The Ideal Wife(53)

Abigail got to her feet and rushed blindly for the door. She yanked it open and collided hard with her husband’s chest.

“Abby?” he said. “I did not realize you were alone. I am so very sorry, dear. Your brother has returned to his seat?”

“Yes, he has,” she said. “I was just coming to see where you were, Miles. The play is about to resume, and I was sure you would not wish to miss the beginning and perhaps lose the trend of the plot. Though probably you have seen it before and know very well what happens, do you? And Laura and Sir Gerald are not back. I thought I would call to them, for I know very well that Laura will not wish to miss a single moment. Ah, but here they are now. Are you enjoying the play, Laura? I have not had a moment to speak with you since the interval began. Was it not fortunate that we met Boris here? I have been wanting you to meet him for so long, but there has never been a chance. Tomorrow—”#p#分页标题#e#

“Abby.” Her husband had her by the elbow and was speaking quietly to her. “The play is starting, dear.”

She sat down and folded her hands in her lap. She fixed her eyes on the stage and did not move them for the rest of the performance, though she saw not a single action and heard not a single word.



ABIGAIL HAD SENT ALICE to bed. She was not used to having a maid and had no wish to be undressed by one that night, just as if she did not have hands and fingers of her own. And she did not wish to have someone else brush out her hair. She would do it herself.

She sat before her mirror brushing and staring at her reflection. Plain. Dull. Someone to be taken into the country and left there and forgotten about. Someone to be got with child. To bear an heir. To be bred just as the cows and the sheep were bred. Someone to fade into the background. Beautiful, expensive Jenny. A nobody. Vulgar. Plain. Dull.

It was all true. All of it. She had never had any illusions about her looks or her charm. And she had known that there was something strange about the haste of his offer to her. He had admitted that he wished to be married before his mother arrived in town. He had never pretended any personal regard for her.

There was nothing hurtful in what she had heard. She had known it all before.

Except about beautiful, expensive Jenny, that was. He had told her he had no mistress.

Had she thought that her own charms could hold him? Miles, the most beautiful man she had known?

She set her brush down and picked up his pearls from the dressing table. She ran a finger lightly over a few of the smooth beads. Because her mother’s pearls were too long and too heavy to be worn with an evening gown. A gift. Something to keep his dull wife satisfied and quiet. Something to make her feel of value. Like the diamonds. A wedding present. Something to give her the illusion of beauty.

She turned suddenly and hurled the necklace with all her strength across the room. And then she scurried after it and picked it up and examined it. By some miracle, the string had not broken and none of the pearls had been damaged. She closed her hand over them.

She would wager they were real, she had said, and he had laughed. Money, of course, was something the Earl of Severn had in great abundance.

He could afford the beautiful Jenny.

She sat down heavily on the stool again, set the pearls down, and braided her hair with hasty and determined fingers.

She finished only just in time. There was a tap on her dressing-room door, and her husband came in without waiting for her answer.

“Are you coming to bed?” he asked with a smile. “I thought perhaps you had fallen asleep in here.”

“No,” she said.

“Oh, Abby,” he said, “you have braided your hair.”

“It is easier to comb in the morning,” she said.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, coming up behind her and setting his hands on her shoulders.

“Nothing,” she said.

He smiled. “When you answer in single words, Abby,” he said, “there is something very wrong. It has been a tiring day for you, hasn’t it? I called on Mama on my way home this afternoon. Some of the old tabbies gave you a rough time?”

She could no longer feel dismay that he had known all evening what she had kept from him herself. “Nothing that I did not give right back again,” she said. “Your mother has told you how vulgar I was, doubtless.”

He squeezed her shoulders. “If you spoke up for yourself,” he said, “then I am with you, Abby. May I ask one thing of you?”

She looked at him in the mirror.

“It is difficult to adjust to the married state, is it not?” he said. “It is hard to stop thinking as an individual and start thinking as a couple. I did not have anything definite in mind for tomorrow evening, though I planned to ask if you wanted to go to Mrs. Drew’s soiree. In future shall we discuss our plans together before making them public? I am sure that I will slip up too before much time has passed, and find myself arranging things before I remember to consult you. It is a difficult adjustment.”