‘That is sheer nonsense!” She turned and went up the broad stairway to her bedroom, leaving him standing below glaring after her.
It was then that she made the decision to visit Gustav’s attic studio. Since she was forbidden to be seen with him in public, she would meet him there. That would be her way of defying her husband.
• • •
Two mornings later she appeared in the doorway of Gustav’s attic flat. He was fencing with a pretty young girl whose face was hidden behind a wire mask. The girl was wearing a skirt that had been divided in the center and sewn down to form makeshift pantaloons. Only when she moved about was it clear that she was not wearing a short skirt.
The parries were brisk, and for a few minutes Gustav didn’t notice Enid’s presence. Then he called a halt to the fencing, and, mopping his brow with a white handkerchief, crossed the room to greet her.
“Lady Blair! I was not certain you would keep your promise.”
“I never break one if I can help it,” Enid told him, smiling warmly. “Who is the young lady?”
“Her name is Susan—Susan Smith. Surely that is English enough for you!”
The girl had taken off her mask, and Enid saw that she was extremely pretty, with flowing auburn hair and clear green eyes.
Holding out her hand in a manlike fashion, Susan said, “Call me Susie!”
Enid shook hands with her. “Are you in the theater, Susie?”
“I am at that,” she said proudly. “I’m at Drury Lane. One of the company headed by John Philip Kemble.”
Enid shook her head in bewilderment. “I do not get to the theater too often.”
“He’s the brother of Sarah Siddons. You must have heard of her!”
“Yes. I have seen her on the stage,” Enid said.
“John is her younger brother. There are two other brothers, but Stephen is a year older than he, fat, and a bad actor to boot. And Charles is only thirteen or so. We sometimes use him in plays where a boy is needed.”
Gustav placed an arm around the actress and gave her a knowing smile. “Susie is the leading lady of the company. She is my leading lady as well!”
Susie smiled up at him and exclaimed, “You are a one! What will Lady Blair think? It’s bad enough to find us fencing and me wearing this strange outfit!”
“I think your outfit is very practical,” Enid told her. “And I see no harm in your caring for each other. I think it’s delightful.”
“I would like to be married, Lady Blair, as you are,” the attractive young woman said in her vivacious way.
Enid hesitated. “You should take care. Marriage is not always what it seems.”
“That’s what my mother says,” Susie agreed. “She married a traveling actor and has never had a decent dress to call her own. All because my poor pa’s talent is no match for his thirst for gin!”
“So you are a child of the theater?”
Susie laughed. “I’ve been called that, and I love it. It’s the only way of life I know. Kemble says I have a future, though it’s hard to tell with him, he’s such a moody fellow.”
“Is he of a melancholy nature?” Enid asked.
“Very much so,” Gustav answered. “He even plays his light romantic roles with a grim intensity. And his Hamlet is the most melancholy of those I have seen in both France and England.”
“I shall have to see him perform,” Enid said. “And you as well, Susie.”
“Thank you, my lady.” The young actress studied Enid with bright green eyes. “Most great ladies are old or ugly. You are young
and
beautiful.”
“That compliment is surely pay enough for my visit. I fear I must return to my carriage now.”
Gustav offered to see her down the stairs.
At the entrance door Enid turned to him and said, “I like your friend Susie. She is charming.”
“She is very talented, too,” the Frenchman agreed.
“I’m sure of it.”
“Have you thought about taking up fencing?”
“Perhaps I shall try it,” she replied. “But first I’m going down to Surrey to see my family. I have been away a while now, and since summer is here I feel the moment is right.”
Gustav looked forlorn. “How long will you be gone?”
“A month, maybe less.”
“You will lose much of your proficiency in French if you do not keep at it,” he cautioned her.
“My father speaks French fairly well, so I plan to have test conversations with him.”
“It won’t be the same,” Gustav said unhappily. “At least not for me.”
She smiled and touched his arm. “I will return as soon as I can, and we shall resume our lessons. And fencing, too. In the meantime, have a nice summer with your Susie Smith.”
He frowned. “She does not mean that much to me.”
“I’m sure you get on well together.”
“We do, but so do you and I.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him their relationship was very different, but she thought better of it. “I must go.”
Gustav stepped out on the pavement and helped her into the carriage. “I may wish to write. Where will you be?” he asked.
“Write me a letter in French,” she said, excited at the idea. “And I shall write a reply for you to judge. It will be a sort of exercise. I shall be in Hensworth, Surrey. My father is Lord Alfred Henson, and you can send your letters in care of him.”
“Excellent!” The handsome Frenchman’s hazel eyes were beaming with happiness.
As the carriage moved away and she waved to him in farewell, she had a momentary qualm that Gustav Brideau was becoming much too fond of her. While she was physically attracted to him and often ached for fulfillment as a woman, she did not want to have an affair with him. For one thing, there were echoes of Armand in his manner, and she had no intention of sullying the memory of her brief, but beautiful, romance with the nobleman. For another, she was loath to give herself cheaply. She had no wish to match her husband’s excesses in another direction. Although Andrew continued to bring his boys home and to make life generally uncomfortable for her, she would not lower herself by seeking out affairs simply to punish him. Thus, she would strive to keep Gustav as a friend and a teacher and hoped he would respect her wishes.
Andrew was strangely amenable to the idea of her visiting her parents for a month. His attitude puzzled her momentarily, but the truth soon came out.
“It will be rather convenient, as a matter of fact,” he said. “Vicomte Claude Robert is coming to spend a week or two as my guest. I know you don’t like him, so it’s better that you’re going away.”
“I wouldn’t care to be in his company,” she agreed.
Andrew looked piqued. “You ask me to accept
your
friends, but you refuse to be civil to
mine.”
“Yours are often so much more than friends,” she reminded him.
He crimsoned. “We have an understanding, do we not?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “But since you are so worried about the servants’ tongues wagging, I trust you will be discreet in your carryings-on with the vicomte. No dinner parties with naked young male servants!”
“You will never forgive me for that little joke, will you?”
“I doubt that I ever could.”
Enid stood in the summerhouse on the rear lawn and gazed out at the vine-covered, old brick mansion, at the great elms sheltering it, and at the apple trees in the orchard. She could hear voices and the whinnying of horses from the stables beyond. This was her home, the place where she had grown up and which she loved more than any other. It was the preservation of Henson House and all that it meant to Enid and her parents that had been the true reason behind her marriage to Andrew. Oddly enough, she needn’t have been so quick to marry him after all, since her father was now well enough to look after his affairs again.
She had been heartened the moment she had seen him. Despite Lord Alfred’s use of a walking stick and his loss of weight, much of his old spirit was restored, and his voice was firm and strong. Her mother also looked less ravaged. Lady Caroline’s middle-aged beauty was almost in full bloom again, and she was planning several social events while Enid was at home.
One of the first things Enid’s father had done was to take her into his study for a private talk. In that book-lined room which she had always regarded with awe, he had studied her with troubled eyes and asked, “What about your marriage?”
She had been on guard at once. “I don’t understand your question, Father.”
“I think you do.”
“Father!” she had protested weakly.
“Let us speak freely, my daughter. I am no longer a sick man.”
“For which I’m grateful.”
“And I,” he had agreed. “The Lord has been good. But I was struck down at an unhappy time in my fortunes.”
“That was unavoidable.”
“I am now recovering some of my losses, and, with luck, I shall soon be back to where I was before my illness. You will never again have to worry about my ability to keep this place and take care of your mother.”
“That is the best possible news! I am so happy!”
He had sighed. “But I fear that, in the interim, you have suffered the most because of my situation. You are the one who saved me and thereby paid a great price.”
“What are you saying?” Fear had risen in her throat. Had he heard some wicked gossip?
“We are not so isolated here in Surrey,” he had told her. “Word does get down from London, you know. And the news about your husband and his actions is not what I would wish to hear.”
She had glanced away. “Gossips make much of little.”
“I did not care much for the fellow when we first met,” her father had continued, “but you seemed taken with him. And when he most generously offered to back any overdraft at my bank, I began to think that he was, after all, a sound fellow. It was only his manner that was annoying. In any event, I have cost him nothing. All has been paid back, and I am not beholden to him any more.”
“That he did not tell me.”
“It is something I felt you should know.” He had paused, then said, “I do not wish your mother to hear any of this, since it might throw her into despair, but rumor has it that you have wed a foul man—a sodomist!”
Enid had not been able to look at her father. “It wasn’t your fault, nor mine. Neither of us had any idea at all.”
Lord Alfred’s voice had threatened to crack. “I should have trusted my instincts about him! I should not have let him blind me with his offers of money!”
“It is done now, Father. Please don’t berate yourself.”
“That is why you are here alone, with no husband by your side—why you are so clearly unhappy. My poor dear girl, what is to become of you?”
Her courage had slowly come back now that the worst had been spoken. She had glanced at her father’s sorrowful face and replied, “I shall make a life for myself.”
“How?”
“I’m not sure just yet. But I shall. And one day I hope to win my freedom from Andrew.”
“He wants you as a facade and will not make it easy for you to leave him. I fear he could be most dangerous!”
“I know all that,” she had admitted.
Lord Alfred had leaned forward in his chair, his arms on his cane. “Does the cad have any love for you at all?”
“Not as we understand love. He has a cold nature but a devouring passion. And that passion is not for women.”
“So you have nothing between you!”
“Little. He regards me as an acceptable decoration for his house, as a suitable companion for social events. He has a possessiveness about everything he owns, and I expect he considers me a possession as well.”
“Never!” her father had exclaimed. “Oh, dear Lord, I literally sold you to this fellow in exchange for my own security!”
“I
made the decision. You urged me to be sure of what I was doing—even up to the moment I left for Paris.”
“The Paris wedding!” he had cried. “That alone ought to have warned me!”
“Going to France turned out to be a very important thing for me.”
Lord Alfred had frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You remember Lucinda?”
“Of course. She lives in Versailles with her husband.”
“I went to visit them. They were most kind to me after Andrew had abused me. I met a man there … a friend of theirs. His name is Armand Beaufaire … and I fell in love with him.”
“Does your husband know about this?”
“I think he suspects something, but he has no way of truly knowing.”
“It is unfortunate you didn’t meet this man earlier.”
“I agree. He is a French count, and since things are very bad over there now, I am forced to realize that I may never see him again.”
“Do you plan to continue a loveless marriage with Blair?”
“For the moment. To pass my time better, I have been taking French lessons, and have become much more proficient in the language than I was. I’m even thinking of taking up fencing.”
Her father had looked astounded. “Is that a woman’s sport?”
“Some of the actresses in London are trying it. I thought I might, too.”
Lord Alfred Henson had stared at his daughter and then spoken. “Well, it seems I will have to let you make your own decisions. I am sure you are capable. I do not know what this Frenchman is like, but surely he must be a better man than Andrew Blair.”
“I can promise you that!”
“If you truly love each other, I trust the time will come when you may marry honorably. Though at the moment there are notable barriers to that.”
“I don’t think Andrew would be sympathetic to the idea of my leaving him.”
“Obviously not. He is using you as a front. But whatever you do, know that I will help you in any way possible.”
Now, gazing about her at the lush summer verdancy of the country estate, Enid found her father’s words reassuring. That he was financially independent again was a great relief to her. The house was a much happier place with Lord Alfred up and about.
• • •
A few days later, after one of her mother’s wonderful dinner parties, Enid received a rather disturbing letter from Lucinda. Matters in France had worsened. There was considerable unemployment, and the commercial treaty with England had resulted in a flood of superior as well as poorly made English exports. In Carcassonne alone a thousand workmen had been laid off, and elsewhere workers had smashed English machinery in the belief that such equipment was costing them their jobs.