by Jaimey Grant (All Day~Speechless~Dinner)
He'd had a mistress for years. She'd known it all along. Heart aching, she'd comforted herself with the thought that it was nothing more than a physical relationship, something he did to save face before his Society friends.
He'd lost so much respect when he'd married her. She was nothing more than the daughter of a Cit, a despised class of people who earned their money from trade rather than inheriting it as any decent sort would.
Lady Maria sighed and sipped her tea. Was marriage to a duke worth the heartache, the loss? With her marriage vows came the acquisition of a title and position in Society. Security. With her marriage vows came the loss of her friends, her family, and everything familiar and comfortable. Love.
Another sigh escaped, one deep enough and long enough to attract the attention of her guests. The ladies only visited to stare at the interloper, the middle class upstart who dared marry a duke, depriving the better bred young debutantes of the prize.
Maria smiled, forced a few polite words from between stiff lips and told herself that she didn't care how much Lady Amelia Cartwright commiserated with her over her husband's behavior.
“One cannot expect the gentlemen to remain faithful,” Lady Amelia repeated, as if once wasn't enough. “Only women—ahem--ladies are capable of faithfulness.”
Bereft of speech at the unsubtle dig, anger shot through Maria. All humans were capable of faithfulness, regardless of rank or gender. The upper class's inability to understand such logic was baffling. Believing Maria to be as unfaithful as her husband just because her father was a man unafraid to work for his wealth was not only cruel, but asinine.
Maria composed herself, determined to keep the anger, and yes, hurt, from her voice. “I would not know, my lady, as my breeding has taught me never to meddle in the private affairs of others.” She stood as the ladies, every last one of them bearing some title or other, bridled at her insult. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must dress for my gathering this evening.” She nodded to her husband's butler. “Jasper, please show these—ahem--ladies out.”
As she swept from the room, her shoulders straight and elegantly coiffed blond head held high, her fingers clenched her green muslin skirts. She could hear the muffled anger of the ladies leaving, the emotionless tones of Jasper as he ushered them out, and then the blessed silence of a house free of spite. Yet another sigh escaped, a sound Maria had never been in the habit of making before. Her shoulders slumped, just a touch, as she traversed the corridor and entered her chamber.
Would her husband return for the dinner party she'd planned for that night? Of course. Despite his faults, her faults, and the faults in their marriage, they were married, and a brave face must be shown to critical Society. After all, having a mistress was one thing, completely ignoring one's wife in favor of the mistress was quite another.
But then, when one's wife was the daughter of a Cit, one could be forgiven for almost anything. He'd already shown a partiality for his mistress, neglecting Maria in favor of that lady—a widow who actually enjoyed the respect of the ton—and no one seemed bothered by his actions. Only Maria, the wronged wife who knew better than to expect fidelity from her husband. Yet, he would attend a dinner party in his own home. He had to.
All day she'd thought about him but now was the time to dress for her guests. Her French maid bustled forward to help her out of her afternoon gown and into her dinner gown. It was the perfect gown for the evening: gauzy sapphire silk trimmed in cream Brussels lace, the sleeves and high-waisted bodice picked out in perfectly matched seed pearls, and the hem just high enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of a well-turned ankle. Was Maria trying to seduce her husband of only two weeks? Of course.
She loved him.
She refused to sigh again although the urge to do so was great. Her love for a man so far above her in station was pointless. Society marriages were business arrangements. Marriage to a Cit was more of a business arrangement than most. Love didn't enter into it, thus the habit of turning a blind eye to the unfaithfulness of one's spouse.
And despite Lady Amelia's assurances, it was well-known that Society matrons often strayed as well. As soon as their duty was fulfilled—the required heir and a spare—they were free to seek their own pleasures outside the marriage bed, but only with the utmost discretion.
Heat crawled over Maria's face. Having only been married for a short time meant her duty was not even close to being fulfilled. As the possessor of an old title, a prominent title, the duke was honor bound to produce an heir. Since children often didn't survive past infancy, it made sense to produce a spare as well. Maria should have enjoyed her husband's undivided attention until at least the time she could tell him she was increasing.
“That will be all, Colette,” she said as she stood, not bothering to look at her servant. “Please inform me immediately the moment his grace returns.”
“I am here now.”
Maria spun towards the door, one hand flying to her breast. Richard stood just inside her chamber, leaning negligently against the doorpost. He was handsome as always, his curling brown hair falling over one eye, as was its habit. Despite his unsmiling countenance, the hint of a dimple was visible in one cheek, giving him a look of perpetual amusement.
He'd slipped in so quietly, she'd failed to hear the door open. He was already in evening clothes; clearly he'd returned some time ago.
“My lord! I did not expect you so soon.”
Colette bobbed a curtsy to her master and fled, closing the door silently behind her.
Alone with her husband, a rare occurrence for Lady Maria, she didn't know what to say. His expression told her nothing of his mood but the welcoming smile she longed for was nowhere in evidence. She searched for any glimmer of tenderness, any slight indication that his feelings for her were something more than monetary.
How she wished to throw her arms around him, let him know how happy she was to see him! How she longed to tell him she wanted to be the only woman in his life, the only woman he held in his arms, kissed, made love to!
But she was a lady, if not by birth then by training. She could not act in such a manner, no more than she could tell him she loved him more than she'd ever loved anything in her life. It wasn't ladylike; it simply wasn't done.
And so she said nothing, except, “Shall we await our guests in the drawing room?”
He'd had a mistress for years. She'd known it all along. Heart aching, she'd comforted herself with the thought that it was nothing more than a physical relationship, something he did to save face before his Society friends.
He'd lost so much respect when he'd married her. She was nothing more than the daughter of a Cit, a despised class of people who earned their money from trade rather than inheriting it as any decent sort would.
Lady Maria sighed and sipped her tea. Was marriage to a duke worth the heartache, the loss? With her marriage vows came the acquisition of a title and position in Society. Security. With her marriage vows came the loss of her friends, her family, and everything familiar and comfortable. Love.
Another sigh escaped, one deep enough and long enough to attract the attention of her guests. The ladies only visited to stare at the interloper, the middle class upstart who dared marry a duke, depriving the better bred young debutantes of the prize.
Maria smiled, forced a few polite words from between stiff lips and told herself that she didn't care how much Lady Amelia Cartwright commiserated with her over her husband's behavior.
“One cannot expect the gentlemen to remain faithful,” Lady Amelia repeated, as if once wasn't enough. “Only women—ahem--ladies are capable of faithfulness.”
Bereft of speech at the unsubtle dig, anger shot through Maria. All humans were capable of faithfulness, regardless of rank or gender. The upper class's inability to understand such logic was baffling. Believing Maria to be as unfaithful as her husband just because her father was a man unafraid to work for his wealth was not only cruel, but asinine.
Maria composed herself, determined to keep the anger, and yes, hurt, from her voice. “I would not know, my lady, as my breeding has taught me never to meddle in the private affairs of others.” She stood as the ladies, every last one of them bearing some title or other, bridled at her insult. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must dress for my gathering this evening.” She nodded to her husband's butler. “Jasper, please show these—ahem--ladies out.”
As she swept from the room, her shoulders straight and elegantly coiffed blond head held high, her fingers clenched her green muslin skirts. She could hear the muffled anger of the ladies leaving, the emotionless tones of Jasper as he ushered them out, and then the blessed silence of a house free of spite. Yet another sigh escaped, a sound Maria had never been in the habit of making before. Her shoulders slumped, just a touch, as she traversed the corridor and entered her chamber.
Would her husband return for the dinner party she'd planned for that night? Of course. Despite his faults, her faults, and the faults in their marriage, they were married, and a brave face must be shown to critical Society. After all, having a mistress was one thing, completely ignoring one's wife in favor of the mistress was quite another.
But then, when one's wife was the daughter of a Cit, one could be forgiven for almost anything. He'd already shown a partiality for his mistress, neglecting Maria in favor of that lady—a widow who actually enjoyed the respect of the ton—and no one seemed bothered by his actions. Only Maria, the wronged wife who knew better than to expect fidelity from her husband. Yet, he would attend a dinner party in his own home. He had to.
All day she'd thought about him but now was the time to dress for her guests. Her French maid bustled forward to help her out of her afternoon gown and into her dinner gown. It was the perfect gown for the evening: gauzy sapphire silk trimmed in cream Brussels lace, the sleeves and high-waisted bodice picked out in perfectly matched seed pearls, and the hem just high enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of a well-turned ankle. Was Maria trying to seduce her husband of only two weeks? Of course.
She loved him.
She refused to sigh again although the urge to do so was great. Her love for a man so far above her in station was pointless. Society marriages were business arrangements. Marriage to a Cit was more of a business arrangement than most. Love didn't enter into it, thus the habit of turning a blind eye to the unfaithfulness of one's spouse.
And despite Lady Amelia's assurances, it was well-known that Society matrons often strayed as well. As soon as their duty was fulfilled—the required heir and a spare—they were free to seek their own pleasures outside the marriage bed, but only with the utmost discretion.
Heat crawled over Maria's face. Having only been married for a short time meant her duty was not even close to being fulfilled. As the possessor of an old title, a prominent title, the duke was honor bound to produce an heir. Since children often didn't survive past infancy, it made sense to produce a spare as well. Maria should have enjoyed her husband's undivided attention until at least the time she could tell him she was increasing.
“That will be all, Colette,” she said as she stood, not bothering to look at her servant. “Please inform me immediately the moment his grace returns.”
“I am here now.”
Maria spun towards the door, one hand flying to her breast. Richard stood just inside her chamber, leaning negligently against the doorpost. He was handsome as always, his curling brown hair falling over one eye, as was its habit. Despite his unsmiling countenance, the hint of a dimple was visible in one cheek, giving him a look of perpetual amusement.
He'd slipped in so quietly, she'd failed to hear the door open. He was already in evening clothes; clearly he'd returned some time ago.
“My lord! I did not expect you so soon.”
Colette bobbed a curtsy to her master and fled, closing the door silently behind her.
Alone with her husband, a rare occurrence for Lady Maria, she didn't know what to say. His expression told her nothing of his mood but the welcoming smile she longed for was nowhere in evidence. She searched for any glimmer of tenderness, any slight indication that his feelings for her were something more than monetary.
How she wished to throw her arms around him, let him know how happy she was to see him! How she longed to tell him she wanted to be the only woman in his life, the only woman he held in his arms, kissed, made love to!
But she was a lady, if not by birth then by training. She could not act in such a manner, no more than she could tell him she loved him more than she'd ever loved anything in her life. It wasn't ladylike; it simply wasn't done.
And so she said nothing, except, “Shall we await our guests in the drawing room?”
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