Wife Errant

by Joan Smith

  She gave him a scathing look, and meanwhile Dulcie took the last piece of plum cake and demolished it. It was about all the pleasure she got out of the evening. Mr. Evans was not there; indeed very few eligible gentlemen attended such dull scalds as the concert series.

  Mr. Marchant was waiting across the street when his family arrived home. His blood boiled to see Lord James assist Lou from the carriage and hold on to her arm. And she laughing and flirting with him! When Lord James entered the house with the family, Mr. Marchant’s face turned purple with vexation. Demmed jackanapes! Marchant paced to-and-fro, watching to time Lord James’s exit. Eleven-fifteen slowly crawled on to eleven-thirty and eleven forty-five. Dash it, did the man plan to remain the night? Surely the girls were gone to bed by now. Lou was alone with him.

  Marchant was about to cross the road and bound into the house when the door opened and Lord James came out. Lou stood at the door, smiling at him. She placed her white hand on his arm and spoke softly. At least they did not embrace. Marchant waited until James’s carriage disappeared around the corner before crossing the street. He knocked once on the door and tried to open it. It was locked. He lifted the brass knocker and gave it a light tap.

  “Don’t answer the door yet, Crimshaw,” Mrs. Marchant called. “Run along upstairs, girls. That will be your papa.”

  “Will you let him come home?” Dulcie asked hopefully.

  “Why certainly, my dear—after he has suffered a few more days.”

  “Oh, Mama! Let him stay tonight.”

  “This is war, my dear. I shall not capitulate so easily. He would not be calling, were he not jealous of James. I shall let him stew a little longer.”

  “Mama is right,” Tess said.

  “But he might go back to Esmée,” Dulcie wailed.

  Her mother gave her a sad look. “That is a chance I must take. I do not want the old Lyle Marchant back, running around behind my back with every woman he meets. He must regain my respect and trust.”

  “And your love,” Dulcie said.

  “Foolish child. He already has it. That is what is causing all the mischief.”

  The girls ran upstairs, and Mrs. Marchant told Crimshaw to open the door. She sat, wearing an expression of mild interest, when he came in.

  “Good evening, Lyle. What brings you at such an hour?” she asked.

  “Lou!” he said, rushing forward eagerly. “I have missed you. You know well enough what brings me, sly boots.”

  She stopped his advance with a gimlet gaze. “Are your pockets to let?” she asked. “That is what usually brings your affaires to a halt. Odd, Esmée Gardener has not the reputation of an expensive woman.”

  “Tess told you. Now, Lou, that was nothing, I promise you.” He edged onto the sofa, not daring to sit too close to her.

  “Tess?” she asked, frowning as if in confusion. “Oh, I recall now. Tess did mention something about, seeing you this afternoon. No, I was referring to general gossip.”

  “We were only having tea.”

  “Of course, Lyle,” she said blandly, but her smile made a mockery of her agreement. “Now what was it you wanted to speak about?”

  “I wanted to beg your forgiveness, and ask you to take me back,” he announced, reaching for her fingers. She pulled her hand away and twitched at her shawl.

  “Oh, no, Lyle,” she said, smiling sadly. “I am not ready to do that. Truth to tell, I enjoy being free of the shackles of marriage. There are so many amusing men about, when one begins to look for them. I begin to understand your chasing after women.” She studied him a moment, then added, “One does get tired of the same old face, saying the same old things.”

  “This is Lord James’s doing!” he declared, jumping to his feet.

  “He is amusing,” she allowed.

  “The man hasn’t a sou to his name.”

  “My dear Lyle, I do not have to marry for money. As you are very well aware, Papa arranged it so that Northbay is mine, and will become my son’s when I die.”

  “I didn’t marry you for money, Lou, if that is what you are implying. How could you? Don’t you remember how happy we were in the old days?”

  “Yes, Lyle, and I remember how unhappy I have been since those old days. I remember very well why I have been unhappy, too. You shan’t break my heart again,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion.

  “My darling girl! I am through with all that.”

  “You will have to prove it, Lyle.”

  “I give you my word.”

  “Actions speak louder than words, Lyle. And now I shall retire. It was nice speaking to you.”

  “Wait! Don’t go yet. We have so much to talk about. Tess and Revel ...”

  “I am not entirely happy with Revel’s behavior,” she said.

  “Why, you cannot think he is trifling with her? He wouldn’t dare,” he said, squaring his shoulders and adopting a fierce expression.

  His wife was unimpressed by his bluster. “Would he not, when her own father is a byword for profligacy and a divorce is in the offing? It is your behavior that gives him these ideas.”

  “I’ll call the bleater out!”

  “You will do nothing of the sort. That would completely ruin her chances, with Revel or anyone else. I don’t say he has passed the bounds of propriety, but I shall keep a sharp eye on that young man.”

  “Tess would never let him misbehave.”

  “Oh, Tess! She has changed since you left, Lyle. I don’t know what to do with the girl. It is very hard for a mother to keep grown daughters in check.”

  “It might help if you behaved properly yourself,” he said. Concern lent an angry edge to his words. He knew at once he had made a grave tactical error.

  Lou jumped to her feet, anger sparkling in her eyes. “You dare to accuse me of improper behavior, you—you aging Casanova. Get out of my house.”

  Lyle lifted his finger to shake under her nose. She batted it aside as she strode from the room. “Go, I say! Crimshaw, Mr. Marchant is leaving.”

  Crimshaw impassively handed Mr. Marchant his hat and gloves and held the door for him. Marchant rammed his hat on his head and stalked out into the night.

  Aging Casanova. The words stung worse than blows. It was true, he was getting on. Half a century was no colt, but a well-aged nag. How unlike Lou to criticize him. Someone had got at her. Before long, he fingered Lord James as the culprit. The affair must be serious. Lou had never been one to carry on with gentlemen after she was married. Perhaps he had misread her—and she truly intended to be rid of him.

  He went to his hotel, where he required a glass of ale to get up the stairs to his room. His lonely room. The four walls seemed to close in around him. If he had to look at that picture of a badly drawn horse leaping over the stream one more time, he would scream.

  This matter required some deep scheming.

  Chapter Ten

  “Papa didn’t stay very long,” Dulcie said when her mama came pelting upstairs.

  “He was behaving badly. I had to invite him to leave,” Mrs. Marchant replied calmly, though her heart was pounding with excitement. Never before had she stood up to Lyle so bravely, and she was proud of herself.

  “Did he want to stay?” Dulcie demanded.

  “He came thinking to weasel his way back with empty promises. He knows my terms now. We shall see whether he respects his wife and family enough to behave himself. And speaking of family, Tess, you must either bring Revel up to scratch or turn him off. Your papa is spoiling for mischief there. Of course it is all jealousy over Lord James,” she added, as this occurred to her.

  “There is no question of bringing him up to scratch, Mama. Indeed I do not care for him in that way,” Tess replied. “He is too much like Papa.”

  Mrs. Marchant stored up this leveler for her husband. "I never imagined he could be serious about you,” her mama allowed. “What excuse does he give for calling?”

  Thrown for a loss by the question, Tess said, “I daresay his mama sugg
ested it when I mentioned how little I was getting out.”

  “A fellow like that could destroy your reputation. You had best be busy the next time he calls.”

  “He did introduce me to Evans, and several other young gentlemen,” Tess mentioned.

  “Sly puss! Go on using him then, but no more of these late returns, or your papa will cause mischief.”

  “Will you see Lord James again?” Tess asked.

  “Why would I not, when he is making your papa green with jealousy?” her mother replied, and left laughing.

  “It’s nice to see her in a good mood for a change,” Tess said to her sister. But she had not discovered what she wanted to know. Had Revel dropped Lord James the hint he must continue calling a little longer?

  “I think Lord James is a dead bore,” Dulcie replied, and left in the sulks.

  Cheered by her husband’s efforts to win her, Mrs. Marchant took her daughters to Milsom Street the next morning and bought them all new finery. Neither Esmée Gardener nor Mr. Marchant was spotted. There was no assembly at either the Lower or the Upper Rooms that evening.

  Mrs. Marchant was edgy at the thought of spending a night at home without company. She wondered that James had not called. A moment later, she wondered that Revel had not called, and at last in a fit of boredom, she wondered that Mr. Evans had not called. Through her litany of names, the real question bedeviling her was why Lyle had not called.

  All her wondering and worrying were soon at an end. Lord Revel came, bringing with him their evening’s entertainment. His aunt, Lady Corbeil, was having an impromptu rout party that evening. The ladies must excuse the late invitations, but auntie had just arranged a scrambling little party for a few friends—about fifty in all. There would be dancing, cards for the older folks, and a midnight supper. All exceedingly informal.

  “How very obliging of your aunt. I do not believe I have made Lady Corbeil’s acquaintance,” Mrs. Marchant said leadingly, for she wished to learn whether this invitation had come at Lord James’s behest or Revel’s. If the latter, then the lad was indeed becoming serious. Tess had mentioned the idea coming from Lady Revel, which suggested that dame was pushing for the match. Lou noticed that Revel exchanged a few sly smiles with Tess.

  “Auntie mentioned she had not the pleasure of your acquaintance, but you will know several of her guests. Mama and I will be there, and Cousin James.”

  “To be sure. It sounds lovely, Revel. Your aunt may count on us,” she said graciously, still wondering who had come up with the idea of asking them.

  “I am delighted. No need to write a reply. I am delivering the cards and taking back a verbal answer. Perhaps you would like to come with me, Tess?” Revel suggested, as though an afterthought.

  “She would like it of all things,” Mrs. Marchant said. “We were bored to flinders, sitting here with nothing to do.” Her eyes slid to Dulcie, who might well be included in this little outing. But then there was no saying that Mr. Evans might not call.

  Seeing where she was looking, Revel said to Tess, “I should be leaving immediately.”

  Tess darted upstairs for her new bonnet and pelisse.

  “Don’t be late, dear,” Mrs. Marchant called as Tess and Revel left. That was her only injunction. She would not like to offend Revel when it seemed Tess actually had a possibility of landing this excellent parti.

  When the couple was seated in Revel’s handsome carriage, Tess said, “Do you think you should be out all morning when you are recovering from the sniffles? Or was that all a hum?” No trace of illness hung about him. He looked remarkably healthy, though the wind might have given him those ruddy cheeks.

  “It was only a chill. My valet threw me into a hot bath and a warm bed, comforted me with restorative liqueurs, and cured me. Beakins is a marvel. Better than a sawbones. Did you think I had forsaken you?” he teased.

  “I thought you might have,” she admitted, but without rancor. “My hope, when you refused Mama’s invitation last night, was that you only wanted to avoid the concert. It was horrid, but Papa was there, and came to the house after.” She told every detail she had gleaned from her mama. “So you see my campaign is bearing fruit,” she finished, with a smile.

  “Your campaign?” he demanded. “Surely you mean our campaign. Who twisted Aunt Corbeil’s arm to have this party?”

  “Do you mean you actually went to so much trouble for us, Revel? I am greatly impressed. You are entering into the spirit of the thing splendidly! I never expected such condescension, for in the usual way you never go an inch out of your way for anyone.”

  “Thank you,” he said in a weak voice. “When I court a lady, I pull out all the stops and do it fortissimo. What sort of corsage would you like? Say rosebuds. They are already ordered.”

  “Rosebuds are fine,” she said dully. “I do not agree with Mama that they are so common as to be an insult. Truly I do not,” she added when she saw his lips firm in annoyance. “As it is only a small rout party, I daresay most of the ladies will not have any corsage at all. One would be expecting too much to receive an orchid for a small rout.”

  “I’m glad you are so pleased, Tess.”

  “Have you had an opportunity to speak to Lord James?” was her next question.

  “His was the first card I delivered. He is aware he may continue seeing your mama until further notice. He is also aware his mature charms find no favor with Mrs. Marchant’s elder daughter.”

  “I hope you didn’t tell him what I said!”

  “I am not such a flat. I merely told him Tess was a bothersome wench who bear-led her poor escorts, leading them to destroy their carriages and catch cold standing in the raw wind.”

  Tess nodded in satisfaction. “A man his age would be concerned about catching cold. Where are we taking these invitations?”

  “My footman is delivering all but yours and Cousin James’s.”

  “You lied to Mama?”

  “Harsh words! I did not lie; I merely prevaricated. I told your mama I was delivering the cards, not all the cards. I delivered yours and my cousin’s.”

  “Where are we going then?”

  “We shall drive into the country and find an inn for tea.”

  “You don’t want to be seen on the strut with me,” she said. It was not an accusation, but a simple statement. “I quite understand, Revel. Naturally someone who considers himself a dasher would not want to be seen publicly with such a dowd, though I am wearing a new bonnet, which you did not even mention.”

  Considers himself a dasher! The gall of the wench! “Very nice,” he said perfunctorily. “Are you sure it’s new? It looks like the one you wore yesterday.”

  “I always buy navy bonnets for winter, to match my pelisse. This one has a higher poke. You must have noticed.”

  “To be sure. At least a quarter of an inch higher. Which direction shall we head? Toward the Mendip Hills, or—”

  “That’s much too far. I cannot stay away so long.”

  He turned a curious eye on her. “Correct me if I am wrong, Tess, but was it not the plan that I help you misbehave? That you stay out longer than your mama likes, to bring her to a proper idea of chaperoning you and Dulcie?”

  “That was the idea originally,” she admitted, frowning. “It seems to be changing now. What I want most is for her to bring Papa to heel. If they are back together, then that hint of impropriety will be removed from the family. They will both chaperone Dulcie and me at the assemblies and so on. It achieves the same thing, really, only just by a slightly different method.”

  “That’s fine for you, but it is not what I agreed to help you with.”

  She turned a wrathful face toward him. “Are you saying you would help me destroy my reputation, but you would not help me bring my parents back together? That is just what I might have expected from you, Revel. An enterprise must have a tinge of debauchery for you to be interested.”

  “The idea was never to destroy your reputation! It was all to be done privately, to w
orry your mother.”

  “Mama is worried enough. My aim now is to bring Papa home a reformed man.”

  “You might as well try to carry water in a sieve. A leopard of Marchant’s age does not change his spots.”

  “Nor does one of your age, it seems. And furthermore, this bonnet is nothing like the one I wore yesterday,” she added angrily. “Yesterday’s bonnet did not have pink feathers.”

  Revel fell into a fit of the sulks and stared out the window. “I take it you want to go on the strut on Milsom Street?’

  “Not at all. I won’t disgrace you by being seen with me.”

  “No one would be foolish enough to take it for a romance.”

  “They might believe that at thirty you had begun to develop some common sense,” she snipped.

  “No, no, you have already assured me leopards do not change their spots.” He pulled the drawstring and asked John Groom to direct the carriage to Milsom Street.

  They dismounted, and Revel offered Tess his arm.

  “Would you like to look at the bonnets?” he asked, trying to establish civil relations.

  “I have just bought a new bonnet, even if some people don’t appreciate it. It is freezing cold. Let us go to the library.”

  “The library!” he exclaimed. Libraries were for little old ladies, for retired clerics and vegetarians.

  “You do know how to read, I suppose?”

  “Only in English, French, Latin, and Greek. My Italian is a little rusty.”

  “You need not worry that the library shelves of Bath will hold a surfeit of Italian books.”

  They entered, and Tess strolled along, checking out the novels while Revel walked determinedly to the section of foreign books and took out Boccaccio’s Decameron in the original, to show Tess there was at least one Italian book there.

  Her fit of ill-humor evaporated when she found a new novel by Walter Scott, and they soon went back to Milsom Street, with Revel carrying the books.

  “Shall we have a cup of tea at the Pump Room?” he suggested. “Not tea with cakes and sandwiches, but just a cup of tea to warm us?”

  Revel admitted to himself, if not to Tess, that he had been behaving badly. He realized that he had enjoyed the little game of playing her suitor. It was unusual to be with a young lady who treated him so offhandedly. His flirts more usually hung on his every utterance. By helping her bring her parents together, however, he could still continue seeing her without the fear of raising marital expectations.