Chapter Nineteen
She was gone.
He had spent the night alone in his room above the club, thinking it a fit punishment to let her wonder what he was doing and who he was with. It had never occurred to him that there would not be another argument, when he’d ridden back to Richmond in the morning.
She was probably sitting by the pond, watching minnows, but thinking of him. He would chastise, she would pout. They would reach some sort of temporary truce over this evening, where she would promise to be good and he would pretend to believe her. They would seal the agreement with lovemaking in his bed. Perhaps he would ask her to wear the mermaid dress that had caused him to make such a fool of himself at the ball.
In a week from now or less, she would do something equally outrageous, or even more so. It was annoying that she was proving to be so difficult to discipline. But there was some small part of him that was looking forward to the conflict. He was not always happy with what she did, but at least he was not bored.
What he had not expected was to come home to Polly, the maid, packing the last of her trunks to send back to London.
‘Where is she?’ he demanded, looking out the window at the yard. It was a pointless exercise. The emptiness of the bedroom was proof that she’d vacated the house.
The maid did not answer the question he asked, proving where her loyalty was, he supposed. Instead, she handed him a neatly folded sheet of paper, closed with the GK seal that his wife still used.
The note she’d left had been succinct.
Frederick,
While there is much about the last month that I will always cherish, our recent public contretemps is proof that we are simply too different in character to continue as a couple.
I know my behaviour shames you, but I cannot seem to last even a day without breaking some rule or other. Should I ever manage to succeed in total obedience, I suspect your happiness will come at the expense of mine.
And it is clear, by your continued visits to Vitium et Virtus, that you have no interest in my feelings at all. Liberty is the reason for membership there. Were we to go together, intending to share its pleasures, I would not mind. If you insist on barring my admittance I must assume that you think me incapable of fidelity.
If you fear my disloyalty, there or anywhere else, you have no reason for it. I never wanted any man but you, nor did I wish to be unfaithful. I cannot understand why you will not give me the same trust as you expect me to extend to you.
After careful reflection, I have decided that to avoid further public embarrassment for you and pain for me it is best we return to the original plan of living separate lives.
If I require anything from you, I will contract your man of business to handle the matter, or relay the message. You may reach me the same way, or by leaving word with Mrs Pimm.
Georgiana
As she suggested, he consulted both the housekeeper and his man of business to find that her plans for the future were as carefully arranged as they would have been had he set out to take care of her. She had rented rooms and arranged an economical budget for herself that would not deplete her allowance. She had moved all clothing and personal possessions out of both his houses and was not planning a return.
There would be no need to communicate over details and no awkward social meetings. She had split the invitations they had received into two different schedules so that they might not accidentally run into each other at a rout or ball. She had done everything in her power to reduce the scandal of their parting and render it as innocuous as he had described when they’d first decided to marry. He could not have done it better himself.
She had left his home without a trace. His life would run just as efficiently as it had before she arrived, except for the bird, who was still sitting in a brass cage in the library. And it seemed even he did not approve of the change. Though she had managed to train him out of his exotic cursing, he now refused to whistle the snatches of song he’d learned in their place.
If Fred’s days seemed suddenly joyless, he must remind himself that he had been satisfied with this life only a few weeks ago. He took to carrying her note around in his pocket so he might read it during those moments when his satisfaction wavered.
She had not begun by calling him dearest, nor had she ended by promising to be his always. He smiled weakly. She had never been the sort to couch interactions in false compliments. While some might have thought it rude, he could not fault her for a lack of clarity.
The note was what it was. It lacked the flowery sentiments of farewell letters he had received from lovers in the past. Their time together had been delightful. But such things did not last. It was foolish to pretend they could.
Marriage, however, was a permanent union. It was best to behave as adults in public and private, just as she suggested. If, when he read the words, he felt bitterly disappointed? Desperate? Ready to take up the pen and scribble a hurried apology, accompanied with jewellery and flowers. And to follow the lot with bended knee begging for another chance?
That was how romantic liaisons often ended. Not for him, of course. Not in a very long while. The last time he had felt so raw, he’d been at Oxford. His heart had still been young then, tender and largely untried. He’d thought the world was ending.
He must remember not to care. After a little time to grow used to her absence, he’d grow numb to the change. Lovesickness was easily cured with brandy, the company of fellows who had been similarly abused by the fair sex and, most of all, women. Lots of them. Pretty, fast, loose. The sort who were not precisely as heartless as men, but who could be paid to be sympathetic without forming foolish attachments on either side.
If she did not want him, there was no point in being faithful to her. And the idea that he had not trusted her was ludicrous. He had wanted to keep her out of the club so she might never grow as corrupt or jaded as his mother and Caroline. Let her assume the worst of him, if it kept her from seducing his friends the moment she grew bored.
If she meant to avoid him for the rest of their lives, then Vitium et Virtus was the one place in London where he was guaranteed peace. She would not dare come there again, even masked. He would go there and behave as he used to, sampling all the pleasures the place had to offer.
After less than a day in Richmond, he instructed his valet to pack for a move back to London. The town house was smaller and therefore might not feel so empty. The city after the Season ended was relatively free of crowds. In the lethargy of high summer, invitations slowed and there were fewer people who might ask him what he had done to ruin what had become a surprisingly successful marriage.
When the carriage had been packed with clothes and servants he’d mounted his horse, choosing at the last minute to ride beside it and let the fresh air clear his head. As his valet, Biggs, came out of the house with the last portmanteau, Sargent pushed past him, racing to the carriage, getting under feet of the horses, and howling as if his life was about to end.
‘Halt!’
Georgiana’s efforts to spoil the beast had not ruined all his training, for the bloodhound stopped immediately, ran to his side, and looked up at him, waiting for the next command. But the expression on his drooping face was even more pitiful than usual.
He stared down at his friend. ‘London is no place for a dog.’
The floppy jowls began to shake and a keening whine escaped.
‘It might be different if you were a terrier, but you are too big to travel.’
Now, the whole dog was trembling as if he might collapse in a puddle of tears on the ground like an Italian diva.
‘Show some dignity, man. And why am I speaking to a creature which cannot understand me?’ Fred wiped his brow as if it were possible to clear the frustration in his mind with a swipe of his hand. ‘Biggs! Put him in the carriage. And get the damn bird as well. Never mind common sense. Let us all go to London.’
* * *
The move did not help.
On the nights it was open he went to the club, just as he’d planned, ready to throw himself into the festivities with abandon. But though there were more than enough women to tempt him, in the end, he chose no one. He returned to the private suite, just as he always had, and drank far too much, though the spirits did not seem to affect him. It was almost with relief that he left as the club closed in the hour before dawn and returned to his rooms to fall into a fitful sleep.
The next morning proved that the brandy had been strong enough after all. His head seemed to throb with each movement. His body ached from clutching the pillow to him, as if he expected it to escape, just as Georgiana had done. When he went down to breakfast, he had no appetite for it. He felt the same at lunch and supper. Everything put before him seemed flavourless and unappealing.
He felt no better the next day, or the next. He spent far too much time at Vitium et Virtus, lurking there even on days that it was not open. When he bothered to go home, he sat in the library with a book open and unread, staring out of the window as if expecting a guest that would never come. It got so bad that Biggs all but forced him from the house, hoping that the sun would burn away some of the demons tormenting him.
Perhaps the valet was right. It felt marginally better to walk down Bond Street, especially now that the ton had moved on to more interesting places. And he could not fault the weather on this excellent late summer day. The sun was out, the sky was clear, and it was neither too hot nor too cold. He could feel his mood improving with each step.
It had been a mistake to hide inside, brooding on the past. But he had not been hiding, he corrected himself. More likely, he had been ill. A bit of distressing news, coupled with a mild ague had convinced him that his life was suddenly without meaning.
But that was behind him. Today, the smells from a nearby bakery were awakening a hunger he had not felt in days. It was even possible to appreciate the beauty of the women walking past, a thing he’d been incapable of only two days ago. There, just across the street, was a graceful armful, staring into a shop window at a display of painted fans. The sunlight made the blonde hair tucked up under her hat seem to shine like fine French silk.
Then, her head turned as if she’d felt his eyes upon her and she glanced across the street.
His stomach fell and his heart thumped hard against his ribs like a battle drum.
‘Georgiana.’ He’d said the name aloud, unable to control his tongue any more than he could the beating of his damn heart, which seemed to be speeding up, like some infernal machine springing back to life after a period of dormancy.
Never mind it, then. Let it beat. It was not as if she’d taken it with her when she’d gone. Nor should there be any harm in addressing her, if he saw her in public. They might be no longer be sharing a bed, but that did not mean they could not speak with civility when they saw each other on the street.
Or so he’d assumed. Apparently, their separation meant something quite different to her. If she saw him at all, it was impossible to tell. He’d sworn she had started in surprise as he’d called her name and glanced in his direction.
But that look lasted only a moment. Her eyes continued to roam, looking beyond him as if she had not seen him at all. A look of puzzlement had crossed her face, as if she had thought she’d heard her name, but decided she was mistaken. Then she looked directly at him with the unfocused gaze of someone searching empty air.
Once she had assured herself that there was truly nothing of importance to see, she turned away again, raising her parasol and giving it an indifferent turn in her hands before signalling her maid to take up the packages and walk down the street, away from him and out of sight.
For a moment, he was stunned by the enormity of it, unable to move from the spot, as if her directionless glance had turned him to stone. She had delivered the cut direct: the subtle and most perfect insult that one gave when a person ceased to exist in one’s world.
She had cut him, just as he had done to her when they’d first met. It had been a frivolous move on his part, a few months ago. He’d thought himself worldly and well mannered. He had wanted discipline in all things and all people. And he had been sublimely confident that the silly little girl would never become the very cog upon which his universe turned.
Now, his hubris was clear. She had turned the slight he had delivered back upon him, a thousandfold. He had opened his home, his arms, and his heart to her. And after a brief inspection, she had decided that she did not want to know him or see him, ever again.
It should not matter. He had been quite satisfied with his life before he’d met her. Now, he could return to it, just as he had intended. Everything was fine. He was fine. And he was not about to allow a foolish little girl to call him a coward around women and to rub his nose in his illogical fears of betrayal.
But if he was so sure of himself, then why had he nearly been overcome by the desire to run down the street after her, demanding that she acknowledge him? If she would listen, he could tell her that he had been a fool to doubt her.
He had resisted the urge, but just barely. No one had seen his weakness.
None but he and Sargent, perhaps. What had come over him to make him bring the dog? He had never given a thought that the dog might be lonely during his absence. But suddenly, he was sharing his house and his bed with the creature as if he owed it consolation for the loss of its mistress.
When he had returned home, the dog had been looking out the window, paws upon the glass in a most disobedient manner.
‘Off.’ At one time, he’d have had to give the command but once to have the dog respond. Today, Sargent would not listen. He continued to stare staring out into the street as if he’d assumed Georgiana would be returning with the master and must simply be dawdling in the road.
When he’d realised that was not the case, he had turned to look at Fred in a most accusing way, as if demanding an explanation for the loss of his friend.
‘She is not coming back,’ Fred had said, annoyed that once again he had been reduced to talking with an animal that could not possibly understand him. ‘And you are my dog, not hers.’
This was answered with a low whine, as if begging him to reconsider.
‘I cannot just apologise. She does not want me.’
The dog cocked his head to the side as if he could not quite understand this sudden change in affection. Then he wagged his tail, hopefully.
‘I am sure you are right. She still likes you. In fact, she always liked you. You are a noble animal and loyal as well. There is nothing to dislike about you.’
The dog still did not seem reassured.
‘She will be back to see you, I am sure.’ He crouched down and patted the dog on the head. ‘But it is probably for the best that I not be here when that happens.’