The Obedient Bride

by Mary Balogh

  "How foolish I have been," Frances said, two tears spilling over from her brimming eyes, "thinking that I would not have lived until I had been to town and attended all the ton events and met all the fashionable ladies and gentlemen who live there or spend the Season there. And all the time I had Mama and Jemima and you, Bella. And Parkland. And Theodore."

  Arabella moved across from her seat beside her husband to sit besides Frances. "Don't take on so," she said, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Parkland and Mama and Jemima are still there, you know. And Theodore. And it is never a bad thing to have new experiences and to broaden one's knowledge of life."

  "But Theodore is going to offer for Lady Harriet, I am sure of it," Frances said. Two very blue eyes appeared above her lace handkerchief. "And how dreadfully ungrateful you and his lordship will think me after you have brought me to London for the Season."

  "Not at all," Lord Astor said. "A healthy dose of homesickness never did anyone any harm. I have promised to take Arabella home for the summer, Frances. A few more weeks and we will be on our way."

  "You are very kind, my lord," Frances said.

  "It was very kind of Lord Farraday to invite us to stay for a few nights, was it not?" Arabella said cheerfully, patting her sister on the back.

  She was not so grateful two hours later after they had been greeted by their host and his mother and had been put into the housekeeper's care. That was when she discovered that she and her husband were to share a bedchamber.

  He looked at her apologetically when they were alone. "I am sorry about this, Arabella," he said. "Of course, we might have expected it when there are several house-guests staying here."

  "Yes," she said, wandering to the window in some embarrassment.

  "You need not fear," he said. "Doubtless I shall stay up almost all night with Farraday and Hubbard. We usually do a great deal of talking when we get together."

  "Yes," she said. "Though you need not sit up on my account. I am your wife, you know."

  Her voice sounded so martyred that Lord Astor found himself smiling. He strolled over to stand beside her at the window. It looked out across a long and sloping lawn to the north of the house and beyond it to dense trees.

  "I have lived so much of my life in town," he said, "that I sometimes forget that the countryside can offer beauty and space. And peace. I have a home in Norfolk, you know—smaller than both this and Parkland, but it is set in attractive surroundings. I think you would like it, Arabella. Perhaps I will take you there toward the end of the summer."

  She said nothing.

  "Perhaps we can make a new start on our marriage," he said. "Pretend that the last month did not happen. We can be alone together in Norfolk, Arabella. We can get to know each other. Become friends. Shall we try?"

  She was silent for a while. She continued to stare from the window.

  "I don't think it is possible," she said. "The past month did happen, and no amount of pretending can make either of us forget. It is too late to start again. Everything has been spoiled. However, I am your wife, and I will continue to do my duty. You may take me where you will. But I can never be your friend, my lord, or you mine."

  Lord Astor stood silently beside her, tapping one fingernail against the windowsill for several moments. Then he moved abruptly and turned away from her.

  "You will want to change your dress for the garden party," he said. "I shall see you downstairs later, Arabella."

  "Yes," she said. She still stared through the window.

  Frances found Theodore talking with Lord Farraday and Lord Astor out on the terrace when she came downstairs. She raised the yellow parasol that complemented her pale blue muslin gown like the sun in the sky and strolled toward them. All three gentlemen turned to bow to her. Theodore separated himself from the group and came to offer her his arm.

  "You look very lovely, Fran," he said. "As usual. Would you care to stroll about the lawn for a while? Not many people are down yet."

  "Thank you, Theodore," she said, taking his arm, giving her parasol a twirl, and gazing carelessly about her.

  "How does this compare with town?" he asked, indicating the immaculately kept lawn and the flowerbeds beyond it with his free arm. "Do you ever feel homesick?"

  "Oh, la," she said with a laugh, "I never have a spare moment in which to think about home, sir. We have a great number of invitations to choose among each day, you know."

  "I am quite sure you do," Theodore said. "Two such lovely ladies must be much in demand. Bella has been turned into quite a little beauty with her curls and her new gowns. Is it Astor who has had the good taste to forbid all the frills and furbelows that used to make her look like a slightly overgrown child?"

  "You must not be unkind about Bella, sir," Frances said stiffly. "She is the sweetest, kindest sister anyone ever had."

  "I believe you," he said. "She is also lacking in natural good taste, I would say. You are not about to start weeping, are you, Fran? It is quite unnecessary, you know. I admire Bella's character quite enough to wish to make her my sister too."

  "You always did lack sensibility," Frances said, tears sparkling on her long lashes. "It must come from having been a soldier for several years."

  "It is a good thing, too," he said. "It would not do if we were both watering pots, now, would it, Fran? One of us has to retain some common sense."

  "Well of course I would not expect you to cry all the time," Frances said, drawing a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbing at her eyes. "That would be most unmanly. But you might at least show some sympathy. You have always made fun of my tender sensibilities."

  "That is not true," he said. "I distinctly remember taking you into my arms to comfort you not a year ago when you were crying over a dead bird we had found by a hedgerow. I even kissed the top of your head, Fran, and had my face soundly smacked for all my sympathy."

  "Oh," she said, tossing her head and twirling her parasol angrily. "I do not know why I ever try to hold a sensible conversation with you, Theodore."

  "No," he agreed. "You show great fortitude. Tell me, does Sir John Charlton show you greater sympathy?"

  "He appreciates me," Frances said.

  "Oh, I have no doubt he does," Theodore said. "Don't marry him, though, Fran. You would be unhappy. You need someone less in love with himself and more dependable. Me, for example."

  "Sir John is not in love with himself," Frances said crossly. "Are you making me an offer, Theodore?"

  "By no means," he said. "If I offered for you now, I would probably be sent away with a box on the ears. I have been a soldier, you know. Let us stroll back toward the house. I see there are more people on the terrace than there were. Ah, there is Lady Harriet Meeker. She said she was coming. I must go and pay my respects. Bella is out too. You will doubtless wish to join her."

  "You are probably all impatience for the chance to make her an offer," Frances said spitefully, giving her parasol such a spin that the breeze noticeably increased about her head.

  "Bella?" he said. "She is already married, Fran."

  "You know I mean Lady Harriet," she said.

  "Lady Harriet?" He slowed his pace and looked down at her indignant face in apparent surprise. "Impossible, Fran. She is betrothed. Did you not know? To an earl who prefers the wilds of Yorkshire to London. She talks about almost no one else. When she is with me, anyway. Besides, I doubt if I would offer for her in any event. I just happen to have other plans."

  "Oh," Frances said faintly, but the expected declaration did not come. Theodore strolled in amiable silence at her side until they reached the terrace, where they went their separate ways.

  "Your dog has been settled in the kennels," Lord Farraday told Arabella when she joined him and Mr. Hubbard on the terrace. "Apparently my poor groom was near deafened by the enthusiastic welcome he received from my own dogs. He will be exercised this evening. If you wish to take him for a longer walk yourself, of course, feel free to do so at any time, ma'am."

  "I
am very grateful," Arabella said. "I hope you did not think it dreadfully forward of me to ask if I might bring him. If you do, you must blame Mr. Hubbard just as much as me. He thought that it might be all right to ask you."

  Mr. Hubbard grinned. "Farraday is always so overrun here with dogs and cats and female relations that he will not notice one extra dog," he said.

  "Come out onto the lawn and meet one of those female relations," Lord Farraday said. "You have not met my mother, have you, Lady Astor?"

  "I shall come too," Mr. Hubbard said, "to pay my respects."

  Arabella took an arm of each gentleman and was led out into the sunshine. However, a few guests were still arriving and demanded the attention of their host and his mother. She was soon left alone with Mr. Hubbard.

  "I have something I wish to show you," he said after they had chatted for a while and strolled across the lawn. "It is in my room. Will you wait while I fetch it?"

  "Yes, certainly," she said. "I shall stay here and smell the roses."

  Mr. Hubbard disappeared in the direction of the house.

  "Are you all alone, Arabella?" Lord Astor asked, coming up behind her after a couple of minutes. "Would you like some lemonade or something to eat? Shall I take you across to the tables?"

  "No, thank you," she said. "I am neither thirsty nor hungry. And I am waiting for Mr. Hubbard."

  "Indeed?" he said, his eyebrows raised. "Your other friend is here too. Lincoln. Have you seen him?"

  "Yes." Arabella smiled. "He is with Miss Pope. I am so glad."

  "Is there something special about Miss Pope?" he asked.

  "Mr. Lincoln seems to think so," she said. "He did not have the courage to approach her at the start of the Season. On account of his leg, you know. I tried to persuade him that a handicap like that is of no significance whatsoever."

  "So you have been matchmaking," he said with a smile. "You have a kind heart, Arabella, do you not? Have you found anyone yet for your gangly youth?"

  "I believe you refer to Mr. Browning," she said stiffly. "He does not have a tendre for any lady, my lord. He needs to gain confidence first as a man. He looks so young, you see. I can sympathize with that. I did suggest that he try boxing. I said that you would perhaps be his sparring partner on occasion. But he was far too shy to consider the suggestion."

  Lord Astor looked down at her, a smile lurking in his eyes. "That sounds like a good suggestion," he said. "I must have a talk with… Browning, is it? I will not embarrass him. I will make it seem that the suggestion comes from me."

  "Thank you," Arabella said, looking fleetingly up into his face.

  "Here comes Hubbard," he said.

  The three of them stood talking about trivialities for a few minutes until Lord Astor, raising one eyebrow and looking from his wife to his friend, excused himself and strolled away to join another group of acquaintances.

  "I could have shown Astor too," Mr. Hubbard said, "but he would have thought me foolish and sentimental, doubtless. And perhaps you will too, ma'am. I cannot think why I burden you with my concerns. I never feel the urge to do so with any other female."

  "I am flattered," Arabella said. "And, of course, my curiosity is thoroughly piqued."

  "Shall we walk right into the rose garden?" he asked. "I can see a seat in there."

  He drew a package from his pocket when they were seated side by side on a wooden bench. He uncovered it carefully and handed it to Arabella.

  "Oh," she said. "It is your son, isn't it? What a very lovely child! Is it a good likeness?"

  "It was painted just a month before they left," he said. "Yes, it was very like, though he looks quite the angel here. He was always into mischief."

  Arabella could feel an ache in the back of her throat. "How you must miss him!" she said.

  "I did not tell you quite the truth, you know," he said abruptly. "I told you someone had reported seeing them in Brighton. That is not so. It was Sonia herself. She wrote to me."

  Arabella looked up at him. He had a strange, twisted smile on his face as he took the miniature from her hands and wrapped it carefully again.

  "She is unhappy," he said. "She wants to come back. Can you imagine? After all the scandal, she thinks I will take her back again. No, she does not think it. But she asks it, anyway."

  "What are you going to do?" Arabella asked.

  "It would not be right to forgive her, would it?" he asked. "Some things are unforgivable. What she has done is unforgivable."

  "Yes," Arabella said sadly. "But your son?"

  "She wants to send him back to me, whatever I decide," he said. "She wants him to have a chance of a decent life. But I cannot take him from his mother. It would kill her. She loves him dearly, you see."

  They sat side by side for a few minutes. He turned to her finally and smiled before getting to his feet. "This is a garden party," he said. "My pardon, ma'am. I merely wished to show you my paternal pride in my son. I did not intend to make both you and myself gloomy. Shall we go in search of refreshments? This heat must have made you thirsty."

  Arabella took his arm and allowed herself to be led across the lawn to where tables set with white linen cloths were loaded with drinks and delicacies of all kinds.

  "There is Lady Berry," she said, raising one hand and waving to her husband's aunt. "I should go and speak to her, sir."

  He bowed and released her arm.

  "Thank you for showing me the picture," she said before leaving his side. "I know it must be one of your most precious treasures."

  Lord Astor was leaning against the stone balustrade at the edge of the terrace later that evening, looking out across the moonlit lawn. The air felt delightfully cool after the heat of the drawing room, where all the guests had just finished playing a spirited game of charades. His team, captained by Lady Harriet Meeker, had been soundly beaten by Frances' team, despite the fact that they had had Farraday, a natural actor, on their side. Frances had had Sir Theodore Perrot.

  He was aware of Frances now, walking quietly along the terrace behind him with Sir John Charlton. Several other guests had also discovered the coolness of the outdoors. He wondered about Charlton. He had been remarkably attentive to Frances in the last month. Was he about to offer for her? Somehow Astor doubted it. The man seemed to be puffed up with his own consequence. It seemed unlikely that when choosing a bride he would choose someone of relative social insignificance, like Frances. She was remarkably lovely, of course, but she had no title or large dowry to bring along with her.

  Would the girl be disappointed at the end of the Season? Would Arabella have to cope with her tears and laments all through the three-day journey back to Parkland? If she had any sense, Frances would grab Perrot and hang on to him for life. He was clearly besotted with her, for all his apparent interest in Lady Harriet. Besides, wasn't Lady Harriet promised to someone? He seemed to have heard that Ravenscourt had brought her to London for her come-out but intended to take her back to Yorkshire again for her betrothal.

  Lord Astor sniffed the air. He longed to take a walk across the lawn to the rose garden. But not alone. He wanted Arabella with him. She probably would come too if he asked her. No, not probably. She would construe his merest request as a command, and the moonlight and the smell of the roses would be ruined by the distance she would set between them.

  He had left her in the drawing room in the midst of an animated conversation with Lincoln and Miss Pope, Hubbard, his aunt, Farraday's mother, and one or two others. She would have stopped talking and laughing if he had joined them. As she had that afternoon when he had stood outside the rose garden with her and Hubbard. He had left them there eventually almost with the feeling that he was interrupting a lovers' tryst. And when he had turned later, they had disappeared into the rose garden.

  He knew it had not been a lovers' tryst. Hubbard was still pining for his Sonia, and Arabella was strictly loyal to her marriage. But he still felt sick with... What? Was he jealous of Hubbard and Farraday and Lincoln and the gangly
youth—Browning?

  Why would he be jealous? What was it he wanted from Arabella exactly? The smiles and the easy friendship that she bestowed on other men around him? If she treated him as she did them, would he be satisfied?

  Lord Astor tested the thought in his mind as he shifted his weight and rested his elbows on the balustrade. He wanted to make love to Arabella. No, he wanted to make love with her. He wanted her to love him.

  He wanted her to love him? Did he? Why? Surely it could make no difference to him whether she loved him or not, unless he loved her.

  He did not love her. That was an absurd idea. She was merely Arabella, the little, only slightly attractive daughter of his predecessor, the addition to his life who had caused him endless upheaval. The woman who wanted his soul.

  Of course he did not love her. He wanted to bed her because he had been two weeks without a woman. It was as simple as that. A simple biological urge.

  It was almost bedtime. And they were to share a room. They were to share a bed for the first time since their marriage. And he must not touch her. He could not touch her for as long as her hostility lasted. It would seem like rape, even though she was his own wife.

  Lord Astor pushed himself away from the balustrade and made his way back inside the house again. He would see if Hubbard or Farraday fancied a game of billiards after most of the guests had retired for the night.

  "It is so much like home to stand here and breathe in the smell of clean country air and roses," Frances was saying to Sir John Charlton. They had walked to the end of the terrace and had stepped onto the lawn that led to the stable block west of the house.

  "We could walk closer to the roses," he said. "I shall pluck one for your hair. There is always the danger of pricking one's finger, of course, and shocking one's manicurist, but I am sure we can manage."

  "The rose garden is too far away in the darkness," Frances said. "We had better walk back to the house, sir."

  "A month in town has not educated you in the ways of the world, has it?" he said. "What a prude you are, Miss Wilson. Come, you must prove to me that you are not quite the country mouse."