“Good evening, ma’am,” Chloe said. “How delightful. I hoped when we met a few days ago that I would see you again soon.”
“Ah, Duchess.” The voice came from beyond the marchioness. The marquess had followed her into the room. He came closer, took Chloe’s hand in his, and raised it to his lips. “You look quite charming in blue. Ladies?” He bowed to the other two as he released Chloe’s hand and then offered his arm to his wife. “Shall we find you that lemonade, my dear?”
And that was all, apart from a distant bow from Viscount Gilly and a frosty stare and a slight inclination of the head from Lady Angela Allandale across the room during the music recital later.
It was all, but Chloe was more grateful to the Marchioness of Hitching than she could say. She was in no doubt that the woman detested her, but she had obviously made the decision to squash gossip by observing the strictest of civilities toward the daughter her husband had fathered only a very short while before he married her. And she had clearly imposed her will upon her eldest son and her daughter, who, if they could not be quite polite, were at least civil.
The onlookers had no doubt been fascinated by the exchange yet were probably frustrated by it too. Had it or had it not settled the burning question of whether the new Duchess of Worthingham was or was not the natural daughter of the Marquess of Hitching?
Even at those evening entertainments, Chloe did not spend much time with Ralph. It was not good etiquette, of course, for husbands and wives to cling to each other’s company when there were so many other people with whom to mingle, but Chloe sometimes found his almost constant absence from her side a little depressing. She tried not to do so. Theirs was not a marriage that had promised any closeness, after all. Perhaps it would have been better, though, if there had never been any at all. But there had been some—or so it had seemed at the time. Perhaps she had just misunderstood. Even those most cherished words of his were capable of a different interpretation from the one she had given them at the time.
I am your husband. When you feel lonely or afraid or unhappy, it is to me you must come, Chloe. My arms are here for you, and my strength too for whatever it is worth. You will never be a burden to me.
She could still feel what seemed like a lump in her throat when she remembered those words. They had sounded so very tender. They had seemed almost like a declaration of love or at least of deep caring. But perhaps all they had expressed was duty. He was her husband. He would care for her needs as any husband ought. He would not consider her a burden because he had made vows to her.
She must not care that he did not care. He did support her emotionally as well as materially. He had accompanied her to the Marquess of Hitching’s house and had seemed like a rock of dependability. But in the carriage on the way home, when there was no more need to bolster her confidence, he had withdrawn. She had felt it. It had been more than just the fact that he had moved his position, sitting across the corner of the carriage seat, as far from her as he could get.
She must not feel depressed.
Their days were spent almost totally apart except for the time they spent in the study together with Mr. Lloyd, going through the pile of invitations each morning’s post brought and working on the plans for their own ball. They stayed home one morning writing invitations. And they did go together one afternoon to call upon his grandmother and Great-Aunt Mary and stayed all of two hours. But those instances were the exception to the general rule.
Chloe was not idle—or alone. She went shopping with Sarah and to a garden party in Richmond with Nora and her mother-in-law. She went with her father to the library and to a church bazaar in which Graham was involved. She went driving in Hyde Park with the Duke of Stanbrook and walking there with Gwen and her young sister-in-law. She went to Gunter’s for ices with Lucy and the children one afternoon. She went walking with them in the park too.
In fact, that was just what she was doing on one particularly bright morning when the sunshine seemed to have brought out half the fashionable world to stroll or ride close to the Serpentine. Several children played beside the water, including Lucy’s two. Jasper Nelson was sailing the wooden boat his father had made for him, pulling it along parallel to the bank by the attached string. He was pretending to be Lord Nelson and was fiercely resisting his sister Sukie’s attempt to seat her doll in the vessel. There were no females on the Victory, he told her crossly. Did she not know anything? And no, not even Mrs. Lord Nelson.
“Lady Nelson,” Sukie cried scornfully. “There is no such thing as a Mrs. Lord So-and-So. Is there, Mama?”
Thus appealed to, Lucy stepped forward to settle the dispute and stop Sukie from capsizing the boat and Jasper from drowning the doll. Chloe stayed back on the footpath, a smile on her face. Sometimes there were definite advantages to not being a parent, especially when the children’s nurse had a cold and had been persuaded to remain at home in bed. She rested the handle of her parasol against one shoulder and twirled it above her head.
She would not be a parent herself just yet. Not within the next nine months, anyway. The discovery had been a terrible disappointment, but . . . Well, perhaps next month . . .
“Ah.” The clopping of horses’ hooves close behind her stopped. The voice was male and sounded bored. “The delectable duchess. And the scandalous sister.”
“Never tell me, Corny,” another voice said as Chloe spun about, wide-eyed. “It is there in the old memory box somewhere. Eton. English class. Boredom supreme. Alliteration. Yes, that’s it. Alliteration. Hadn’t thought of the word in years. Well done, old chap. Aspiring to be a poet, are you?”