help get my gown off and get me to bed? I am so uncomfortable—I fear my back shall be sore, and I’m certain if I could only lie down it would be better much sooner. By the time you go downstairs and rouse Maritte, I’m sure to have a cramp.”

He was as eager to help as she was mad to suggest it. The very thought of it made his blood quicken in his veins—he had never dreamed to hope that Sabina might admire him from afar, as he admired her. She had never betrayed a sign of anything of the sort, but surely a woman would not ask a man for such a favor unless she felt a deep regard for him—felt certain of her safety in his hands.

And all of those sentiments, of course, were likely precursors to…
something
.

“My lady, while I know you would never suggest anything indecorous,” he said, a bit hoarsely, “I fear it would be seen by others as… inappropriate.” It was the understatement of the season if not the whole bloody year. “Think of the questions Maritte would ask if she found you in such a state. Just to have loosened your clothes is to have violated many… rules.” He was sweating. He could not imagine what Hallux would say or do if found out things had progressed
this
far, much less… “Let me fetch your maid—I shall ensure she comes to you with all possible haste.”

“See you that metal hook on my dresser? I have used it to undress myself in the past. I shall tell her that is what I did. Please, Tom. We are such friends, are we not? Do me this favor—if not for me, for my health?”

What could Tom do in the face of such a request? It must be owned that with more than can be called friendly inclination to see Sabina Dryden at her ease, Tom helped her rise, walk to the bed, and shed her remaining garments in a haze of joy.
Such friends!
That is how she described what they were to one another. Not servant and mistress—
friends
.

He unbuttoned the rest of her grey wool dress, and after her arms were out it fell heavily to the floor in a pile, revealing her jump, petticoat, and the sleeves of her shift. The remaining hooks of the former were easily undone and the fascinatingly intimate garment came away in his hands. When she began to untie her petticoat he took a moment to inhale the smell of it,
Sabina’s
smell, before putting it aside.

“Just leave them there,” she said, and he turned guiltily around to find her sitting on the edge of the turned-down bed in just her shift. “Thank you, Tom. Now I shall be able to get into bed and wait very comfortably indeed.”

He said nothing. He was too occupied, staring at her. To be suddenly standing before the unclothed object of his utmost desire! It was overwhelming.

Her figure was not quite correct, being neither as slender as Miss Wexcombe nor as busty as Miss Gill, neither as straight as Miss Frith nor as supple as Miss Clark, but Sabina was yet more lovely for her imperfections. The roundness of her arms—the soft shape of her thighs, just barely obscured by the slithery slippery silk—the hint of small nipples under the thin fabric—the fair hair just sticking out from her armpits. His balls ached; his cock began to stiffen. She had bid him undress her… perhaps she wanted, but could not
say
she wanted, for him to do more? Was ‘friend’ a code for something further? Should he show her some indication that he desired her?

“My lady…” he licked his lips, finding them suddenly dry, and rubbed at his left ear, finding the blood pounding there unbearably loud, “I… would, you know, do
anything
that you might… might need…”

“You are so kind,” she said, wriggling beneath the covers. She smiled at him—he felt the stirrings of hope. She sighed, her lips parted, and the angel spoke. “Won’t you build up the fire before you go?”

***

Tom had one object in mind upon returning to the party: to get Miss Gill into some dark, unoccupied part of the house in order to relieve his urgent desire. Of all his country conquests who had come to the party, she was the most desperate for him, which in his experience meant their dalliances could be quickly initiated—and concluded without fuss. It did not trouble him that she believed his free and liberal use of her person indicated some sort of deeper, more personal affection; that was her problem. His was his cockstand.