“Do I have to explain this?”
“No, I mean… thank you,” she said. “It’s generous of you. I just don’t quite see why you would go to all that trouble for a moment when nobody is watching us. When nobody can draw any conclusions about the nature of our marriage.”
“Is that what you think about the night of the storm?” he asked her, his voice dropping slightly so that she was suddenly sure she was the only one who could hear it. “Do you think I invited you into my room that night out of concern for what people would think about it? Because, you know, nobody could see us then either. Nobody can draw any conclusions about that. I assume you’re not telling people about it.”
“No. Of course I’m not.”
“So then why would anybody know about it? And therefore why would I have done it at all? It doesn’t make sense from your perspective. You can’t think that everything I do is just out of a desire to look good. I may be shallow, but I’m not completely lacking in substance.”
She flushed. “That isn’t what I think.”
“Then explain.”
“I don’t think you make every choice in your life out of a desire to look good,” she clarified. “But when it comes to me—to our relationship—of course you do. We both do. We spoke about it in the carriage, just now, before we came inside. We reminded each other that we were going to have to continue to put on an act for everyone at the ball, to make them think that we were desperately in love.”
“Yes, we did,” he agreed.
“So don’t act as though I’m being mad to think that the same principle must govern your behavior at other times,” she said. “When we are at home…”
He shook his head. “You’ve thought about this far too much. When we’re at home, I’m usually thinking about what’s happening in the moment. I think about the time we’re spending together. When you knocked on the door to my room that night, I didn’t think to myself,This will make a good story to tell everyone in London.
Of course, he hadn’t. That seemed obvious, now that she thought about it. Of course, she had been attributing too much intention to things. There wasn’t anyone who sat around all the time pondering how his actions might be perceived by the rest of society. Even her father—the most socially conscious man Susan knew—relaxed when he was at home.
But then…
Her mind returned to the question of the wine.
It was such a small thing. People noticed things about each other, of course. She had noticed things about him. She had noticed the way he drank red wine, as he said. She’d noticed the fact that he never added any milk or sugar to his tea—he preferred to drink it bitter. She had noticed the book he was reading, left out on an end table in the library—she’d even picked it up once to discover that it was a war story…
But that was her.
Yes, it was true that she had done none of those things out of a desire to impress or to show anyone else the legitimacy of their relationship. She had done them out of a genuine interest in him. Seeing that book, she had been compelled to pick it up, to try to find out what was so engaging to him that he had chosen to read about it. And when she saw him drink tea, she had taken notice because it told her more about him.
She noticed these things because she was interested in him.
And that, perhaps, was the biggest problem in all of this. If he had noticed something about her, didn’t that mean he was interested in her?
A shiver ran through her at the thought.Don’t believe it. Don’t let yourself think it.
But what if it was true?
The music stopped. She waited, expecting that Norman would release her. Maybe he would even lead her back to her father. He had said they weren’t going to stay very long, and now they had done what they intended to do. They had shown their faces; they had presented a front of being in love with one another. They had danced, allowing themselves to be seen in one another’s arms. All of that was accomplished now.
But he didn’t let her go.
She looked up at him, her heart beating madly, anxiety at war with something much more pleasant inside her. Was he holding her here because she had disappointed him? Maybe he was going to insist on another dance because he felt they hadn’t been tender enough toward each other in that first one. She thought again of Lady Keethroad, sneering and doubting. Perhaps Norman had been as shaken by that encounter as she had.
“Another dance,” he said.
She opened her mouth and then closed it again.
“Do you mind?”
“Of course not.” She wanted to, she found. She was grateful. Grateful to him for asking, grateful to circumstances for requiring it. She was even grateful to Lady Keethroad, if indeed it was she who had convinced Norman that this was necessary. Her doubting and questioning would be the thing that allowed them to spend a few more moments close to one another.
As Norman swept her into the steps of the next dance, Susan was aware of eyes on the two of them. People were taking notice, even more so than they had before. But that only made sense. They had lingered on the dance floor, where others had moved along. Most couples shifted after each dance. People found new partners. It was rare for a pair to stay together.
Some might even have said that it was inappropriate, though Susan didn’t think so. They were newlyweds, straight out of their honeymoon. It would be expected that they would want to remain together as much as possible.
