Chapter Two
“Reed.” Lucy stood in the doorway of Reed’s bedchamber, looking with dismay on her husband in his shirtsleeves, his cravat tossed aside, and his feet shoeless. “You cannot go out dressed the way you are.”
Though none of her new, fashionable gowns had arrived from the modiste, she had chosen the most modish of her older gowns to wear that night.
Her abigail had threaded ribbons through her hair and quite artfully tucked tiny white flowers throughout.
And Lucy had chosen to wear the amber necklace Reed had given her at Christmas.
She’d taken great pains in her preparations, and there Reed sat in his shirtsleeves.
He kept his gaze on the paper held unfolded in front of him. “I mean to stay in tonight.”
Lucy stepped inside. Surely Reed was teasing.
He’d required prodding each evening since their arrival in London, but tonight was different.
They were scheduled to attend the Parvells’ ball, the event at which they had first been introduced the year before.
On that night a year earlier, she’d arrived nervous and unsettled, so afraid of spending the evening as a wallflower.
But then she’d met him, and everything in both of their lives had changed for the better.
The Parvells’ ball would always be special to the two of them.
“Tonight is the Parvells’ ball, dearest,” she reminded him.
“We have been out every evening this week,” he said. “I am too weary to go out again.”
They had indeed attended several functions over the past few nights, but Reed had insisted on returning home long before the events were over.
They’d not been out late; neither had they attended more than one function in any given evening.
Furthermore, he’d spent the day at his club.
How could he be too tired for a ball, especially this one? This was their special anniversary.
“We replied to the invitation already, Reed. The Parvells are expecting us.”
“The ball will be exceptionally crowded.” He turned a page of the paper, slumping down in his chair a little more. He was the very picture of a gentleman settling in for a long, leisurely read. “The Parvells will not notice our absence, nor will they care.”
“I will care,” she answered. “I have been looking forward to this evening. And I am already dressed to go.”
“But, as you pointed out,” he said, “I am not.”
“I cannot go without you,” she said, her voice quieter than before.
Married women had more freedom than unmarried, but to attend a ball without her husband when they were only newly married would be not only noted, but fodder for the gossips.
More than that, she wanted him to go with her.
“We needn’t stay beyond the supper dance. ”
He lowered his paper and looked at her over it, his expression one of near exasperation. “The supper dance isn’t until one o’clock in the morning. I have no desire to be out that late.”
“But we would be out together. And we could dance with each other.”
“We have been out almost every night since arriving in Town.”
She stepped to his chair, unsure what to make of the annoyance in his face. “Have you not enjoyed the Season thus far?”
“I would enjoy the Season far more if I were permitted to spend it in peace and quiet.” His sincerity could not have been more apparent. He didn’t seem angry, simply determined to remain home.
Lucy held back the immediate protest that sprang to her lips.
Perhaps he really was tired. He had objected the evening before, and she’d pleaded with him until he agreed, just as she had the evening before that and the one before that.
She didn’t want to argue with him again.
If he didn’t wish to go to their special anniversary ball, she wouldn’t press him to.
“I won’t pester you to go. There will certainly be other balls.” She managed a bit of a smile.
“Yes, there are always other balls,” he said dryly, a touch of a smile on his face.
Lucy pondered that a moment, even after Reed raised his paper once more.
He’d always seemed to enjoy balls while he was courting her.
Not only balls; he’d eagerly sought her out at musicales and soirees, and he’d visited her family box at the theater every time she was in attendance.
So why was he chafing so much at the social whirl now?
While they were yet unwed, he could only have enjoyed her company for the brief moments allotted a couple with no understanding between them.
But now married, they would have each other’s company the entire night at whatever event they attended.
Perhaps that is the difficulty. He has grown weary of me.
Lucy refused to ponder that idea more deeply. “I’ll leave you to your paper, then.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek.
He gave her a fleeting smile then returned to his reading once more. She returned to her room. There was no need to tug the bell pull; her lady’s maid hadn’t left yet.
“Were you needing something else, ma’am?” The maid’s look of confusion was more than understandable.
“There’s been a change of plans,” Lucy said, keeping her expression and tone light. “We will be staying in tonight.”
And they stayed in the next night, and the night after that. For an entire fortnight, the pattern repeated. She dressed for the evening’s engagement then attempted to convince him to join her. Sometimes he did. Most times he did not.
The night of her dearest friend Fanny Alistair’s ball, Lucy stepped into Reed’s room once more, a feeling of dread settling on her shoulders. She’d lived this moment so many times over the past weeks, never sure if Reed would agree to an evening out. He’d not once agreed to attend a ball.
Her heart dropped at finding her husband in his usual nightly state of half-dress. They’d spoken only that morning at breakfast of Fanny’s ball and Lucy’s desire to attend. He couldn’t have forgotten.
“Reed?”
He looked up. She could see in his eyes that he knew immediately what she’d come to ask. “I suppose this means you don’t wish to stay in tonight?”
“Tonight is Fanny’s ball,” she reminded him. “I have longed to attend a ball.”
His shoulders slumped. “There will always be others. We needn’t go to all of them.”
“All of them? We haven’t gone to any of them.”
“But balls are so tedious. Wouldn’t you rather have a quiet evening—”
“A quiet evening at home?” She repeated the phrase she’d heard from him more than any other the past two weeks. “There wasn’t a single Society function last Season you didn’t seem to make an appearance at,” Lucy said. “You danced with me at every ball, sat beside me at every musicale.”
Reed rose from his chair and crossed to the doorway. “Of course I did, Lucy. Every unmarried gentleman knows what is required of him. We dance that dance because we must.”
“I don’t understand.”
He took her hands in his. That familiar gesture set her thoughts more at ease. No matter their different preferences of late, he was ever tender and kind. She disliked feeling at odds with him.
“I attended the balls and soirees and everything else last Season because you were there,” Reed said. “I was courting you, dear. A suitor is required to do all those things. A husband is not.”
A husband is not. The pieces began to fall into place. “Now that you’ve secured yourself a wife, you aren’t obligated to squire her about to all those ‘tedious’ affairs.”
“No, thank the heavens.” He smiled as if being excused from accompanying her to those same entertainments they had once enjoyed was the greatest of escapes. Had he feigned his pleasure the Season before? Or did he simply not wish to be bothered to take her about?
“You don’t wish to go to Fanny’s ball tonight?”
He slipped a hand beneath her chin and gave her a quick kiss on the lips.
“No gentleman ever wishes to go to a ball. We only go when we absolutely have to, but once that obligation has passed we happily leave the chore to those gentlemen still neck-deep in the Marriage Mart.” He gave her a lopsided smile then walked back to his chair.
This was her future then. She would either be forced to attend balls alone and be a wallflower as she’d feared during her time as an unwed young lady, or she would spend her nights in Town gazing out windows, wishing her husband had enjoyed dancing with her as much as he’d pretended to.
A suitor is required to do all those things. A husband is not.
She had been worth the effort of a courtship before they married. Now that he’d secured her hand, going about with her was seen as a chore, a distasteful bit of effort he’d rather not make.
Lucy returned to her bedchamber as she had so many times over the past two weeks. Her maid had taken to simply waiting for her. In silence, she helped Lucy undress then pulled the many pins from her hair.
Why did I even bother?
She felt rather like an old pair of slippers.
She wanted to be worth the effort to him again.
She wanted the feeling of being cherished and treasured, the joy of dancing with him, of watching for him to appear at her theater box.
She wanted him to do all those things, not because courtship required it of him, but because he wished for her company.
Her “perfect” Season had crumbled. She had looked forward to the coming months with eager anticipation. Then Reed declared going about with her a “chore.” Her heartache began to give way to frustration then a surge of determination.
Perhaps it is time Reed discovered what life is like without his comfortable old slippers.