Page 55 of The Luckiest Lady in London

“Married life is more or less as I’d expected,” he answered, choosing his words carefully.

“What? No paean to marital felicity?”

“Since when do you believe in marital felicity?”

“You are right. What a vulgar concept—and quite beneath The Ideal Gentleman.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. My wife and I deal with each other very favorably, you will see. And I have every expectation we shall maintain great harmony in this house for decades to come.”

“Well, then, my congratulations,” said Lady Tremaine.

But he was already once again distracted. In the mirror above the mantel he could see his wife tapping on Drummond’s arm with the tip of her now-closed fan, in an almost flirtatious manner.

He’d thought she could not stand the man.

“Thank you, my dear. Now, if you will please excuse me, I believe Drummond has something he wants to say to me.”

Drummond, of course, didn’t yet know that he wanted to say anything to Felix. But Felix planned to steer him into a conversation about horseflesh. And if there was anything Drummond could not resist, it was a discussion on the making of a prizewinning stallion.

He set his hand for a fraction of a second on Louisa’s lower back, before placing an arm around Drummond’s shoulders. “I know firsthand how irresistible Lady Wrenworth’s company is, but I do believe Mallen was hoping to arrange a match between your Gibraltar and his Lady Burke.”

“Oh my!” exclaimed Drummond. “Lady Burke has a fascinating bloodline, from what I’ve heard—a worthy match for Gibraltar.”

“Forgive us,” Felix said to his wife, as he maneuvered Drummond away from her.

She nodded, a thin smile on her face. “Of course you are forgiven for every trespass, my lord. Always.”

* * *

For days, it had seemed that the house party would never end, that Louisa would always need to have her public demeanor firmly in place, sixteen hours a day. Then, abruptly, the last full day of the party was upon them.

The morning saw a vigorous tennis tournament. Louisa did not participate in the matches, but she was obliged to watch and applaud as her husband handed out one defeat after another.

For several days after the handkerchief incident, it had seemed as if she were made of cold ash, incapable of even the smallest embers of lust. She had thought that it would always be so, that his contempt had permanently smothered all her yearning.

Unfortunately that had not proved the case, especially at times like this, when she must keep her eyes on him to maintain her image of the devoted bride. So much athletic grace, so much stamina, so much cleverness and strategy—the angles of his shots were a thing of beauty—not to mention, from time to time, sheer physical dominance, when he simply overpowered an opponent with a muscular forehand.

It made her almost thankful for Mr. Drummond’s presence at her side. He did not criticize Lord Wrenworth’s technique or shot selection, but no one else escaped his criticism. And his constant faultfinding grated on her nerves just enough for her not to be prostrate with desire for the husband who did not reciprocate it.

Without that lust on his part, she was just a woman to whom he gave five thousand pounds a year, and who existed in the periphery of his life as a mobile ornament for the estate.

After luncheon, it began to rain. Many of those who had taken part in the tennis tournament were down for a nap, in order to be in top form for the bonfire party in the evening. Of those left awake, the ladies stayed in their rooms to write letters and the gentlemen made use of the billiard room. For once, Huntington was quiet and relaxed.

Louisa retreated to the window alcove in the library, to spend time with a volume on the care and proper operation of telescopes. It was a wonderful book, tailored to a novice, the explanations detailed yet clear—or at least she thought so. She could be reading a housekeeping manual, for all she knew.

Why had he married her at all?

And was that the limit of her womanly appeal, all exhausted in a single night?

He made her miss the man who had baldly schemed to make her his mistress. At least that man had wanted her enough to take risks and damn the consequences. Whereas this man…

A thousand times she had cautioned herself against trusting him. But stupidly, she had been anxious only that she should not translate the physical pleasures he would give her into cascading verses of love. That he would distance himself from her during the honeymoon itself—the thought had never even crossed her mind.

The door of the library opened. The alcove was hidden behind a bookshelf that could slide along on concealed rails. It offered wonderful privacy, but on the other hand, the bookshelf, its back entirely paneled, made it difficult for Louisa to see who had come into the library.

But the sound of the gait was nothing like her husband’s. A woman, most probably. The woman made a round in the library and left after less than a minute.

A light fog had descended on the lake along with the rain, obscuring the opposite bank like a gauzy curtain. But now that curtain drew apart and Louisa found herself looking directly at the Greek folly.