The Obedient Bride

by Mary Balogh

  "Mm?" he said with a start. "What was that?"

  "I asked if you would mind my being unable to get out of bed in the morning," she said. "Have I exhausted you so much already, Geoffrey, that you cannot think straight?"

  "I was wondering if Ara..., if my w... It does not matter, Ginny. It is not important."

  "If she is at home eagerly awaiting your attentions?" Ginny said. "I think it unlikely. She was looking well-pleased with herself when I saw her earlier, a gentleman on each arm."

  Lord Astor turned his head sharply. "You have seen Arabella?" he asked.

  She laughed. "That was the delightful pleasure I mentioned earlier," she said. "Yes, I saw her, Geoffrey. Someone pointed her out to me. And what a great surprise she was. She is so small, a child merely. You should be ashamed of robbing the cradle so. But she seems quite firmly established with her cicisbei. You must be well-satisfied."

  "It was at the Pottier soiree you were singing?" he said, dismayed. He had an arm over his eyes. "And you saw Arabella. Good God!"

  Ginny had turned over onto her side. "Are you ready to be revived yet?" she asked, placing a hand lightly on his chest. "You see how insatiable I am, Geoffrey? The first course is no sooner over than I am ready for the second. Shall I arouse your appetite too?"

  Lord Astor had not moved. He had an image of Ginny as she had appeared earlier, beautiful and flamboyant, in the same room with Arabella, tiny, eager, and wide-eyed. And Arabella would have been watching Ginny and listening. Applauding. Unaware that Ginny was her husband's mistress. And Arabella with a gentleman on each arm. Farraday? Hubbard? Lincoln? The gangly youth? Perrot? Someone new? And looking well-pleased with herself. Yes, he knew the look. He could well imagine it.

  "I have to go home, Gin," he said, pushing her hand away.

  She pulled a face. "Oh, not so soon," she said. "You said just a short while ago that you were going to stay the night. Just once more, Geoffrey. You cannot be in that much of a hurry."

  He caught her hand, which had strayed to his chest again, in a firm grip, leaned over her, and kissed her hard and dispassionately on the lips. "Another time," he said. "I find I am not in the mood tonight after all. Thank you for the last hour. I needed it."

  "You really do not demand a great deal for all you pay me," she said, pouting. "And I am complaining. Does your wife take so much of your energy, Geoffrey?"

  He sat on the edge of the bed and reached down for his clothes. "Spite does not suit you, Gin," he said. "I will be back in a day or two to put you to work so that you may earn your keep. I had not realized you were quite so conscientious."

  11

  Arabella did not take George for his usual walk the following morning. Neither did she go downstairs to breakfast. She sent her maid down when she thought the meal would be over, to ask if she might wait on Lord Astor at his convenience. The answer came almost immediately. He was in his office and would be glad to see her.

  Arabella had not slept the night before. Indeed, she had been up three separate times vomiting. She frequently felt nauseated and otherwise out of sorts on the first day of her month, but she had never been actively sick before. Nevertheless, even though she still felt wretched and at one remove from reality, she dressed with care and brushed her curls neatly. She had declined the services of her maid.

  Lord Astor had settled to examine the books that he had had sent from Parkland. But he was quite prepared to set them aside for Arabella. He had been somewhat concerned when she had not come down either for her usual walk with George or for breakfast. It was possible that she was not well. He knew that some women suffered at that certain time of the month. He had wanted to go up to her room to see if she was unwell, but had been afraid of disturbing her sleep.

  And he had remembered his feeling of the night before when he had arrived home very late. A feeling of guilt. Yes, quite undeniably and annoyingly, guilt. Even if he could not possess her, he had thought, at least he could have come home early and gone in to talk to her. He could have assured himself that she was not in any pain or discomfort. He could have sent down for laudanum if she was.

  He had shaken off his feelings with some annoyance the night before and resisted the urge to tiptoe into her bedchamber to see her, late as it was. It was a relief now to know that she was up and asking to speak with him.

  He rose to his feet with a smile when a footman opened the door for her. But the smile faded. His guess had been right. She was pale almost to the point of being haggard. He moved hastily toward her.

  "Arabella," he said, concern in his voice and on his face, "what is the matter? Are you sure you should be out of your bed?"

  "I am quite well, thank you," she said. She was standing very upright, her eyes looking straight into his, her jaw set firmly. Something in her tone and in her face made him stop and look more inquiringly at her.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  "I want to know," she said. "I will not condemn you until you have had a chance to deny it. Is Miss Virginia Cox your mistress?"

  He closed his eyes briefly and then looked at her again. "Who told you this, Arabella?" he asked.

  "That does not matter," she said. "I want to know if it is true."

  He said nothing for the moment, but stared back at her.

  "It is true, is it not?" she said.

  "I would rather not talk about this," he said.

  "Indeed!" Arabella showed emotion for the first time. "But I insist that we do. She is your mistress, isn't she? Will you deny that you have been with her since our marriage? Can you tell me in all truth that you have not?"

  "No, Arabella," he said after a pause, "I cannot tell you that."

  "I did not believe it," she said very quietly. Her hands were clenched at her sides. "Until this moment I did not quite believe it could be so. How could you do such a thing? How could you go to another woman and do... and do those things to her? You married me. You married me in church and swore before God..."

  Lord Astor's face had turned chalky white. "Arabella," he said, "please don't distress yourself. It is really quite unimportant. You are my wife. It is you—"

  "It is 'unimportant'!" she said, her eyes blazing into his. He looked away from her. "It means nothing to you, my lord, except base physical pleasure? Shall I tell you what it has meant to me? It meant pain on our wedding night, dreadful pain that lasted for several days. But I did not mind, because I was your wife and we had been made one, we were bound by a sacred tie. I have been careful in my duty to you, believing that only I could give you that. And I did not want you to be disappointed. And it is unimportant to you?"

  "I did not mean you," he said. "Arabella, please, let me explain."

  "I have never said no to you," she said. "I have never shirked my duty. If it was not enough, if you wanted more from me, why did you not tell me or ask for what you wanted or come to me more often? I would not have denied you. I believe you know I would not. I have told you and I have tried to show during every moment since our marriage that I mean to be an obedient wife and that I wish to make you comfortable. You have sinned against me terribly to take a mistress."

  He turned away and walked to the window. He stood looking sightlessly out. "Yes, I have, Arabella," he said.

  "I know I am not pretty and that I do not know much about the world," she said, "and I know you would have far preferred to marry Frances or some other attractive lady. I know that. But you did marry me. No one forced you to do it. You did it of your own free will. And so you took on a duty too. You owed it to me to be faithful. And I have always been willing to learn. If there was anything I could have done to make you more comfortable, I would have done it readily. But you have never asked, and you have never offered to teach me."

  "Arabella, don't do this to yourself," he said, his brow against a pane of the window. "None of this is your fault, believe me. You have been everything I could expect of a bride, and more. Perhaps if you would let me explain..."

  "I don't want to hear you spe
ak," she said, "and I don't want to see you or feel your touch. I don't want you near me anymore. I don't want you in my bed. I know I am your wife and that I must remain so. And as your wife I owe you obedience. You will not find me disobedient in future, my lord. If you choose to speak to me, I will listen. If you choose to touch me, I shall not flinch. And if you choose to come to my bed, I shall receive you dutifully. I shall bear your children if I must, and love them too because they are mine and cannot help being yours. But I want you to know one thing. Everything I do for you from this moment on will be done out of duty alone. I will do nothing willingly."

  His hands gripped the windowsill. His eyes closed. "You will not find me making your life a misery, Arabella," he said.

  "I thought you were perfect," she said. "I have felt awkward and tongue-tied and apologetic because I could not compete with your splendor. You have not deserved my admiration, my lord. I no longer respect or like you."

  He took a deep breath and turned to face her. "It is sometimes a dangerous thing to put a living person on a pedestal," he said. "He has all the farther to fall. I am sorry, Arabella, but there is nothing I can say in my own defense, is there? I have a mistress, yes. She has been under my protection for longer than a year. I do not feel less for you as a result. But I have caused you pain and disillusionment, and I am sorry." He shrugged his shoulders. "You may leave to do whatever it is you have planned for this morning. I have work to do here before taking myself out of your sight for the rest of the day."

  "I trusted you," she whispered before turning and letting herself out of the room. "I was proud of you. I was trying to be your friend. This is worse... Oh, this is ten times worse than losing Papa."

  Frances had tears in her eyes when she entered the morning room later to find Arabella with her sewing in her lap, though she had sewn only two stitches since picking it up half an hour before.

  "Bella," she said, "I have been up half the night thinking. I am so dreadfully selfish. I have a dressing room filled with new and fashionable clothes, and scarce a day has gone by since we arrived in town when there have not been two or three entertainments at the least and many more invitations to choose among. And last night I lay down with the intention of persuading you to go shopping with me for a new parasol to replace my blue one, which I thought was dreadfully old-fashioned after all. And then it came to me."

  Arabella bent her head over her sewing as Frances took her handkerchief from her pocket. "What came to you?" she asked.

  "Mama and Jemima have had no treat at all," her sister said, her face tragic. "No new clothes and no visits to town and no entertainments. Nothing, Bella. How selfish I am! I have scarce spared them a thought, and I have written to them only when you have insisted. Dear Bella. You have such a good heart. I shall never forget the sacrifice you made for my sake."

  "You forget," Arabella said quickly, "that Mama and Jemima are quite ecstatic to know that you have had such an opportunity, Frances. Mama derives her happiness from knowing that you are happy. And as for Jemima, her turn will come when she is older. I daresay his lordship will..." She paused and swallowed painfully. "I daresay he will see to it that she is brought out too when the time comes."

  "He is so very kind," Frances said, smiling bravely, watery blue eyes sparkling over the top of her handkerchief. "And so are you, Bella. Will you come with me now to the shops so that I may buy gifts for Mama and Jemima? Mama would like a new pair of kid gloves. And for Jemima perhaps I will buy the parasol I would have liked for myself. Do you think that would be a selfless plan?"

  Arabella smiled and folded up her work neatly. "I shall order the carriage," she said. "Don't forget to bring your book too, Frances. We might as well go to the library while we are close."

  "Am I dragging you out against your will?" Frances asked, frowning and forgetting her tears and her handkerchief as Arabella looked up and rose to her feet. "You do not look well, Bella."

  "I am all right," Arabella said. "Just a little tired, that is all."

  "You do have this dreadful habit of rising at the crack of dawn," Frances said. "Perhaps that is it, Bella. You are not increasing, are you?" She flushed deeply.

  "No," Arabella said firmly, "I am not."

  They were walking along Bond Street later when they saw Lord Farraday on the pavement at the other side of the street. They raised their hands in greeting and prepared to move on, but he hurried across the road to meet them.

  "Well met, Lady Astor, Miss Wilson," he said, raising his hat and making them a bow. "I was preparing to call on you this afternoon."

  "We will be at home, my lord," Arabella said, "and will be pleased to receive you."

  "Thank you," he said. "I had breakfast with your neighbor this morning. I told him that he must see Vauxhall Gardens, among other places, while he is in town. It gave me the idea to reserve one of the supper boxes there and organize a party for tomorrow night. There is to be music, it seems. And it is one of the nights for fireworks."

  "How perfectly marvelous," Frances said. "I have heard it is a very romantic location, my lord."

  "I hoped you ladies would be able to join the party," he said. "Sir Theodore will be there, of course, and will be glad to see familiar faces, I am sure. And Charlton will be coming, and Hubbard. Mrs. Pritchard—one of my sisters, you know—has agreed to come, as my brother-in-law is in Portugal at present. And Lady Harriet Meeker is to be invited. May I hope that you do not have a previous engagement for tomorrow night?"

  "No, we have not," Arabella said. She looked at Frances. "We will be glad to make two of your party, my lord."

  "Splendid!" he said. "Will Astor come, do you think, ma'am?"

  "I think not," Arabella said. "He does have another engagement."

  "A pity," he said. "I shall do myself the honor, then, of taking you up in my carriage tomorrow evening? My sister will be with me."

  He raised his hat and continued on his way after Arabella had expressed her delight.

  "Oh, Bella," Frances said, taking her sister's arm after tucking the package containing her mother's kid gloves into her reticule. "Vauxhall Gardens! It is all winding pathways and hanging lanterns, according to Lucinda Jennings, who has been there more than once. And handsome gentlemen roaming everywhere. I can scarce wait until tomorrow night."

  "We will have a lovely time," Arabella said brightly. "I have always wanted to see a display of fireworks. I am glad Theodore has been making some friends."

  "Yes, so am I, I am sure," Frances said. "Though I do not greatly admire Lady Harriet Meeker, do you, Bella? However, she seems to be to Theodore's liking, and that is all that matters, I suppose."

  "I believe he is merely friendly with her," Arabella said. "I would not worry that he is developing a tenure for her if I were you, Frances."

  "Worry!" her sister said with a trilling little laugh. "I quite wish the best for Theodore. We have always been friends, as you know, Bella."

  "I once thought you were more," Arabella said with a sigh.

  "Well, that was very foolish of you," Frances said. "I had never even seen anyone else but Theodore and the others at home. Here there are far more eligible gentlemen. What do you think of Sir John Charlton?"

  "That he is shallow and vain," Arabella said bluntly.

  "Bella!" Frances looked reproachfully at her. "How dreadfully unkind you are. Is a gentleman shallow merely because he knows all there is to know about polite behavior and fashion? Is he vain merely because he is handsome and elegant? He has a very superior understanding, I believe. And I think he favors me. He is to be the Earl of Haig one day, you know."

  "Yes, I believe he has told me so quite pointedly a half-dozen times," Arabella said.

  "I see you are cross and out of sorts today, Bella," France said stiffly. "But I am glad you are taking it out on me. It would not do for you to speak thus to his lordship. He is like to be displeased with you. I think we will just avoid all sensible topics until you are in spirits again. Where is the best shop to lo
ok in for parasols, do you think?"

  Arabella took her sister's arm and squeezed it. "Forgive me, Frances," she said. "You are quite right. I did not sleep well last night, as I told you earlier, and I am making you suffer as a result. Let us try this shop. This is where his lordship... This is where my fan was purchased."

  "Bella!" Frances' eyes were filled with tears as she drew her sister to a halt outside the shop. "How can I ever reproach you for anything when you made such a great sacrifice for my sake? How very ungrateful I am. Dear, dear Bella! How fortunate it is that all has turned out well for you after all."

  Lord Astor had ridden across Westminster Bridge and south away from London before he was fully aware that he was even on horseback. He drew back on the reins and looked down in some bewilderment at the sweat-beaded neck of his favorite stallion. When had he gone home to saddle the horse? What had been his intention when he did so? And where had he been going with such speed and purpose?

  He pulled off a glove, touched his nose gingerly, and winced. It was still sore. No longer bleeding, though, he thought, looking at his hand and finding no telltale red streak. He should have known better than to challenge Jackson himself to a sparring match that morning. Normally he would have given the great pugilist a good go for his money, but this morning he had not been in any condition to concentrate. And Jackson himself, standing over him and offering a hand to pull him to his feet after planting him a facer that had had the blood spurting all down his shirt front, had reminded him that one of the first rules of boxing was that one must fight with a cool head. One should never box in order to work off one's anger or some other negative emotion.

  Yes, he knew that. But why had he challenged the great man anyway? He could not remember. Had it been in the hope of pounding someone's face to pulp? He would have challenged one of the weaklings or novices if that had been his purpose, surely. He rather thought he must have issued the challenge in the hope that his own face would be reduced to blood and raw meat. He had wanted physical punishment. But Gentleman Jackson was just what his popular name said. He would never continue to pummel an opponent once he was down and clearly defeated.