The Ideal Wife (11 page)

“If the
ton
does not take kindly to me,” Abigail said hotly, “then I shall not take kindly to the
ton.
I shall certainly lose no sleep over their disapproval, believe me.”

“Abigail.” Her mother-in-law’s voice was cold. “Miles has done you the great kindness to bestow the prestige and security of his name on you. A few days ago you had nothing. Now you are the Countess of Severn, the wife of one of the wealthiest gentlemen in England. I believe you owe it to him to care.”

Abigail clamped her teeth together and felt herself flush. It was true. There was no argument against such a truth, especially when it was spoken by Miles’s mother. But she would see herself in Hades before she would grovel to the
ton
or tiptoe about them. She had groveled once in a lifetime and was married as a result. She did not plan to lower herself ever again.

“Shall we go?” Constance slipped an arm through Abigail’s and smiled at her. “That is a very becoming dress, Abigail. Have you thought of having your hair cut? Short hair is all the crack, you know, and so easy to care for. It would suit the shape of your face.”

“I can’t,” Abigail said curtly. “Miles has ordered me not to cut it. He likes me to wear it loose at night. Besides,” she added, smiling and forgetting something of her chagrin, “if he had ordered otherwise, he would have to drag me by the hair to a hairdresser’s.”

Constance smiled uncertainly and glanced at her mother.

Abigail realized immediately on their arrival why her mother-in-law had chosen Lady Mulligan’s as a place they must visit that afternoon. She was hosting an at-home, and her drawing room was filled with fashionable ladies, all of them balancing delicate cups and saucers in one hand.

Lady Ripley linked an arm through Abigail’s as they entered the drawing room and smiled graciously as she presented her daughter-in-law to their hostess and the group of ladies surrounding her.

“So provoking for you, dear Lady Ripley, to miss the nuptials by one day,” one lady said. “Young people are far more impatient than they used to be in our day, are they not?”

“But I had all the delight,” Lady Ripley said, “of meeting a brand-new daughter-in-law as soon as I arrived in London, without having all the headache of a wedding to arrange. Imagine my delight!”

A few of the ladies joined in her laughter.

“Besides,” Abigail said, “Miles and I were so deeply in love that we could not wait even one day longer.”

The ladies tittered again as her mother-in-law squeezed her arm.

“You were a Gardiner, I understand, Lady Severn?”another lady said. “Would that be the Gardiners of Lincolnshire?”

“Sussex,” Abigail said.

“And our kinsmen,” Lady Ripley added. “An illustrious branch of the family.”

One lady had raised a lorgnette to her eye and was viewing her through it, Abigail noticed. And all the other ladies were looking at her in that polite, arctic way that Mrs. Gill and her cronies could also do to perfection when they wished to establish their superiority over another poor mortal.

“Also an impoverished branch,” she said, smiling and looking easily about her. “Did you ladies know that I was forced to earn my own living for the past two years? I was companion to a wealthy merchant’s wife.” She laughed. “I was very fortunate to meet my husband when I did, and even more fortunate that he fell as deeply in love with me as I with him. I had been dismissed from my post without a character for objecting rather pointedly to the attentions my employer’s husband was paying the unwilling governess. He could not tell his wife that that was the reason, of course. She would doubtless have smashed a chamber pot over his head.”

A few of the ladies were smiling. Two laughed out loud.

“He convinced his wife that I was sighing over his nineteen-year-old son,” Abigail said, “whose chief claim to fame at the moment is that his face is all over spots, the poor boy. His doting mama believed all, of course, and I was given a week’s notice. And then along came Miles.”

“It is quite a Cinderella story,” one very small lady said.

“And certainly has its Prince Charming,” Lady Mulligan said. “You have done all the other young ladies of the Season a great disservice, Lady Severn, I do assure you.”

“My husband’s second cousin was forced into service for a whole year,” another lady said, “before being fortunate enough to inherit a competence from her maternal aunt. Then she married Mr. Henry. Ten thousand a year, you know, and property in Derbyshire. They do not come to town very often, I’m afraid.”

Lady Ripley squeezed Abigail’s arm again and they moved on to another group.

“My dear Abigail,” she said later, when they were in the carriage on the way to Mrs. Reese’s, “it was a very near-run thing. I thought I would have the vapors when you began to speak so very candidly. It was more fortunate than I can say that Lady Murtry found your story amusing. When she laughed, everyone else followed suit. But do be careful. It would be wise to allow me to do the talking for the rest of the afternoon.”

“I thought I would die,” Constance said. “But you did make it sound so funny, Abigail. I could just picture your employer’s wife smashing a chamber pot over his head.”

“That detail must certainly not be repeated,” Lady Ripley said hastily. “Some people may consider it downright vulgar of you to say such a thing, Abigail.”

Abigail held her peace. But if Mrs. Reese tried freezing her out with that look, she thought, then she would not be answerable for what she might say. And it was indeed fortunate that the ladies at Lady Mulligan’s had found her words funny. She had not meant to amuse them. She had meant to give them a collective and blistering setdown.

She was glad it had not worked that way. For Miles’s sake she was glad. She would not wish to embarrass him by any vulgar display or by making an enemy of the whole of polite society. She would keep her mouth closed for the rest of the afternoon, she decided. She would smile meekly and allow her mother-in-law to thaw any chilly atmosphere that might greet her.

L
ORD
S
EVERN CALLED
on his mother before returning home to change for dinner. It had been a long day, he reflected as his mother’s butler preceded him to the door of her sitting room. He had had luncheon at White’s, read the papers there for a while, having recalled that he had not had a chance to read at breakfast, and joined a few acquaintances in a walk to Tattersall’s, though he had no present interest in buying any horses.

How long had he been married? he thought with a frown. Three days? Could it be that short a time? Had he really known Abby for less than a week? And was he already losing interest in his typical bachelor pursuits?

She was not really dominating his life, was she? How had Gerald put it? Did she really have him wrapped around her finger?

No, of course she did not. It was just that by some good fortune he had chosen a bride with a character that interested and amused him. And with a person that even more unexpectedly attracted him.

“Good afternoon, Mama,” he said after he had been announced, taking both her hands in his and kissing her offered cheek. “Connie? How has your day been?”

“Busy,” his mother said.

He smiled at his sister. “I noticed you dancing twice with Darlington last evening, Connie,” he said. “I thought that came to an end last year. Is there still a spark there?”

“I am to be one of his sister’s party to Vauxhall next week,” she said. “If our family is still being received by then, that is.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is there any reason why we would not be?” he asked.

“Miles,” his mother said, “I was prepared to keep an open mind, dear, because the deed was done already and there was no choice but to make the best of the matter. But you really must take your wife in hand before it is too late—if it is not too late already.”

Lord Severn clasped his hands behind his back.

“What has Abby done that is so bad?” he said.

“She was already under a cloud,” she said, “after word of her background leaked out at Lady Trevor’s last evening. I chose the places we should visit with great care this afternoon and instructed Abigail to let me do the talking. I told her that both Constance and I would give her our full support.”

“Under a cloud, Mama?” he said quietly. “I think not. It is no crime, nor disgrace either, to be poor and to work for an honest living.”

“She is already influencing you,” Lady Ripley said in some distress. “Miles, she told a large group of the most influential ladies at Lady Mulligan’s that her employer’s wife would have smashed a chamber pot over her husband’s head if she had known the truth about him and the governess. Fortunately—very fortunately—Lady Murtry laughed, and so everyone else considered the story enormously witty. The ladies at Mrs. Reese’s were not amused. I was very vexed. I had pointedly instructed Abigail on the way there not to speak in such a vulgar fashion.”

The earl was chuckling. “Did she repeat the detail about the chamber pot?” he said. “To Mrs. Reese? Poor Abby.”

“It was not funny, Miles,” Constance said. “Mama had to work very hard to smooth over the moment. And remember that Mr. Reese is a cousin to Lord Darlington.”

“Well,” Lord Severn said, “if she was being given the tabby treatment, I cannot say I am sorry to hear that she defended herself.”

“She need not have insulted Frances,” Lady Ripley said coldly. “If you could know how provoking it was to sit there, Miles, with both of them in the same room—your wife and the lady who should have been your wife—you would not be displaying any amusement at all. I think the woman must have you bewitched.”

“How did she insult Frances?” he asked.

“She told her that eighteen-year-olds who have lived sheltered, privileged lives could be permitted to be silly for a few years longer,” Constance said. “Frances was speechless, Miles.”

“Yes,” he said, “I can imagine she would have been. What had she said to provoke such a setdown?”

“She merely commented that it was kind of you to marry Abigail under the circumstances,” his mother said.

“ ‘Under the circumstances,’ ” he said. “I will wager that Frances injected a whole world of meaning into those words, Mama. I am with Abby, I must admit. I would say she showed admirable restraint in saying so little.”

Lady Ripley made an impatient gesture. “Miles,” she said, “I have always loved you. You know that. But you have always been easily led. I have tried for years to influence you for the good. I have spent a great deal of time and energy in arranging matters so that you could marry Frances, who would have managed your home and your life well and been an impeccably well-bred hostess. But it seems I have failed and you have fallen under the influence of a vulgar, ill-disciplined fortune hunter.”

“Mama,” Constance said, “don’t upset yourself, pray.”

The earl clasped his hands more tightly at his back. “She is my wife, Mama,” he said, “and if you have a quarrel with her, then I am afraid you have one with me too. It sounds to me as if she was severely provoked this afternoon.”

“We were trying to help her, Miles,” Constance said. “Can you not see that? It will be a dreadful thing for all of us if the most influential people of the
ton
decide to turn their backs on her. It will affect all of us.”

“I have to go,” he said. “We are expecting dinner guests. Good day to you, Mama. Connie.”

He was sorry he had called. He had already been angry at what Gerald had told him that morning and at the opinion he had expressed about Abigail. Now this!

He was bewitched, was he? He had fallen under the influence of a vulgar fortune hunter, had he? He should control her, both his mother and Gerald had told him. He was easily led, his mother had said. He knew that to be partly true—he had been dominated by her and his sisters for years.

Was he now dominated by Abigail?

The idea was foolish. He would not think of it. His steps quickened as he neared home. He wanted to see her. It seemed a long time since breakfast.

10

A
BIGAIL FULLY INTENDED TO TELL HER husband about the events of the afternoon. It was not in her nature to keep secrets and she was already burdened with too many from her past.

When he came to her dressing room before dinner, however, he returned her smile in the mirror, bent to kiss the back of her neck, and clasped a string of pearls about it.

“Because your mother’s are too large and heavy for evening wear,” he said.

“Oh.” She covered the pearls at her throat with one hand and gazed at him in the mirror. “They are quite gorgeous, Miles. And I will wager that they are real too.”

She watched laughter crinkle the corners of his eyes and dimple his cheek.

“How was your afternoon?” he asked, touching her shoulder.

She opened her mouth and closed it again. She remembered what her mother-in-law had said about the kindness Miles had done her in marrying her. And she remembered the way she had chosen to defend herself that afternoon and the strong possibility that what she had said was vulgar. She remembered that not all the ladies who had listened to her story had been amused by it. She remembered the setdown she had given Frances Meighan.

“It was good,” she said, smiling brightly. “I have met a large number of people in the last two days, Miles. What did you do today?”

She would tell him later, she thought. Perhaps after they returned from the theater.

Laura was embarrassed by the invitation, Abigail found later.

“But, Abby,” she said on her arrival when they were alone together, “it was different on your wedding day. Now you are the Countess of Severn. Are you sure his lordship does not resent my being here?”

“How preposterous!” Abigail said. “As if Miles is high in the instep, and as if I had changed in four days. You are my dearest friend, Laura, and I intend that you will remain so. Now, tell me: have Mr. Gill and Humphrey been behaving themselves? Before I left the house, I enjoyed giving Humphrey that friendly advice on how he might treat his spots. I particularly enjoyed assuring him that it was a youthful malady and would surely disappear as soon as he reached manhood.”

Laura smothered a laugh. “Mr. Gill has been in the schoolroom once since you left,” she said. “I am afraid I quite shamelessly mentioned my dear friends the Earl and Countess of Severn. He did not stay long.”

Abigail took her arm and led the way into the drawing room, where her husband and Sir Gerald were enjoying a drink before dinner.

Conversation at the dinner table fell mainly on Abigail’s shoulders, the earl being unusually quiet, Laura shy, and Sir Gerald content to be an amused spectator. She talked almost without stopping.

“I have never been to the theater,” she confided at last. “I was never more excited in my life.”

“Never, ma’am?” Sir Gerald asked. “That is rather an extravagant claim.”

Abigail thought for a moment. “I suppose I was just as excited when I attended my first assembly at home,” she said. “Though it turned out to be a poor affair, and I was not nearly the belle of the ball I expected to be. I was sixteen and invisible to all the young gentlemen. Only the grandfathers danced with me.” She laughed merrily.

“I do not believe you will be invisible tonight,” Sir Gerald said gallantly.

“And I suppose I was as excited on my wedding day,” Abigail said. “But I was also terrified and cannot even remember the excitement. Laura had to help me unroot my feet from the floor of my bedchamber.”

They all joined in her laughter.

Before she could think to rise and summon Laura to the drawing room while the gentlemen drank their port, the earl rose to announce that it was time to leave for the theater if they did not wish to be late.

Abigail flushed and glanced at her husband as he drew back Laura’s chair for her to rise. She really must learn more behavior before he took her in total disgust. But perhaps it would be too late once she confessed about the afternoon’s events.

She sighed quietly and smiled up at Sir Gerald, who was drawing back her own chair.

N
EITHER HIS WIFE
nor Miss Seymour had ever been to a London theater, the Earl of Severn had discovered at dinner, and yet there was a predictable contrast in their behavior when they entered his box. Miss Seymour, on Gerald’s arm, looked about her with quiet interest and allowed him to seat her. Abigail gripped his own arm more tightly and stood quite still, letting out an audible “Ooh!”

“Now, is it the theater itself that has you in awe, Abby?” he asked. “Or is it the splendor of the audience?”

“Oh, both,” she said. “This is quite as magnificent as last night’s ball. Will the performance equal it?”

“The play is of secondary importance, as you must learn,” he said. “One comes to the theater to see and be seen.”

“Absurd!” she said, flashing him a smile before seating herself on the chair he had moved out for her and looking about her again. “What a foolish thing to say. It is not true, is it?”

He laughed. “That you must discover for yourself,” he said. “Everyone is certainly doing a good deal of looking about at everyone else at the moment, wouldn’t you agree?”

And their own box was receiving more than its fair share of looks, he had noticed as soon as they entered the box. It seemed that yesterday’s drive in the park and last night’s ball had not been sufficient to satisfy the curiosity of the
ton.

Since the night before, of course, most of them would have learned that most delicious of all details about the new addition to their numbers—that perhaps she was not quite respectable. And if his mother was to be believed, Abigail had done nothing to allay those suspicions during the afternoon.

Why had she said nothing to him when he had asked before dinner? He had expected all the details to come pouring out. He had expected that they could have laughed together, that he could have kissed her and assured her that it was all nonsense and would be forgotten about as soon as the hint of some other scandal gave fresh food to the gossips.

But she had said nothing. Perhaps she had not even noticed that she was being shunned.

“Keep talking to me,” she said to him now very quietly. “I think Laura and Sir Gerald are getting along together famously, aren’t they?”

“They are both well-bred enough to make conversation with each other,” he said, smiling at her. “But I would not expect any interesting announcement before the evening is out if I were you, Abby.”

“Perhaps not,” she said. “But stranger things have happened.”

Yes indeed, he thought. Stranger things had happened. He had met Abigail less than a week before, married her two days later, discovered that she in no way resembled the woman he had taken her for, and yet grown fond of her. But he did not know her at all. He was suddenly appalled by his own ignorance of the person she was, of all the events and forces and persons who had shaped her into the woman he had married.

His mother thought her vulgar. Gerald thought her managing. And he? He was amused by her, attracted to her. But he did not know her.

“Oh, look,” she said eagerly, pointing down to the pit in a manner that would have had his mother cringing. “There is Boris.”

“Which one?” he asked.

“In the green coat,” she said. “With the fairish brown hair. The one who is too thin. Next to the gentleman in lavender ogling the ladies in the box opposite through his quizzing glass. How rude of him! But one of the ladies likes it. She is smiling back and fluttering her fan. Do you see?”

“I see your brother,” the earl said at the same moment as Boris Gardiner turned his head, looked into their box, smiled, and raised a hand in greeting. “He has seen you.”

She waved vigorously back, her face lighting up with a smile.

He did know something about her, the earl thought. She was eagerly awaiting the moment when she could be reunited with her sisters—her half-sisters. And she lit up like a candle at the mere sight of her brother. One fact about her past was very clear: she was dearly fond of her family. They must have been a close-knit group before the death of the father.

“May we go down there to talk with him?” she asked.

“At the interval,” he said. “The play is about to begin.”

It was not the best performance he had ever seen. And he found that the loud comments and guffaws of laughter from the gentlemen crowded into the next box—acquaintances of his, though not close friends—destroyed his concentration.

But both Abigail and Miss Seymour were enthralled, he saw at a glance, and met the amused eyes of his friend over the latter’s head. Abigail was staring wide-eyed at the stage, one bare arm resting on the velvet edge of the box before her. He took her other hand in his and she curled her fingers about it, though she did not move her eyes from the actors.

He smiled and wondered if it were so essential to know another person—to know about that person’s past life, that was. He had known Abigail for almost a week and he liked her. To hell with the opinions of those who did not and who tried to warn him against her.

He liked her and he was falling a little in love with her. And surely that was all that mattered.

A
BIGAIL LOOKED UP
when the actors left the stage, and realized, in something of a daze, that it was the interval.

“Oh, so soon?” she said. “It seems that it has just started.”

But she remembered Boris and looked eagerly down into the pit, only to discover that he was no longer in the place where he had been.

“Perhaps he is on his way up here,” the earl said. “Let’s stroll out into the corridor, and perhaps we will meet him. Ger? Miss Seymour? Are you coming for some air?”

Abigail would have preferred to leave them alone in the box together, but both got to their feet quite willingly. Laura looked particularly fetching that evening, Abigail thought, with her auburn hair dressed in curls and with her blue dress, which was not quite unfashionable.

Miles had been right. They met her brother almost as soon as they stepped out of the box.

“Boris,” she said, throwing her arms about his neck and hugging him. “Is it not a wonderful performance? I feel quite as if I had been transported into another world.”

“Tolerable,” he said, patting her waist.

She took his arm and presented him to her husband and to Laura and Sir Gerald. She smiled up at him while they all conversed for a few minutes.

“Miles was sorry to miss you yesterday morning,” she said at last. She brightened at a sudden thought. “We want you to come for dinner tomorrow, don’t we, Miles? And Laura and Sir Gerald must come again.

And we will invite a few other people—perhaps your mother and Constance will come, Miles, and Prudence too if she is not too embarrassed about her condition, though I think she will not be at a small informal dinner party, do you? We can have cards afterward or charades, perhaps. Sir Gerald can play for us on the pianoforte—he plays well, Boris, and did so yesterday afternoon while Miles taught me how to waltz. And Laura can sing. She has a very sweet voice.”

“Pardon me, ma’am,” Sir Gerald said, “but I regret to say I have another engagement for tomorrow evening.”

“Oh,” Abigail said. “What a shame.”

“But you must certainly come, Boris,” the earl said. “And you too, if you will, Miss Seymour. We will decide on our other guests later, my love.”

Boris’s arm was rigid beneath her hand in that way he had always had at home before ripping up at her. Laura was flushing and looking decidedly uncomfortable. Oh, dear, Abigail thought. Oh, dear. Had her mouth run away with her again?

Her husband was smiling, she saw when she looked up at him. “As you can tell,” he was saying to Boris, “we had decided that we would invite you the moment Abby next saw you. And, Miss Seymour, being my wife’s closest friend, I am afraid that you must accustom yourself to being a frequent guest in our home. Abby refuses to be without you, and I refuse to disappoint her.”

Boris’s arm felt more like an arm again. Laura visibly relaxed. Abigail gazed at her husband with renewed respect. He had smoothed over an uncomfortable moment and made it appear as if her words had not been so impulsive after all.

Sir Gerald offered Laura his arm and they began to stroll along the crowded corridor. The earl saw an elderly couple some distance away to whom he wished to pay his respects.

“Are you coming with me, Abby?” he asked. “Or do you wish to stay here with your brother for a few minutes?”

“I shall stay,” she said. “Don’t let me stop you, Miles.”

She turned to her brother as he walked away.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked eagerly. “Have I made a good marriage or haven’t I?”

“I don’t suppose you had really discussed with him the idea of inviting me to dinner the very next time you saw me?” he said.

“But he did not mind,” she said. “You are my brother.”

“And your friend was mortified too,” he said. “Abby!”

“Don’t scold,” she said. “Don’t, Boris. I am so very happy that we can be together occasionally again. You must come to Severn Park with us in the summer and we can all be together again—the four of us. The girls will be ecstatic to see you.”