Page 44 of Inconvenient Honor
The dismal mood that had troubled him for weeks descended again, threatening to crush him. He must marry; he owed it to his name and lineage. Lady Sarah met every criterion he sought in a future duchess: breeding, manners, looks, money… She came close to perfection. He simply couldn’t bring himself to like the match. Irrelevant, he tried to tell himself, duty doesn’t require pleasure.
Still he couldn’t warm to the idea, and nothing in the mediocre performance distracted him. Once he caught Castlereagh casting an assessing glance at the lady. While Richard didn’t require the foreign secretary’s approval to marry, that approval would smooth his career. From the man’s face, it appeared there would be no objection.
The performers droned on, and Lady Sarah made every pretense of watching the play. Unless someone watched as carefully as Richard did, they missed her covert glances at other boxes. With the slightest tightening of lip or elevation of brow, her face reflected approval here, clear disapproval there, and the occasional outright condemnation somewhere else. Drama would never hold this woman’s attention; society with its castes and intrigues always would.
What, he wondered,will we ever find to discuss over breakfast? Not the theatre.
He saw with sudden clarity that it didn’t matter. They would rarely share breakfast. She would break her fast in her boudoir and be above stairs until time for afternoon calls. He would rise at seven as always, take a vigorous walk or ride, dress, and be at his desk before the clerks.
Marriage to Lady Sarah would not disrupt his ordered life. Thatought to be enough. He suppressed the niggling thought that it might not be.
Applause cut in to his morose musings. He rose, grateful for an excuse to get away.
“Shall we stroll along the promenade?”
She glanced once around to make sure eyes followed her every move and once back to his mother, who nodded her approval with regal dignity. “I would be delighted to, my lord,” she said.
The upper hall behind the box seats quickly filled with people equally eager to stretch their legs and just as avid to be seen. Richard’s companion strolled with grace and dignity, occasionally nodding a greeting.
She’s damned careful whom she acknowledges and whom she does not!
Poor Martha Rutledge, whose older brother teetered on the brink of Newgate for debts, got the cut direct. Richard nodded gravely at the woman behind his companion’s back.
He noted the greetings Lady Sarah reserved for the sons and daughters of the higher peers. Lesser nobility got cold nods.
Baroness Widener merited barely a nod. What will she make of my friend Jamie, a mere Baron Ross. It feels, he thought, rather like walking with my mother, an activity I rarely like. He had experience ignoring his mother.Can I ignore a wife as well?
They were almost back to the box when the unexpected sight of his sister Georgiana and her husband gave him a spurt of joy that made his face wrinkle into a smile, the first unforced one of the evening.
“Richard! We noticed you making use of the familial box,” Georgiana exclaimed.
“My lady.” Her husband bowed correctly to Lady Sarah.
Richard felt her go stiff at his side. She did not return the greeting.
“At least one of you remembers manners,” Richard told his sister with a nod at her husband.
“What do you think of Miss Boothe’s Cymbeline?” Georgiana asked. She, at least, actually watched the play. Her enthusiasm amused him.
Andrew laughed. “Don’t answer her, Richard. The Bard has had enough insult for one night.” Richard noticed his friend’s surreptitious glance at Lady Sarah standing stiff and silent.
“She is rather awful, isn’t she?” Richard agreed. “I expected you two to be at dinner with Chadbourn and his countess.”
“Professor Brauner gave us his seats,” Georgiana told him.
“No fool, he,” Andrew said. “Must have known it would be bad.”
His wife poked his ribs. “Tickets are a rare treat for us,” Georgiana went on. “Catherine urged us to attend Cymbeline and come late.”
“We’re going there now. We’ve had all the theatrical histrionics we can take,” her husband added.
“Don’t let me keep you from it,” Richard told them. His companion remained mute; her hand bit into his arm.
“My lady,” Andrew bowed his exit and offered his arm to his wife. The look they shared when they walked away gave Richard a pang.
When did lovers’ looks begin to strike you as anything but maudlin. Haydens despise middle class notions of romance, remember? Get a grip, man.
“Your mother does not receive them.” His companion hissed beside him.
