Page 54 of The Viscount's Pearl
She hesitated, then moved closer to him and put her arms about his waist, leaning her cheek against his warm chest. She could hear his heartbeat. “You are a very kind husband.”
His arms came around her at once. At first his embrace was too tight, too much, and she was about to pull away, but then something else settled upon her, a strange peacefulness and instead she pressed closer to him, the tightness a release, her breath growing slower, as though she were about to sleep.
They stood like this for some moments and only when Laurence moved to look down at her face, did she step back. He let go of her at once, but his eyes were warm and Frances almost wanted to step back into his embrace, but she was uncertain. Would it be odd, to simply want to stand in silence, arms about one another? Instead she sat down in the rocking chair and rocked gently, smiling up at Laurence, eager to show that she was grateful for this gift, that this space was right for her, that he had better understood her desires than when he had given her the towering display of shells.
Buoyed up by this small success, Laurence sought out an altogether different sort of help. The burly foreman whom heinstructed seemed confused by the purpose of the work he was to oversee, but Laurence impressed upon him that it must be completed as soon as possible, and paid handsomely to ensure its urgency was understood.
The night of the Margate Pearl Ball was upon them. It was a full moon, lending a twilight glow to the gardens. The Assembly Rooms were glittering with hundreds of candles as well as the decorations made especially for the occasion, including three chandeliers made out of shells. In the tea room were three giant ice sculptures, one of an open clam shell on which had been laid out hundreds of oysters waiting to be eaten, one a seahorse and one a mermaid, the two of which overlooked a table loaded with brilliantly coloured jellies and iced biscuits, many of which were shaped like shells.
The guests, well briefed on the theme of the ball, had taken the idea to heart. The ladies mostly wore white and their pearls, the gentlemen dressed in black but added pearls here and there to their cravat pins, the studs fastening their cuffs, some even attaching a few dangling teardrop pearls to their watch fobs.
But all eyes were on Frances, whose white silk gown was overlaid with a net into which had been worked tiny seed pearls. She wore the tiara and pearls left to her by her godfather. Laurence gazed at her as he led her in.
“You are utterly lovely,” he said. He felt the warmth of her body against his, thought again of how impossible these moments seemed, when there was closeness and yet no pleasure in their marital bed, wondered if he could bear the ache it left in his heart much longer. How was he to break through her reserve?
“I feel overdressed.”
He looked down at her and shook his head. She could not see it for herself, but the shining white of the silk and the pearlsmade her dark hair and grey eyes stand out in contrast. No doubt many of the ladies present thought her skin too brown, but Laurence thought she looked far healthier than most of them. He could see the sunny beach and smell the salt air when he looked at her, rather than the powders and perfumes of dressing rooms. It made him want to hold her close to him, to stroke her dark hair and kiss her long dark lashes, but that would be unseemly and already he was beginning to avoid such moments, for fear of her cool rejection.
Mrs Pagington had spotted them and hurried across the room to greet them.
“My dear Lady Barrington,” she exclaimed, “I do declare it is a great pleasure to meet you at last. The late Lord Barrington was a dear friend of mine and the very least I could do was hold a ball to welcome the new Lord Barrington – and when I was told he had a new bride – well, it called for a double celebration! Now come, my dear, I must introduce you to everyone!”
There followed an unbearable half hour during which names and faces were presented in such a rapid fashion that Frances began to feel dizzy. When Mrs Pagington said she must tell the musicians to strike up Frances turned to Laurence in dismay.
“We must dance with our hosts and the other guests,” Laurence said reluctantly. “I will return to you when I have done my duty.”
Frances felt the weight of what she had agreed to as she danced with first one gentleman and then another, did her best to make small talk and not be her usual blunt self. She could feel the strain of the effort building up in her, had a desperate urge to run home to the gardens at Northdown and sit on the swing, to feel, in its motion, a release of the tension inside her. But that was not what she had promised; she had promised to be Lord Barrington’s viscountess, to be a good wife to him. These sorts ofevents would be part of that agreement. So she must find a way to bear it.
She danced with a seemingly endless array of guests, if only to escape the smothering attentions of Mrs Pagington, when at last she turned to find Laurence by her side.
“Will you accompany me?” he asked.
She took his arm. “I would like a jelly and a drink.” What she really wanted was to escape the Assembly Rooms altogether and go and stand in the cool dark gardens of Northdown House, under the old mulberry and cherry trees, but no doubt that was unsuitable behaviour for a viscountess; she had got away with it only occasionally as a girl. A wife could not be permitted such liberties. A drink of something cold and refreshing was all she could hope for.
He shook his head. “No time for that.”
“No time for it? What else is there to do but eat and drink or dance?”
“That is for everyone else. We have something better to do.”
She thought he meant the bedroom and her cheeks grew warm at the idea of his hands touching her, but he did not steer her towards the hallway and front door, but to a small door leading to a side street. She followed, confused, then stopped and stared at the sight of a phaeton and two horses, a groom standing holding their reins, little lanterns dangling from it. “Where are we going?”
“It is a surprise.”
“A surprise?” She was uncertain. If he had said home, she would have gladly gone, but a surprise? Anxious dread grew inside her stomach. Was he going to do something kind but which she did not like again? She would try to seem grateful but she was a poor actress.
“Get in.” He held out his hand and she took it and climbedin with difficulty, trying to avoid the net of pearls from being damaged.
Once in, Laurence joined her and nodded to the groom, who handed him the reins.
“Are you warm enough, or shall I send for a shawl for you?”
She was so bewildered that she could not feel anything, so she only shook her head in silence.
“Very well then.” He shook the reins and the carriage moved through Cecil Square and onto the street that would lead them out to the main road. The full moon was their only pale source of light and deep shadows surrounded them. Laurence guided the horses to a comfortable trot when they reached the main road, heading upwards towards the centre of Margate. Frances sat, trembling at the oddness of Laurence’s actions. What sort of surprise required them to leave a ball held in their honour and drive a carriage through the dark night? More than once she looked at Laurence’s face, trying to make it out in the shadows but his expression was carefully serene.
“Here we are.”
