by Anne Gracie
Edward was walking briskly along the road, approaching the hotel from the opposite direction. As he neared the hotel entrance, the young woman brightened and began to walk toward him.
As Lily watched she said something to Edward and held out her hand. In dull disbelief, she saw her husband take the woman’s hand. She swayed toward him, and he slipped his arm around her waist and escorted her tenderly up the steps and into the hotel.
The door closed behind them. In the tea shop there was a long silence.
Eventually Sylvia spoke. “I swear I didn’t know—”
“I don’t believe you.” Lily made a weary gesture. “Just go, Sylvia. Get out. You’ve shown me what you wanted me to see, so please, just go—and don’t bother trying to talk to me again.”
Sylvia stood. “You’re angry with me when you should be angry with him. I had to show you. He meets her here every week. So that’s what your precious husband is worth.” The vitriol and smug satisfaction in her voice were horribly blatant.
Lily said with quiet, hard-won dignity, “I don’t know why you hate me, Sylvia, but I can see now that you do. Rose was right about you. You don’t care about me or my marriage—you brought me here to see me hurt and humiliated. Leave, please. I don’t ever want to see or speak to you again.”
Sylvia flounced out. Lily called for another pot of tea and sat there, watching the hotel entrance opposite. Her brain was numb. The tea turned cold. Edward didn’t come out.
Lily paid the bill and summoned the carriage. What to do now?
Chapter Eighteen
Angry people are not always wise.
—JANE AUSTEN, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
Walton drove Lily around the park a few times while she thought about what to do. She needed to talk to someone—but who?
She couldn’t tell Rose and George about what had just happened. They’d been against her marrying Edward, and they’d be vigorous in their condemnation, both of Edward and of Lily’s choice in marrying him.
And Rose would say that she’d said all along that Sylvia was a nasty cow—and then George would remind them that cows were lovely creatures and then—Lily stopped on a hiccup. She was close to tears.
But she would not cry, she would not. She didn’t know for sure that Edward was keeping a mistress. The scene she’d observed was damning, to be sure, but she didn’t know.
The truth was she didn’t want to know. She wanted never to have gone to that horrid tea shop, never to have looked out that window. If she hadn’t seen what she’d seen, she wouldn’t be hurting so badly.
She wanted to go to her sister, to have Rose put her arms around her as she had when Lily was a little girl, and tell her everything would be all right. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t a little girl anymore, she was a married woman. A woman who’d married against everyone’s advice. And who was trying to stand on her own two feet.
Besides, Rose and George would be on her side no matter what. Lily didn’t need their partisan support, she needed to talk to someone more impartial, more experienced.
Emm? No, she didn’t want to distress Emm, especially now with the baby coming. Emm and Cal might have made a convenient marriage, but they were very much in love now. It was what Lily had hoped would happen to her and Edward.
She shivered. She’d tumbled so easily in love with him. She’d hoped he would do the same.
But he’d been forced into marriage with her, punished for rescuing her. And his pleasure in their marriage was all about bedsport.
If she was hurting now, it was her own fault. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been warned. He’d told her over and over that it wasn’t a love match and that she wasn’t to expect anything more than friendship.
She could love him with all her heart, but it would make no difference; you couldn’t make someone love you if they didn’t.
The question was how did an inconvenient convenient wife go on? How did she hold her head up in society, when it seemed half of society knew her husband of a few weeks had taken a mistress?
Who could advise her? She needed someone who’d be honest with her, someone who had experience with this kind of thing.
The answer jumped out at her. Aunt Agatha. She’d had three husbands, and married none of them for love. She’d know what Lily should do.
* * *
• • •
“So that’s the situation, Aunt Agatha. What I should do?” Lily was seated in Aunt Agatha’s private sitting room, a glass of sherry in her hand. She’d just finished explaining.
There was a long silence. Aunt Agatha gave her a thoughtful look, sipped her sherry then pursed her lips. “I’m disappointed, but I can’t say I’m surprised. If you had—”
“Please don’t tell me it’s my fault for being too plump or too stupid or too young—criticizing me for things I can’t change is not going to help!”
Aunt Agatha raised her brows. Lily eyed her defiantly and gulped her sherry. It was nasty stuff. “Besides, my being plump isn’t the problem. I’ve seen his mistress and she’s as plump as me.”
“As plump as I. Does your husband know about your little problem?” She tapped the book she’d been reading and set aside when Lily arrived.
“No, I’ve kept that a secret from him.” And she still felt torn in two about that.
“Good, so it’s not that, then.”
“No. And there’s no point in offering me advice about winning him back,” Lily said. You couldn’t win back what you’d never had. “I just want to know how to bear it. You’ve had three husbands. Did any of them have mistresses?”
“Yes, of course, all three of them.” She twirled her lorgnette thoughtfully. “In some ways it was a relief.”
A relief? Lily couldn’t imagine that, but then she recalled that Aunt Agatha hadn’t enjoyed the marriage bed.
That was the hardest thing of all to think about. Up to now the best part of her marriage had been what passed between them in bed, but if Edward had sought the services of a mistress, it meant Lily had failed in that area as well. It was very disheartening. She took another sip of sherry.
“But wasn’t it humiliating?” It was strange to be sitting here with her formidable aunt, talking like this, woman to woman, but also comforting. She felt closer to Aunt Agatha than she ever had in her life.
The old lady shrugged. “One learns to deal with such things.”
Lily set down her glass and leaned forward. “How, Aunt Agatha? Tell me what I must do.”
“Accept it. Ignore it. Act as if it isn’t true.”
“I’m not even sure it is true,” Lily admitted. “It’s just a rumor—from an unreliable source.”
Aunt Agatha snorted. “And the evidence of your own eyes. Face facts, gel, men are feckless creatures. It’s their nature to stray. Now, do you want my advice or not?”
“Yes, Aunt Agatha,” she said humbly.
“To begin with, a lady simply does not acknowledge the existence of such persons as mistresses. Banish the creature from your mind and go on with your life. Behave exactly as normal, and don’t breathe a word of your suspicions to anyone—not to your sister-in-law, not to that whisky-frisky argumentative sister of yours, nor to Georgiana. All they will offer you is sympathy and a barrage of useless suggestions. Sympathy in these cases is poisonous—it will only encourage you toward self-pity and lachrymosity, which is revolting to behold.”
There was a well of deeply buried pain beneath the brisk advice. Who had offered Aunt Agatha sympathy? And would anyone ever know the cause?
“Your only possible choice is to stiffen your spine and get on with your life. Say not a word to your husband. On no account must you let him know that you are aware of the situation—not by word, deed or implication. It will do you no good—a leopard doesn’t change his spots—and it will only cause him to feel defensive and uncomfortable, and make him feel furth
er justified in his infidelity. So, not a word to your husband, do you understand?”
“Yes, Aunt Agatha.”
* * *
• • •
Edward sent a message to say he would sleep at his club again that night. Lily dined as arranged with Emm and Cal and Rose and George, and afterward attended the theater with them. Edward had been invited, of course, but she had to make his excuses, the ones that he’d given her the day before—that he was busy attending to his affairs. That important “men’s business” excuse he’d used so often.
She didn’t put it like that, of course. She simply smiled and said Edward was caught up in something and sent his apologies.
But she had a very good idea now what he meant by “men’s business.”
She slept badly—she’d become so used to having him sleeping in the bed that when he wasn’t there, she missed him. She supposed when they finally moved into Galbraith House he would revert to having his own bedchamber. It was a bleak prospect.
She rode out with Cal and Rose and George in the morning and when she returned, she found Edward home, changing his shirt. She glanced at his valet and, copying Edward’s tactics with her maid, jerked her head at him. He glanced at his master and made a discreet exit, leaving them alone.
Edward picked up a neckcloth. “Something you wanted, Lily?” He sounded quite unworried.
“Where did you sleep last night?” she found herself asking.
He gave her a quizzical look via reflection in his looking glass. “At my club—I told you.”
Aunt Agatha’s advice was all very well, but Lily was fed up with pretending all was well when it wasn’t. And she wasn’t going be plagued by questions any longer. “You have a mistress, don’t you?”
“A mistress?” He gave her a quizzical look in the mirror. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“People are saying you have one.”
He frowned and swung around to face her. “You’re serious?”
She nodded.
“Well, whoever these people are, they’re wrong. I don’t have a mistress. The idea is preposterous.” He snorted. “When could I possibly fit one in?” He saw her expression and added, “I have no interest in a mistress. Why would I when I have you?”
She said nothing, just folded her arms defensively. He was so plausible. Was this what her future was going to be like? Lies and pretense?
“Lily? You can’t possibly believe this nonsense.” He moved to take her in his arms.
She fended him off and stepped back. “I saw you with her yesterday.”
“What? Who? What are you talking about?”
“You went into a hotel with her—the Excelsior Hotel. I was having tea with—with someone in the tea rooms opposite. I saw you, Edward.”
He frowned. “I did go into the Excelsior Hotel yesterday, to meet a fellow that didn’t show up. There wasn’t any woman involved.”
“I saw you go in together. You had your arm around her.” She recalled the solicitous, almost protective way he’d placed his hand in the small of the woman’s back, and the way she’d leaned against him. A spurt of anger went through her.
He looked astonished, and a bit offended. “I did nothing of the—oh, yes, you’re right, I remember now. There was a woman.” His eyes narrowed. “She was increasing and felt faint. She asked for my arm to help her mount the stairs, told me her husband was inside. Naturally I assisted her, as any gentleman would.” He added stiffly, clearly resentful of her accusation, “But I’d never seen her before in my life.”
Lily bit her lip. It was credible. It could also be a clever lie.
The longer she remained silent, the darker his expression grew. “You don’t believe me?”
Her face crumpled. “Oh, Edward, I want to, I truly want to.” Hot tears prickled behind her eyes.
“I gave you my word before we were married that I’d never lie to you.”
She shook her head. “You took that promise back.”
“No, you took it back,” he said with quiet emphasis. “I gave you my word of honor that day. I meant it then and I mean it now.”
He put a lot of store in his word of honor, she remembered. He’d also promised that after they were married he’d be faithful to her.
“You really don’t have a mistress?” she whispered.
“No, I don’t.”
“Promise?”
He said in a hard voice, “I gave you my word.” He was so obviously offended by the suggestion that she believed him.
The relief was enormous. Tears rolled down her cheek. She dashed them away. “I’m so sorry, Edward. I didn’t want to believe it, but I was told, you see. Told that lots of people knew. And then—then I saw you with that woman and, and . . .”
He pulled out a handkerchief and dried her cheeks. “Hush now. Even if I hadn’t given you my word, I have neither the time nor the energy to keep a mistress—and certainly not the inclination. I’m married to this irresistible young lady, you see . . .”
He drew her against him, tilted her face up and lowered his mouth to hers. As always, one thing led to another and he took her to bed and made love to her, slow, tender and a little bittersweet.
She loved him. She ached to tell him, but she couldn’t, not now, after their first quarrel. It would be the worst time in the world for that—even if he wanted it, which he’d made it clear he didn’t.
She’d taken a risk, accusing him of infidelity. She didn’t regret it, though, because it had cleared the air. More or less. She lay quietly, enjoying the sensation of being snuggled close to her big warm husband.
“Go to sleep if you like,” he said, sitting up. “I have to go out.”
He slipped out of bed and started to dress.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
She made an irritated sound, and he turned. “What?”
“You’re always so secretive.”
“What do you mean?
“This, this ‘business’ of yours that I’m not allowed to know about, and why do you have to sleep the night in your club so often?” She gave him a half-embarrassed look. “It gave credence to the rumors about you having a mistress.”
He didn’t answer. He was tying his neckcloth. But when he finished he said, “I stay away from you for several nights a week in order to spare you.”
“Spare me from what? I don’t mind if you come in late, or drunk, or smelling of cigars.”
“From my attentions.” She gave him a puzzled look, so he went on. “In the hotel we have only one bed. Since we’ve been living here, I’ve made love to you every single night I’ve slept here. And then—because I awake and find you in my bed, I make love to you again in the morning.”
“Yes, what of it?” He said it as if it were a problem. She didn’t find it so. Quite the contrary.
“It occurred to me that it might be too much for you—my intemperate desire. Morning and night and then morning again.” He made a rueful gesture. “And at other times, like now.”
She couldn’t believe it. Hadn’t she made it clear how she felt? “Edward, I am thrilled whenever we make love—however often, whatever time. Surely you know that? The nights you’ve stayed at your club, only a few minutes’ walk away, I thought you didn’t want me.” She took a deep breath and added, “And when I thought you’d taken a mistress I thought it was because I hadn’t pleased you in bed.”
He stared down at her with a look of amazement. “How could you possibly think that?” He gave a harsh laugh. “A fine pair we make: me thinking I was pestering you too much, and you imagining you didn’t please me enough. For the record, madam, let it be known that you drive me wild with desire, and everything you do pleases me enormously.”
“Truly?”
“Are you doubting my word again?”
“No, of cou
rse not. Then what is this secret business you’re always going away on?”
“Exactly what I said—business. I suppose I should have explained earlier, since it affects you.” He sat on the bed again. “You know I am my grandfather’s heir.”
She nodded.
“You have probably assumed that my income comes from the family estate, but it doesn’t. I decided years ago that I would earn a living for myself, separately—nothing to do with the estate. I own—personally own—several manufactories. I have interests in two mines, a canal company and I have recently become part owner of a ship. All that takes time. I won’t take a penny from my grandfather.”
“But why? I thought you loved your grandfather.”
“I do, but I cannot justify taking money from an estate that I never visit. And when my grandfather dies, I won’t be running it—I intend to put in a manager.”
“But why? I don’t understand. If you care for your grandfather, why wouldn’t you—?”
“Just leave it, will you?” he said brusquely, and stood up. “Just accept that’s how it is.”
“Very well.” It was very strange, though, and she wanted to know more. But it would keep. She’d pushed him far enough today.
She watched him dressing, and thought again about Sylvia and the whole incident. She thought about the choice of tea shop, and where they’d each been seated. And the coincidence of Edward and that woman meeting like that. It couldn’t possibly have been accidental.
She sat up abruptly. “Edward! She planned the whole thing.”
He picked up his coat “Who did? What?”
“Sylvia—Nixon’s cousin. She’s been oh-so-innocent and misunderstood about the whole thing, but she’s shown her hand too clearly now with this mistress nonsense.” She gave him an excited look. “Sylvia cajoled me into meeting her for tea. She chose the place and the time. As for that woman, I’m certain she arranged for her to come and accost you in front of that hotel.” She broke off, frowning. “Oh, but how did she know you’d be there?”