Chapter Fifteen
Merry went aboutwith a long face for most of the next day, but in the evening, she brightened amidst the delightful company at Lady Severn’s card party. Especially when several young men gathered around her. Dressed in one of her own gowns of pale apricot, she flirted and laughed with them.
Kate breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps she would now forget the Frenchman, with his poetic black curls and wounded dark eyes.
Robert seemed more than content to leave Merry to Kate’s ministrations. He spent a good deal of the evening with his friends around the card table.
It was very late when they came home. In the upper corridor, Robert said goodnight to them both and made his way to his bedchamber.
Merry paused in the dim light from the candle stubs flickering in their sconces. “My father and mother sleep in the same bed.”
“It’s not always the way in London,” Kate said a lurch of dismay. What sort of example might she and Robert be setting? Merry must consider their marriage to be a very dry affair, which undoubtedly it was.
“I suppose that’s so,” Merry said kissing her cheek. “London is much more sophisticated than Bath.”
“Did you enjoy the evening? Mr. Guthridge is an impressive young man.”
Merry giggled. “You sound so old, Kate. He is five and twenty. Years older than you.”
Kate sighed. “Well, you make me feel old sometimes, I confess.”
Merry’s brows drew together. “Do I? I’m sorry. You deserve to be happy, Kate.”
“But I am happy.”
“Are you?”
“Just a little tired, my dear. Goodnight.”
Kate took ages to fall asleep. She had lied to Merry. In truth, she was miserable. How long could this go on? Would she and Robert never be friends? She doubted they would ever be lovers. She had hoped for a while that their one coupling would result in a child. But that proved not to be the case. At this rate, her child-bearing years would have passed by the time he got around to it.
The next afternoon a calling card was presented to Kate where she and Merry sat in the salon with their tapestries and embroidery. Robert had gone to his club.
Kate raised her head from the card to study Merry. “We have a caller. It’s a Mr. Foster.”
Merry’s mouth formed an ‘O’ and her eyes filled with apprehension.
“Please send Mr. Foster up,” Kate said to the footman.
Minutes later, a long-limbed, fair young man of about five and twenty entered the room. He bowed over Kate’s hand.
“Lady St. Malin, how good to meet you at last.”
“Likewise, Mr. Foster. Merry has spoken of you.”
His gray eyes twinkled. “Not all good, I’ll wager.” He bowed over Merry’s proffered hand.
Her cheeks were scarlet, and her eyes sparkled with something akin to anger. “Well, you’ve found me, sir,” she said ungraciously.
Kate frowned at her. “Please sit down, Mr. Foster. May I offer you coffee or wine?”
He reluctantly drew his gaze away from Merry. “No thank you, my lady. I came with the hope I might speak privately to Miss Hargrove.”
Merry shook her head, but Kate had already agreed. There was an awkward silence.
“Very well, then,” Merry said in a sulky tone.
Kate stood. “I must instruct Hove as to the hanging of a painting. It arrives this afternoon. I’ll leave you two alone for a few minutes.”
