‘Do you not have a tennis court on the property?’ she asked.
‘With no one to partner me, it hardly seemed worth the effort to open the room,’ he said.
‘At least now I know what happened to the painting on the wall. My mother will be appalled,’ she said.
‘You do not have to tell her,’ he replied, with a smile.
‘It does not matter whether we have a ball or who knows of what you are doing. As lady of the house, I must insist that you cease abusing this room.’ For a moment, she had forgotten that she had no right to give him orders in his own home. But he did not seem to like it when she apologised without reason, so she held her tongue, waiting for his reaction.
To prove he was still the master, he served again and said, ‘One last game will not make things much worse. There is a second racquet if you wish to join me.’
‘I have not played tennis before,’ she remarked, with a wistful look at the racquet in his hand.
He stepped forward and placed it in her hand. ‘Here. Let me show you.’ Then he showed her the correct way to swing it, before demonstrating an easy serve, bouncing the ball off the wall to land at her feet. ‘Now you try. Aim for the eye of that cherub on the left.’
She wouldn’t dare. Yet it looked as though it might be fun. And it was clear that tennis took his mind off his troubles. If she did as he asked, she would be helping him as well as obeying. So, she picked up the ball and served it as he had shown her, coming within inches of her target on the first try.
He returned the serve, then stepped out of the way so she could hit it again.
She laughed as her racquet connected with the ball, then turned to him and smiled, surprised. ‘I did it.’
‘Of course you did.’ He seemed just as pleased as she was. ‘You are one of those people who take to sports easily. Has it always been so?’
‘I do not know,’ she said, frowning, unsure of the answer. ‘I was told that they were unladylike and have never tried them.’
‘And I suppose it was your mother who told you this,’ he said with a knowing nod.
Of course it had been. ‘But other women agree as well,’ she said, thinking of the sedate ladies at the Weatherby musicale.
‘As I told you before, you must learn to ignore the opinions of others who are telling you to be less than you are,’ he said, picking up another racquet and serving the ball again.
Without thinking, she returned it and the game was on.
* * *
An hour later, she emerged from the ballroom invigorated. The fresco was in even worse condition than it had been, but she could not deny that she had most enjoyed destroying it. From what she could see, it had been ugly when it was newly painted and was not likely to get prettier with the passage of time.
Even better, her husband had played a game with her and it had been a game she had been good at. If she had made any missteps or mistakes, he had not berated her for them. Though she had been worried at first that he would have another spell, as the competition had grown heated, he’d shown no sign of flagging or even becoming winded and assured her that had he enough time for it, he could go on for hours without a problem.
Best of all, when he had seen how much she enjoyed it, he had promised that they would play future games on the tennis courts where they could do so properly. That meant there could be other mornings like this one, spent happily in each other’s company without worry that she would do something to frighten him into ignoring her again.
As she walked down the hall towards the morning room, the butler interrupted her with news. ‘Madam, Mrs Harris is waiting for you in the receiving room.’
Just as quickly as it had come, her light-hearted feeling evaporated into guilt. The last thing she wanted was another visit with her mother, critiquing her behaviour and quizzing her on Robert’s health. But if she was already in the house, it was too late to avoid it. With hope, her husband had retired to his rooms and she would not have to explain the conversation that was likely to occur.
She went to greet her and her mother rose, taking her hands and admiring her, with an approving nod. ‘It is good to see you have survived your first attempt as a hostess.’
‘Thank you, Mama,’ she replied, though she was not sure if this was the correct response, since the comment was hardly a compliment. ‘Was there really any doubt that I would?’
‘Well, you know how you get,’ her mother said in a dismissive tone. ‘It was good to see that there were almost no problems.’ She paused, then gave Emma a searching look. ‘And is your husband feeling better, my dear?’
‘Much better, thank you,’ she said hurriedly.
‘It was not caused by too much cider, was it? The drink served was not very strong, but it can take some by surprise.’
‘Certainly not,’ Emma said hurriedly. ‘Yesterday was just a momentary turn. Nothing that need concern anyone.’
‘Then that is what I will tell people who ask,’ she said with another nod.
Emma’s heart fell. It had not occurred to her how quickly gossip might spread and how extreme it might be. ‘It is really no one’s business,’ she said, biting her nail.
‘Stop that immediately, Emmaline,’ her mother said automatically. ‘And do not think you can prevent the neighbours from being concerned in your business. I dare say your husband has not managed to prevent gossip by being a man of mystery who never leaves the house. Going out is unlikely to make things any worse.’ She gave her daughter another pointed look. ‘You are going out, aren’t you?’
‘Of course,’ Emma lied, giving her mother the answer she wanted to hear.
‘Lovely,’ she replied. ‘And where are you going, next?’
The problem with lying seemed to be that it was impossible to do it just once. Now she had to come up with a second lie to cover the first. Emma struggled to remember what invitations she had received in the morning’s post. ‘The Pritchetts are having a dinner party,’ she announced. This was perfectly true. She had received an invitation, though she had not actually responded to it. But it was not lying to say that the dinner existed.
‘An excellent choice,’ her mother said with a smile. ‘We are going as well and will see you there.’
‘Lovely,’ Emma said. Now, she would have to accept the invitation, unless she wanted to admit to the lie.
‘It is good that you are getting out,’ her mother said with an approving nod. ‘As far as I have heard, you have not sent as much as a dinner invitation to anyone, much less a larger event. If you will not allow people in, then you must at least go out.’
‘I was entertaining only yesterday,’ Emma said, exasperated.
‘Because I appealed to you to do it,’ her mother responded.
‘That was a special situation. Robert does not usually like to entertain,’ she said. Now that she knew the reason she had been forbidden from doing so, she could see his point.
‘We knew that the man was a recluse when we chose him for you,’ her mother said with a sniff. ‘But I did not expect his original feelings on the subject to remain the same after he was wed.’ Then her mother gave her a coy smile. ‘In time you will learn to twist him around your finger on such subjects.’
‘I seriously doubt it,’ Emma said, frowning.
At this, her mother laughed out loud. ‘Then you do not know very much about marriage,’ she said.
This was very true. ‘I know that Robert does not want me to entertain,’ she said. ‘And I will show you the ballroom that was locked on your last visit. You will see that it is quite impossible to hold a gathering there, if that is what you mean for me to do.’ Then she led her mother down the hall to show her the ruined fresco.
On seeing the room, her mother shook her head. ‘I expected some problems with the house, but this is worse than I thought,’ her mother said, staring at the plaster dust on the
floor and the peeling cherubs. Then she glanced down at her feet and snatched up a tennis ball. ‘Tell me you have not been playing children’s games in a formal room.’
‘Not I,’ Emma said. Technically, it was not a game that was just for children, but the half-truth left her flushing with embarrassment.
‘Your husband, then,’ her mother said, shaking her head, then she pointed up at the painting. ‘There is nothing to be done for that. It is ruined beyond repair. But why would he do such a thing?’
‘He seemed to think it was easier than using the court,’ Emma replied.
‘Then it is a good thing he has married you,’ her mother said with finality. ‘You must put a stop to it at once.’
She already had. But was she really obligated to explain that to her mother while in her own home? But this momentary flash of defiance faded just as quickly as it had come when she looked at her mother’s disapproving expression. She said, ‘Yes, Mama’, her embarrassed blush deepening.
Her mother awarded her with another approving nod. ‘Men are like gardens, my dear. If left to their own devices, they get out of hand. They become unkempt, weed-ridden things. They do not like to admit it, but they need a hand, gentle, yet firm, to trim them into shape so they might achieve their full potential.’
‘I do not think of Robert in those terms,’ she said, trying to reassert some authority.
‘You may think what you like, my dear, but it is not normal to play tennis in the ballroom, nor it is normal to shut the house to guests, or faint at public gatherings and then allow rumours to circulate about it.’
It was rude of her mother to say so. But hadn’t she thought such things herself? ‘And what am I to do about it?’ she asked, at last, knowing her mother would tell her, no matter what she did.
‘That is completely up to you,’ her mother replied with a sigh that said there was really no choice at all. ‘Of course, I know what I would do, in your circumstances. I would plaster over the damaged mural,’ she said, staring up at the wall. ‘Then I would inform him of the need to throw a ball and invite all the neighbours.’ She clasped her hands together, obviously warming to the plan as she made it. ‘He should invite his brother as well. Whether he knows it or not, the separation of the two is common talk in the village and an embarrassment to his family.’
Was there really threat of gossip in every direction she turned? It had been bad enough when her mother was worried she could not manage to step outside the house without making a cake of herself. Now, apparently, she was expected to manage the reputation of her husband, as well. ‘But, Mama,’ she said, ‘Robert has made it quite clear that he does not want to hold a ball. And if he is truly separated from his brother, I cannot just fix a problem that has gone on for years that I had no part in making.’
‘You do not know what you can set your mind to, until you try it,’ her mother said firmly. ‘At one time, I was quite in despair of you ever marrying and look how well I have done for you.’
‘Thank you, Mama,’ she said, numbly, trying not to wonder if a loveless marriage was truly the best that she deserved.
‘But all this can wait until after you have attended the Pritchetts’ party and proved that you can both get through an evening without creating some sort of unfortunate scene.’
‘Of course, Mama,’ she said, giving up. In comparison to a ball, a dinner party was really no problem at all. And as for a reconciliation of brothers? The best that could be done was hope that Mama would forget the whole scheme and not take matters into her own hands to try to fix things herself. Now that she was married, her loyalty should be to her husband and his side of whatever argument existed. She would stand by him, though he had not even bothered to tell her of an estrangement that the whole country seemed to know of.
Perhaps it would serve him right if she did decide to meddle.
Chapter Fifteen
Robert sat in his study, feeling better than he had in ages. He had needed a game of tennis, to prove to himself and Emma that he was fully recovered from yesterday’s spell. But he had forgotten how much more satisfying it was to play against someone, rather than just volleying against a wall.
And for a beginner, Emma had been a worthy opponent. With practice, she would be even better and might be a challenge to best. Though pride had made him resist, he had to agree with her that the game would be better if played on a proper court. As she had suggested, he had given a footman instructions to reopen the tennis court.
It had been even more gratifying to see the way his wife had blossomed with her success. She had been obviously worried when she had found him exercising. But an hour later, she was laughing aloud, totally unconcerned as he slammed the ball against the wall to bounce at her feet.
That had been the biggest relief of all. He did not want her, of all people, to think him weak, even if he had just displayed that weakness to half the county. Perhaps it was true of all men and their wives, but it still surprised him that he had come so quickly to needing her good opinion.
But now, he glanced up to find Emma standing in the door of his study, hesitant to enter. Her earlier confidence was gone again and, by the look on her face, she was about to apologise for something.
He gestured her to enter and waited for her to speak.
‘I have accepted another invitation. To the home of Mr and Mrs Pritchett. For dinner.’ The words rushed out of her, then stopped, as if waiting in fear of a negative.
At the thought of another outing, he felt his hands growing cold. He dropped them beneath the desk and gave then a shake to return the blood to the fingers. ‘And did you not think to ask me before making the decision?’
‘It will give me a chance to show that the lemonade incident was merely an aberration,’ she said, giving him a hopeful look.
‘Surely that has been forgotten by now,’ he said. ‘You did very well yesterday.’ Of course, he had not.
‘Even so, we cannot spend all our time at home, alone. People will talk,’ she said.
‘They will talk even more so if I fall down in a fit while visiting their homes,’ he said.
‘Is it really the gossip you are afraid of?’ she asked him, her gaze steady and direct.
‘I am not frightened of the attack, if that is what you mean.’ It was not quite a lie. He was terrified. The memory of yesterday was still fresh in his mind: the crushing feeling in his chest and the conviction that he was going to die at any moment. He could feel his lungs tightening at the thought of another evening with strangers so soon after the last incident.
‘Of course not,’ she said, obviously not believing him. ‘But in case that was the problem, I have chosen a small dinner party, where nothing of interest is likely to occur. You should have no trouble braving the curse again. For my part, if it is no worse than another pitcher of spilled lemonade, I think I can manage.’
‘I managed well enough at the Weatherbys,’ he admitted. But he could not shake the feeling that a disaster was bound to happen.
There was a pause, as if his wife were choosing her next words with care. ‘And I do not think it wise that the last view of you that people got was during your moment of difficulty. It would be wise to go about in public and show them that it was a passing thing that does not concern us.’
If he worried about what people thought about him, he would agree with her. He had given up caring for that, long ago. But her mother had trained her to obsess about the opinions of others. She did not precisely look eager for another outing, but it appeared that she had committed herself to it and was resigned to continue.
He sighed. ‘Very well. We will go out to dinner. But if things end up worse rather than better, do not be surprised.’
* * *
Emma prepared for the dinner party as carefully as she had the musicale, obsessing over each detail of her toilette and practising acceptable topics of dinner conversation, to
be sure that she would not be caught with nothing to say to her partners. She could not force the ladies of society to look on her as an equal. But this time, there would be no troubles that could be faulted to her and no gossip over her clumsiness or gaucherie. Her manners would be every bit as proper and her behaviour without flaw.
She wished that Robert’s confidence would equal hers. He still tended to see the worst in any situation, but she must trust his denial that he had no fear of another spell. But if that depended on the evening remaining uneventful, she must try all the harder not to cause a problem that upset him.
* * *
The night of the dinner arrived and they presented themselves at the home of Mr James Pritchett, a gentleman of some means whose wife had a reputation for lavish entertaining. According to her mother, their money was old, their reputation good and their cook excellent.
Mrs Pritchett greeted her warmly, which was not a surprise. If her mother and father were already on the guest list, the hostess was not likely to be standoffish with the daughter of a cit. This time, it was her husband who was the object of curiosity, with the other guests watching him as if waiting for him to drop to the floor in a stupor at any moment.
In response, he showed no sign of noticing and no symptom of difficulty. He was as calm and collected as she wished she could be. When he sensed her watching him, he glanced across the room at her and gave her an encouraging smile and walked forward to take her hand and escort her to dinner.
Though the food was as good as her mother said it would be, she had wasted time in bothering to prepare topics for discussion. The company was dull and Emma found she did not have to work so hard at distinguishing herself if her end of the conversation was limited to listening politely to the gentlemen on either side of her and agreeing with everything they said.
Vows to Save Her Reputation Page 13