With that, the trio of men made the long trek upstairs to the promenade deck, leaving Louisa and the other women three storeys below and half a world away.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The ladies moved to one end of the table, laughing and chatting, and enjoying their feminine camaraderie. They were as happy to be rid of the men as the men were happy to dash off in search of cigars and cards.
Louisa had followed them once—after her betrothal dinner, in fact—curious to know what it was the menfolk were so eager to adjourn to. They’d gathered in the billiard room of the Thurston Reid’s mansion, stripping their jackets and loosening their neckties. They’d slumped in armchairs and kicked their feet up on leather ottomans. Pappa had enjoyed a glass of bourbon by the fire, while other guests took brandy, whiskey, or coffee.
She had looked through the keyhole for Lord Granborough. He’d stood across from Pappa’s chair, one elbow propped up on the marble mantelpiece, smoking a cigar. His face had been strained, his honey-blond head wreathed in tobacco smoke, and his eyes reflected the blaze. It was as if he was burning up, smoldering from the inside out, yet his agony had been visible only to her.
Louisa had feared that His Lordship was displeased with their marriage settlement, but her family had been generous. They’d desired a match with the marquess and weren’t going to let anything so trifling as finances get in the way of Louisa’s success.
That night had been the first time she’d seen the shade fall. Lord Granborough’s mask had slipped for an instant, and she’d glimpsed the rot concealed within. That look in his eyes hadn’t frightened her. It had strengthened her resolve to marry the man—at last, she’d witnessed something true, something real and vulnerable about him.
He was only a man, after all. She wasn’t marrying a noble institution, a vast estate, or a legacy as everyone seemed to believe. She was gaining a husband, possibly a friend, and an imperfect person who might someday prove worthy of her loyalty.
Tonight, Louisa had gotten a further glimpse at whatever plagued him. He’d kept her ignorant of his mother, or maybe His Lordship had kept his mother ignorant ofher.Either way, it was clear to everyone at the dinner table that her husband had never intended the two women to meet.
She would not push the issue. Unlike the night of her betrothal dinner, when she’d peeped through the keyhole into a man’s world, Louisa wouldn’t sneak or spy. She would be there for her husband, standing upright and honest, whenever he was ready to reveal himself.
A waiter removed her dish ofgelée aux fruitsfrom the table. “Would you care for coffee, ma’am?”
She would be up late enough without the stimulation of caffeine. Indeed, coffee was the last thing she needed. “Champagne, please.”
The fellow hastened to find a bottle.
Mrs. Meyer leaned toward her, eager to welcome their young tablemate into the conversation. “My maid heard from your maid thatyouhave a bicycle stored in the cargo hold. What a statement of feminine independence! Tell me, do you intend to bring our American sense of empowerment to the old world?”
Louisa hadn’t meant it as a declaration. She’d simply enjoyed the exercise and freedom of movement a bicycle provided. “I like the idea of traveling on my own, if only for short jaunts. It’s convenient, and there is no need for a coachman, who is just another man looking over my shoulder.”
The woman nodded. “We sell them at Meyer’s, reluctantly. My husband doesn’t understand the cycling craze, but he’s all too happy to offer bloomers, caps and veils, dusters, and split-skirts for our intrepid clientele. Any activity that requires a costly wardrobe is featured on our sales floors and in our catalogs.”
One of the Misses Broome inquired, “What does His Lordship think of your bicycle?”
“I never thought to ask, but I’m certain I’ll hear about it, as Lord Granborough rarely keeps his opinions to himself,” she said. “He won’t forbid me, if that’s what you are thinking.”
If he ever tried to curb her liberty, Louisa would not go quietly. She had intended a marriage of equality, a true union. A partnership in the business of life.
Pappa had insisted she keep her finances separate from those of her husband. He’d had a clause spelled out in her marriage contract—Louisa’s investments and annuities were hers alone to spend as she pleased. She carried her purse and checkbook with her, and must always retain her autonomy.
The waiter returned with an empty champagne glass. He placed it on the table, and then delivered a perfectly chilled bottle of Bollinger. The man poured her a glass, and Louisa offered to share her bounty with her neighbors.
All of the ladies took champagne. In a moment, the bottle was tipped empty and the waiter cleared the evidence. The music from the assembly room above grew livelier, and the remaining guests in the dining saloon spoke loudly over the din. This was hardly the hushed, genteel atmosphere that the men had abandoned only a quarter of an hour earlier.
Girls could have their fun, too.
The Broome sisters grew flushed and breathless. They deployed ivory fans to cool themselves from the rich food, overly warm room, and alcohol buzzing through their veins. With lips loosened by drink, the giddy spinsters chattered to Louisa about her honeymoon, her handsome husband, and of the life awaiting her in their homeland.
“His Lordship is smitten,” one of the sisters said, all aflutter. “I observed you both through dinner, and he could not take his eyes off his pretty young bride!”
Louisa sipped her glass of champagne, barely registering the gossip. Unlike the spinsters, she lingered at the table because she knew what was coming later—yes, Lord Granboroughhadwatched her all through the meal. When her husband returned to their stateroom suite after fortifying himself with smoke, drink, and bawdy talk, he would take her to bed. He would part her legs and take his pleasure inside her.
She downed her champagne and searched the room for a waiter. She’d been too generous and the bottle had gone too quickly. Surely, someone could fetch another before the service concluded for the night.
Madame de Roubernon suspected her plan. The beautiful Frenchwoman leaned toward Louisa to whisper, discreetly, “The wine won’t help. Have a warm bath instead.”
Louisa was mortified, yet also relieved because her mother wasn’t there to give her advice. In fact, Mamma had been no help at all in matters of honeymoons and husband-pleasing. She’d sent her daughter to the altar without a bit of practical knowledge. Madame de Roubernon, however, was worldly. She was willing to help, and Louisa was grateful.
“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” said the woman, noting her blushes.“Presque tout le monde dans cette pièce a fait l'amour.”
