Just Another Lady (Xcite Romance) (4 page)

One such was Octavius Wootten. Elinor thought on first meeting him that she did not like the gentleman. He was sullen-faced, reserved and unfriendly. Then he smiled at something she said, and his whole face changed. She learned later that he was severely shy and all too aware of his own defects, whilst not appreciating his attributes as much as he should. In many ways, he seemed an unusual friend for outgoing, confident Lucius; but neither man seemed aware of the incongruity and it was certainly no one-sided friendship on Wootten’s part. If anything, Lucius deferred more to Wootten than the other way around, and Elinor was fascinated by this new insight into her husband. As well as having the light charm which made him so popular, Lucius demonstrated in his dealings with Wootten that he was also well-read, thoughtful and with a generosity of spirit that few people would associate with him. The pair of them donated large sums of money to one of the London workhouses. Wootten was on the board of the committee; Lucius kept his involvement considerably more secret but, Elinor suspected, provided more in the way of cash than he acknowledged.

And yet, just as Lucius turned out to have hidden depths of seriousness that Elinor had not expected, she found Wootten better and better company as she began to know him more. He was not, it seemed, quite so solemn and worthy as she first imagined; instead having a wry sense of humour, and a sarcastic wit which made many things he said worth considering twice: the obvious meaning might not be the only way in which one could take his words.

But not all gentlemen appreciated Lucius. At a ball one evening, Elinor spent a good deal of her time fascinated by the byplay between her husband and a gentleman whose name, it seemed, was Sir Hugo Mansfield. Lucius had bowed coldly to him at the beginning of the evening, and been given a colder bow still in return. When the pair met at the card table, the stakes seemed to be considerably higher in emotional value than in currency, though both, it seemed, were known gamblers who regularly played for large sums. Yet the atmosphere between them was tangible, deep dislike pouring off them both in a way that Elinor could see no reason for. Sir Hugo seemed in every other way completely unexceptionable: he was tall and handsome, with good dress sense, and a pleasant smile. Lucius rose from the table a winner; and it seemed only the obligation of good manners was enough to make Sir Hugo shake his hand at the end of the game.

‘Sir Hugo Mansfield seems to dislike you intensely,’ Elinor commented in the carriage on the way home.

‘Yes.’ Lucius leaned back against the sumptuous seat. ‘He resents me because he believes I stole his mistress.’

‘Oh,’ Elinor said blankly, wondering whether all husbands were as open about their peccadillos as Lucius. Though, she thought ruefully, she was not precisely the usual sort of wife. Lucius had made it clear when marrying her that he intended to continue womanising: she had been bought and paid for to find it acceptable. ‘Did you?’ she asked, controlling her voice in a way she felt was impressive in the circumstances.

‘In a way,’ he said. Elinor wondered how there could possibly be a middle ground in such things. Surely one either had a mistress or did not? Lucius was clearly aware of her thoughts, and smiled at her before continuing. ‘I assisted her to get out of a situation not to her liking.’ He paused, clearly wondering how much more to say. ‘He hurt her,’ he said coolly. ‘Sometimes with whips or knives.’

‘Oh,’ said Elinor again; then, in an attempt to live up to Lucius’s savoir faire, she added, ‘I take it she did not wish him to?’

‘No.’ There was a flash of anger in Lucius’s eyes, and he spat the word sharply. ‘No,’ he said again, this time more calmly, ‘she did not wish him to.’ Elinor said no more, slightly ashamed of her question; and after a minute or two had passed, Lucius spoke again, in the polite tones of a stranger. ‘I trust you had a pleasant evening?’

‘Yes,’ she said, wishing she hadn’t gone at all; wishing she’d never married this gentleman with his moods and his complicated history. ‘Yes, a very pleasant evening.’

It was three nights later when Elinor, waiting for her most recent dance partner to fetch her a glass of champagne, overheard a conversation between Miss Dolinger and a couple of her friends.

‘I never did think much of Crozier,’ Miss Dolinger announced, ‘but surely he could have done better than that squat little wife of his. After all of those inamoratas, well known for their beauty, as well! I don’t know how he could.’

‘Well, Jane Fevell says that Miss Shaw’s sister saw Crozier with that actress last week,’ one of the other ladies commented. ‘You know, the one who’s making so many of the gentlemen’s heads turn.’

‘And it’s not for the quality of her acting,’ squealed Miss Dolinger happily. ‘Well, that doesn’t surprise me. It wouldn’t take Crozier long to set up a new mistress, given what he has to go home to.’

Elinor’s partner returned with the drink, and Elinor gratefully moved out of earshot of Belinda Dolinger. Of course, it was perfectly reasonable that Lucius should be bedding another woman: he had certainly made it clear that fidelity was not on the agenda. But still, it hurt. It hurt more, too, to have it society gossip – surely, thought Elinor grumpily, the least Lucius might have managed was to keep his affairs private. It only occurred to her considerably later that Miss Dolinger and her satellites might have known that she was close enough to overhear them; but that consoled her very little. She nevertheless had no reason to doubt the information

It was more comforting when Elinor was granted tickets for Almacks – that holy of holies for everyone who wanted to count as someone. Why the exclusivity of Almacks made up for the fact that the balls were very tepid affairs, and the refreshments extremely uninteresting, no one could quite say. The fact was, however, that being given tickets to the place assured one of claiming a high place in society. Elinor had a shrewd suspicion that her disagreements with Belinda Dolinger had assisted her to gain such a prize: the Princess Esterházy, one of the guardians of Almacks, had a barely disguised loathing for Miss Dolinger, whom she saw as distinctly common in her manners and ways, even if not by birth. Elinor suspected strongly that she was invited to Almacks more as a slap in the face for the vulgar Belinda than because of her own merits. It didn’t hurt, either, of course, that several of the middle-aged ladies who ran the place had an undeniable fondness for Lucius; but Elinor preferred not to think about that. Too many people were fond of Lucius, and Elinor would not be jealous, she would not.

On nights when they did not go out together, Lucius often went out on his own. True to her promises, Elinor resisted the desperate urge to demand where he was going – and with whom – but it hurt a little bit more each time he went. He was polite enough, invariably inquiring whether she would be all right without him, but Elinor thought he seemed more distant on these evenings. She wondered, painfully, whether he was distancing himself from her before cheating on her: a sort of mental retreat. But then, why would he need to? Maybe he just hated being in her company. There had been evenings before when she knew perfectly well that Lucius had had no intention of going out; yet after an hour or so with her, he abruptly got up. One in particular stood out.

‘I’m going out for a bit,’ he had said abruptly.

Elinor was shocked. They had been in the middle of a conversation about the latest ladies fashion – perhaps not the most thrilling topic for a gentleman, although he seemed to know a great deal about the subject – but still, surely not so terribly dull that he felt obliged to leave the house to escape from her? He could, after all, just have changed the subject.

‘That’s sudden,’ she’d said weakly.

He appeared to be glaring at her; Elinor could not for the life of her understand what she had done to make him so angry.

‘I need some fresh air.’ He had left at once, not even thinking to take a cape with him, though the night was cold.

After that, Elinor had noticed that whenever they had no plans for an evening, Lucius usually found some excuse to go out alone. Hurt, but determined not to show it, she made it clear that it was irrelevant to her whether he was present or not.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she reassured him that evening through gritted teeth. ‘A quiet evening in with a book is just what I need.’

When he had gone, she looked down at her book – Maria Edgeworth’s A Vindication Of The Rights Of Women – and wondered where it had all gone wrong. Frustrated at her own mood, she decided to put aside the book and write to her mother.

Dear Mamma ...

Elinor looked at the first line and wondered what she could say. So much had happened in London, but the nuances were such that she wasn’t sure what to mention. She was used to confiding almost everything in her mother, but her marriage had been the first break in this, and now – now Elinor was looking at a white sheet of paper and wondered how she could fill it.

It was lovely to get your note today. It sounds like you are doing really well – I’m so glad, dear. I laughed at your description of the neighbours falling over each other to visit; your pen can be very cruel! Remind me not to get on your bad side.

All is well here, too. Lucius is –

Elinor stopped again. “Nice to me”, she had been going to write; but since in her mother’s eyes this was a love match, Mrs Everton would expect nothing less. Indeed, even to mention it might set alarm bells ringing for her mother, who was no fool. Elinor would do anything to keep from worrying her. Better Mrs Everton might be; well, she certainly was not. After careful thought, Elinor continued:

– in his element in London society.

Then, smiling, for her mother had told her that she read the Society pages of the papers, she added:

If you are wondering how much of the gossip in the newspapers is true, approximately half. But as Lucius loves people to be uncertain as to which half, I will leave that decision with you. There is much, however, that the news does not say

And Elinor told a little about the interest Lucius took in the poorer parts of the city, realising to her shame how little she herself knew.

Then, turning to lighter matters, she told her mother about the modistes she had visited and the astronomical number of new dresses she now owned.

– And hats, Mamma! Truly, I have a hat for every occasion. I tell Lucius I shall never need to buy another, but he laughs and returns with further new offerings to tempt me with.

Mamma would like that: although she knew that Lucius was rich enough to buy a dozen hats each day and not notice the expense, Mrs Everton – like Elinor herself, if truth be told – would appreciate the gesture.

By the time the letter was finished, Elinor had written herself, as well as (she hoped) her mother, into a feeling of fondness for Lucius; and smiling ruefully, decided that however much of Maria Edgeworth’s polemic she might sympathise with, nonetheless life as a rich lady was not so hard.

She returned to her reading with less enthusiasm, and was easily disturbed by the sound of a footman opening a door. It was too early for Lucius to return, but surely too late for any casual visitor? Had anything happened? Anything bad? When Wootten was announced, she stood to greet him with some anxiety.

‘Has something happened to Lucius?’ she demanded.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Wootten looked confused for a second. ‘Oh. No, nothing like that. I apologise if my late arrival concerned you. I wanted to have a few words with Lucius about the governors’ meeting at the workhouse in a fortnight’s time. I gather he is not at home, however?’

‘No.’ Elinor bit her lip to prevent herself saying more. Evidently one of the people that Lucius was not out with was Wootten. Which made it even more likely that he was with one of his inamoratas.

Wootten smiled ruefully. ‘It was a faint hope, I suppose. I admit that I often forget that other people enjoy the parts of London society that I find tedious in the extreme.’

‘Like women?’ The words slipped out before Elinor could prevent them.

‘Come now, that is unfair. You know by now – at least I presume you do –’ Wootten added, ‘that I very much enjoy your company.’

‘That wasn’t precisely what I meant,’ said Elinor dryly.

A faint colour spread across Wootten’s cheeks. ‘Oh.’ He recovered himself. ‘I acknowledge that that is not an area I have a great deal of experience in.’

‘Unlike my husband.’ Wootten hesitated, and Elinor felt ashamed to have put him in such an embarrassing situation. Keeping her voice light, she added, ‘It is all right. You need to hide nothing from me. I know he has mistresses.’

Wootten looked at her. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘he had – before his marriage.’

Elinor sighed. Wootten – bless the man – was an idealist. The idea that anyone might not have married for love did not occur to him. She caught herself up. Wootten was on the committee of a workhouse in one of the poorest parts of London: an idealist he might be, but he was not ignorant. Say, then, something different: it would not occur to Wootten that his dear friend, Lucius, might have married for any other reason than love.

‘It is fine,’ she assured him, smiling. ‘I do not mind.’ 

Wootten went to speak, then stopped. 

‘What?’ Elinor demanded.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said.

‘Tell me,’ she urged.

‘I was going to say,’ Wootten said uncomfortably, ‘that perhaps you should mind.’ As Elinor’s smile faded, he added, ‘You will say it is none of my business, and you will, of course, be right. But I am fond of you, and it seems a pity ... Well. It is none of my business.’

Elinor looked at his flushed, embarrassed face and appreciated the honesty which had led him to speak. ‘Thank you for caring,’ she said gently, ‘but I’m afraid my marriage is no one’s business but my own.’

‘And Lucius’s.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Elinor, her tone grim. ‘Certainly his.’

‘Forgive me,’ Wootten said. ‘I should not have spoken.’

She placed a hand gently on his arm. ‘I appreciate your intentions, Mr Wootten. You are an extremely decent gentleman and I’m glad to count you a friend.’