But then the thought crossed her mind that he might have been checking to see she wasn’t claimed by any men for the next dance. He was still very proprietorial, and she supposed he would remain so until he had his heir. Although, who knew when that would be. It was fortunate at one and twenty she still had a few good years left.
During the following weeks, invitations flowed in. More gowns were ordered, more hats and shoes, reticules, cloaks, and gloves than one body could wish for. A rainbow of colors and textures, silks and satins and nets filled her clothes presses. It should have been a delight. Yet it wasn’t.
When alone together, the air crackled with unexpressed resentment. He had not visited her chamber again. At night, she lay awake tossing and turning and yearning for his touch. She’d surreptitiously studied his handsome face over the dining table, wanting to rush and kiss him, to climb on his lap and put her head against his chest, to feel the pounding of his heart, and know that he loved and desired her.
Robert did not, and now her angry words could never be withdrawn. He barely looked at her. He was flawlessly polite and courteous and gave a wife little reason to complain, even returning at a reasonable hour the nights he spent with his friends. Of that she was sure, for she waited and listened for his tread outside the door.
One evening, as she lay with her candle alight, he paused at her door, and she held her breath, biting her lip to stop from calling out to him. A moment later, she heard his footsteps continue down the corridor to his bedchamber.
He remained aloof, and she feared if she made a plea for something more he would turn away, and things would grow even worse.
Kate had no redress; she couldn’t defend her actions. She had no one to turn to for advice. She considered seeking out his mother again, but didn’t dare, and that left her with the uncomfortably guilty knowledge that she failed in her promise to visit her.
Her distress and loneliness became as unbearable as when her parents died.
At Almack’s assembly on Wednesday evening, she heard herself being described as a charming young matron, and her marriage held up as a shining example to some poor young woman in her first Season. If they only knew!
The musicians in the minstrel’s gallery began to tune their instruments, and Robert, dressed in black knee-breeches, white cravat, and chapeau bras, the required evening clothes for Almack’s, claimed her for a Scottish reel. He accompanied her to the assembly rooms in Pall Mall under sufferance, expressing a dislike for the place; the way one was forced to dress, the terrible food, and the absence of liquor. “Thin bread and butter? Plain cake and tea? No wonder most go to the Pantheon!” He looked so unhappy as he offered her his arm, she sighed.
The evening became memorable when the Duchess of Devonshire came to sit with her. The lovely, vivacious, and intelligent woman was delightful company, with an impressive knowledge of literature. They chatted about books and plays for over an hour, and she expressed the desire to have Kate attend one of her literary soirees.
On the way home in the carriage, Robert broke into Kate’s thoughts. “I’ve arranged for your portrait to be painted.”
“Oh?” Kate was glad he’d condescended to speak to her. But she had little interest in having herself painted. “Who is the artist?”
“Sir Thomas Gainsborough.”
“My goodness.” Heat flooded up her neck to her face. “He painted the Duchess of Devonshire’s portrait. Would he wish to paint me?”
“And why not?”
“Oh, because…”
He sighed heavily. “You are a marchioness, Kate. Have you forgotten?”
“No, Robert, I have had no opportunity to forget.”
His eyes glowered at her. “What does that mean?”
She’d sounded terribly ungrateful and smiled apologetically. “Nothing, I’m sorry.”
He paused, studying her. “We are to visit his studio tomorrow.”
“So soon?” She raised her eyebrows. “What will I wear?”
“I expect Sir Thomas will decide that.” Robert ran a hand over his jaw. “But, wear the pale green.”
“Pale green? Oh, the apple-green evening gown? That’s of a very simple design.”
“Yes, that one. And the black hat with the wide brim. I’ll remove the emeralds from the bank if he requires them.”
Kate began to feel more like an ornament than ever. “If you wish.”
*
Sir Thomas Gainsboroughlived in Pall Mall in Schomberg House, a red brick and stone building.
“Next door is a house of ill-repute,” Robert commented almost to himself as he and Kate crossed the footpath to the front door.
