Chapter 23
Being on the dance floor changed things, although the change was so subtle that at first Susan couldn’t identify what had happened.
It was as if a curtain had been drawn around them somehow.
The pressure to pretend, to put on an act, seemed to diminish.
It was strange. They were being watched just as much as ever.
In fact, there were more eyes on them. Susan could see their fellow dancers glancing at them out of the corners of their eyes, and of course, there were the ladies lining the walls and whispering behind their hands.
Everyone had opinions, and everyone felt compelled to discuss them.
But after a moment, she put it together.
The difference was that everyone was at a distance now.
Everyone was still watching them, but it wasn’t up close the way it had been when she had been talking to her father.
They could draw conclusions about what Norman and Susan were doing, but Susan didn’t have to face head-on what those conclusions were.
Also, nobody could overhear their conversation, and that made things feel more private.
“How did you know I liked white wine?” she asked him. “I never told you that before.”
“You always drink it at dinner,” he said with a shrug, not focusing on her face as they moved through the steps of the dance.
She frowned. “You don’t talk to me at dinner.”
“That isn’t true,” he countered. “I always say good evening.”
“A greeting. We don’t have conversations. Not like we did the night of the storm. “When did you take the time to learn anything about me?”
“It isn’t that serious,” he told her. “I pay attention to what you’re doing because you’re my wife. It seems to me that I ought to know what my wife likes to drink.”
She shrugged. “I suppose it was a good idea,” she said. “That way you can be ready to answer questions when my father challenges you about it. I should probably be doing the same thing—picking up little facts about you that I can repeat when someone asks me. What’s your favorite kind of wine?”
He huffed out a laugh. “You already know the answer to that.”
“Well, all right, I know it’s red because I just saw you take a glass of red.”
“That’s all I’m talking about,” he said.
“I’ve seen you reach for white wine at dinner, just as you saw me take red today.
It’s not ridiculous that I noticed it. Among other things, I needed to pay attention to that fact so that I could make sure you had what you would want at the house.
I keep white wine in stock, but if I didn’t, I would want to acquire it for you. ”
“Why?” She frowned. “Why would you want to do that?”
“Do I have to explain this?”
“No, I mean… thank you,” she said. “It’s generous of you. I just don’t quite see why you would go to all that trouble for a moment when nobody is watching us. When nobody can draw any conclusions about the nature of our marriage.”
“Is that what you think about the night of the storm?” he asked her, his voice dropping slightly so that she was suddenly sure she was the only one who could hear it.
“Do you think I invited you into my room that night out of concern for what people would think about it? Because, you know, nobody could see us then either. Nobody can draw any conclusions about that. I assume you’re not telling people about it. ”
“No. Of course I’m not.”
“So then why would anybody know about it? And therefore why would I have done it at all? It doesn’t make sense from your perspective. You can’t think that everything I do is just out of a desire to look good. I may be shallow, but I’m not completely lacking in substance.”
She flushed. “That isn’t what I think.”
“Then explain.”
“I don’t think you make every choice in your life out of a desire to look good,” she clarified.
“But when it comes to me—to our relationship—of course you do. We both do. We spoke about it in the carriage, just now, before we came inside. We reminded each other that we were going to have to continue to put on an act for everyone at the ball, to make them think that we were desperately in love.”
“Yes, we did,” he agreed.
“So don’t act as though I’m being mad to think that the same principle must govern your behavior at other times,” she said. “When we are at home…”
He shook his head. “You’ve thought about this far too much.
When we’re at home, I’m usually thinking about what’s happening in the moment.
I think about the time we’re spending together.
When you knocked on the door to my room that night, I didn’t think to myself, This will make a good story to tell everyone in London.
Of course, he hadn’t. That seemed obvious, now that she thought about it.
Of course, she had been attributing too much intention to things.
There wasn’t anyone who sat around all the time pondering how his actions might be perceived by the rest of society.
Even her father—the most socially conscious man Susan knew—relaxed when he was at home.
But then…
Her mind returned to the question of the wine.
It was such a small thing. People noticed things about each other, of course.
She had noticed things about him. She had noticed the way he drank red wine, as he said.
She’d noticed the fact that he never added any milk or sugar to his tea—he preferred to drink it bitter.
She had noticed the book he was reading, left out on an end table in the library—she’d even picked it up once to discover that it was a war story…
But that was her.
Yes, it was true that she had done none of those things out of a desire to impress or to show anyone else the legitimacy of their relationship.
She had done them out of a genuine interest in him.
Seeing that book, she had been compelled to pick it up, to try to find out what was so engaging to him that he had chosen to read about it.
And when she saw him drink tea, she had taken notice because it told her more about him.
She noticed these things because she was interested in him.
And that, perhaps, was the biggest problem in all of this. If he had noticed something about her, didn’t that mean he was interested in her?
A shiver ran through her at the thought. Don’t believe it. Don’t let yourself think it.
But what if it was true?
The music stopped. She waited, expecting that Norman would release her.
Maybe he would even lead her back to her father.
He had said they weren’t going to stay very long, and now they had done what they intended to do.
They had shown their faces; they had presented a front of being in love with one another.
They had danced, allowing themselves to be seen in one another’s arms. All of that was accomplished now.
But he didn’t let her go.
She looked up at him, her heart beating madly, anxiety at war with something much more pleasant inside her.
Was he holding her here because she had disappointed him?
Maybe he was going to insist on another dance because he felt they hadn’t been tender enough toward each other in that first one.
She thought again of Lady Keethroad, sneering and doubting.
Perhaps Norman had been as shaken by that encounter as she had.
“Another dance,” he said.
She opened her mouth and then closed it again.
“Do you mind?”
“Of course not.” She wanted to, she found.
She was grateful. Grateful to him for asking, grateful to circumstances for requiring it.
She was even grateful to Lady Keethroad, if indeed it was she who had convinced Norman that this was necessary.
Her doubting and questioning would be the thing that allowed them to spend a few more moments close to one another.
As Norman swept her into the steps of the next dance, Susan was aware of eyes on the two of them.
People were taking notice, even more so than they had before.
But that only made sense. They had lingered on the dance floor, where others had moved along.
Most couples shifted after each dance. People found new partners.
It was rare for a pair to stay together.
Some might even have said that it was inappropriate, though Susan didn’t think so. They were newlyweds, straight out of their honeymoon. It would be expected that they would want to remain together as much as possible.
But even so… “I doubt anyone will question the way we feel about one another after this,” she said, her hand coming to rest against his.
The warmth and pressure of his palm made her heart skip a beat.
“Seeing us dance together like this… people will understand that our marriage is real. We’ll have made our point. ”
“I wish you’d worry a little less about that,” Norman said.
But hadn’t he been the one who had turned the conversation in the direction of this specific concern?
She thought back to those moments in the carriage.
Yes, it had definitely been he who had brought it up.
She’d agreed with him about the need to think of the way they were being perceived.
After all, that was the whole reason to attend a ball.
Rather, she had assumed that would be his whole reason. For her, it was simpler. She had known she would have fun here tonight. She had imagined wearing a beautiful dress and dancing in her husband’s arms, and that had been a wonderfully appealing picture.
And now it’s happening, and he’s telling me to stop worrying about what people think and to just enjoy it.
“I can do that,” she said softly, looking up at him.
She was startled by what she saw there.
He was gazing down at her with more softness in his eyes than she had ever seen from him. It reminded her of something. Where had she seen that look before?
The steps of the dance took her away from him, and she turned her back to him briefly. When they returned to one another, the expression she had seen on his face had faded. It had been replaced by the detached look she was used to, and the pounding of her heart returned nearer to normal.
But she knew what she had seen. And now, in its absence, she realized where she had seen it before.
That was the look on Gilbert’s face when he looked at Marina.
It was a look of deep affection.
The realization nearly froze her where she stood.
There had to be a mistake.
He didn’t feel that way about her. The way Gilbert felt about Marina… he couldn’t.
The idea actually brought some relief. Of course, he couldn’t feel that strongly.
But that look on his face… she couldn’t quite make sense of it. There was some fondness there. He had some sort of feeling for her.
Maybe he really did notice what wine I like to drink. Maybe he noticed it, not because he was making plans to use the information, but simply… because he noticed.
Maybe he notices me.
Something in the core of her being tightened at the thought of it.
This was an arrangement based on convenience. Based on what was mutually advantageous. It was never supposed to be anything more than that.
But she would be lying if she said she hadn’t begun to grow fond of this strange man she had married.
Was it possible—on any level, in any way—that he felt the same?
He turned away from her. “I have to go,” he said. “Thank you for the dance—for the dances. There are people I need to see, people I need to speak to, while we’re here.”
“Go,” she said quietly, releasing him. “I’m all right.”
But she wasn’t. Not really. She was shaken to her very core.
On some level—some level I don’t even understand… could he possibly care for me?