Chapter 13: Chapter Thirteen: Entrapment

The hotel was larger and more extravagant than the one they had stayed in in Blackpool, and the dining room attracted many fantastic visitors. Verity saw a man wearing a giant blue feather in his hair, and a woman in a dress made of so fine a fabric it was almost transparent – no, she saw, it was definitely transparent.

"Do all the French dress like this?" she whispered to her husband.

"I think you'll find that was an Englishwoman," he replied, scanning the room for the Walthropes. But Verity saw them first. They were at a quiet table in a corner, away from the crowds, half-enclosed by a drape coming from the wall. She got the feeling, suddenly, that Mrs Walthrope was the kind of woman who always managed to make sure things were arranged to her liking.

Armiger saw them too, and they went over.

"Are you quite well now?" Miss Walthrope asked solicitously as Armiger pulled out a chair for Verity.

"Much better, thank you. It was just sea-sickness."

"I never can handle the first day at sea myself," Miss Walthrope admitted. "Well, I say, never, but that was the first real sea journey I've ever been on. I was quite all right after the first day though."

Miss Walthrope was awkward, and pleasant despite it. Mrs Walthrope, sitting next to Armiger, had dressed extremely well in a pale green chiffon gown with dark green satin ribbon details. It set off her cream complexion very well, and she seemed to glow with more youth and energy than Verity. She was neither as awkward nor pleasant as her sister-in-law.

"Now," Mrs Walthrope said, sensing Verity examining her, "You must tell me more about yourself. I must know you."

There was a strange intensity, emphasis to almost every second word. Mrs Walthrope's blue eyes were fixed brightly on Verity's, and there was a half-hidden curve of her lips that made Verity sure she was laughing at her.

"I'm not in the habit of knowing myself to strangers," said Verity. "What should I say?"

"Well," said Mrs Walthrope, "You can begin with what you think of your husband. Is he not terribly unfeeling at times?"

"No, I don't think so," Verity said, and focused her attentions on a bread roll. Suddenly, she realized how hungry she was, having spent the past few days hardly eating. She ate it in two bites, and was swallowing when Mr Armiger said warningly,

"Really, Jane, you're teasing. I won't begin to ask what you think of your husband."

Mrs Walthrope shrugged. "He was fat. He was not handsome. His face was very red, like a brick, especially when I made him angry, and I did that frequently, didn't I Elise?"

Miss Walthrope assented. "Oh yes, you can be so trying, dear. I suppose it's your mind. You didn't ask for a sharp mind, but you've got one, and it makes your tongue sharp too."

"But now you know what I think of my husband," Jane said brightly, "So why don't you tell me what you think of yours?"

Verity had finished her roll and was looking to see when they would be served the entree. She was annoyed that Mrs Walthrope was still prying, especially when she herself was curious to have her questions about Armiger answered. So she only said, with a passable attempt at amusement,

"You can see yourself, he's slender and handsome and pale, and not angry. But that's not how you get to know a person anyway. Why don't you ask me about..." She paused. "Oh, Food." The footman was bringing a tray over.

For several minutes, the table was silent but for the scrape of forks against ceramic. Verity busied herself with the beef sirloin, and the kidney pie.

Armiger, when conversation could be attempted again, began to talk about the music that was playing. Verity and Miss Walthrope agreed with his sentiment, without understanding it; Mrs Walthrope had an argument. Listening to them, Verity felt very uneducated. Miss Walthrope leaned towards her.

"Jane is such a clever woman. I can never keep up with what she's saying."

"I suppose she was educated highly."

"Not very. Her father was only a lawyer. He could not afford much. My father had me to private governesses all my childhood – and yet I can hardly remember any French, and even though I have quite a passable ability with music, I don't know who these composers are, that they talk of. I like Chopin. Who is Sarque?"

"I have no idea. I'm more poorly educated than either of you, I'm afraid."

Miss Walthrope's mouth opened in a little O of surprise. "But you!? I was sure, from what Jane said of him, that Mr Armiger would only marry a very well educated woman. He is very intelligent, she tells me."

"It's a deficiency in me, yes." Verity did not wish to explain why she was so poorly educated. She noticed that Mrs Walthrope's eyes were once more upon her. "I like to think my own native intelligence compensates for it. But I don't know who Sarque is."

"Sarque," Mrs Walthrope cut in, "is the head-chef of this establishment. You have him to thank for this meal."

"And I thought he was a composer," Miss Walthrope said sadly.

"He must be quite the genius," Verity said. "The food is very good."

"We English have a lot to learn from the French cuisine."

There followed another argument there. Mr Armiger defended British cuisine. Mrs Walthrope attacked it. The continent was far superior. The British, as a species, were too fond of cucumbers to ever develop a worthwhile cuisine.

After dinner, Mrs Walthrope asked if Mr Armiger and his wife would not be dancing, and Verity said that she did not, which was a chance for Armiger to offer Mrs Walthrope his hand. She accepted, and they were off. Verity was left with Miss Walthrope at their table.

Miss Walthrope sighed. "Your really are very lucky to have married him, Mrs Armiger."

The address caught Verity off guard, as it had every time someone had called her by her new name. The content of it more so. She blushed, and then, remembering the tantalizing feel of his waist beneath her hand, blushed deeper.

"I don't know what to say – do I agree? Do I thank you? I think – I think my luck very strange, in this matter."

Miss Walthrope laughed. "Don't be shy. You can say what you will to me."

"Well, I think –" Too delicate to say the truth about their meeting, but full of the memories of it now, Verity faltered. Trying to come up with something to say, she blurted, "You know, when I first met him, I didn't like him at all. I thought he looked like a devil."

"I can't imagine!"

"Oh, yes – but he was quite unpleased at that time. It's very different when he smiles. His entire face changes. I do like his smile."

Her tone was almost dispassionate, for she was not the kind to wear her heart on her sleeve, even if she had had one for him, but Miss Walthrope, older, and far more romantic, gave a wistful sigh that disturbed the napkins on the table.

"And you look well together – both so dark, and tall."

"Thank you."

The dancers came back. Mrs Walthrope was flushed with exertion, her eyes sparkling.

"I could dance all night," she declared, throwing herself down in her chair. "Don't you think, Neil?"

"I've known you to do so." His lips quirked in a smile. "Perhaps now you are too old though."

"Insult!" she drew herself up in mock offense. "Rein in your husband, Mrs Armiger, he is too bold."

"He is capable of reining in himself," Verity said, a little coldly, disliking the flirtatiousness of Mrs Walthrope's tone.

"Then you are the one of the pair to be tamed, and he the one to do the taming! I see it now! It's always that way – one to give, and one to receive."

"I don't think that's accurate of marriage."

"Oh it is! I assure you it is! And the very best marriages..." Mrs Walthrope's eyes sparkled. "The very best marriages are those formed when the one to be tamed offers some fight – you must offer him fight, Mrs Armiger! He does not like a meek woman. I know that."

"Mrs Armiger is most certainly not meek," Armiger said laughingly. "No, you have misread her."

"Well I hope she's not, for your sake," Mrs Walthrope said, fanning her face with a silk trinket with storks on it."You never could stand it in a woman."

"Oh, couldn't I? I'm beginning to think you've misread me as well, Mrs Walthrope." Armiger did not sit down, but offered his hand to Miss Walthrope, waiting. "But won't you dance with me, Miss Walthrope? We can leave these two to squabble over meekness."

It was not just for politeness's sake that he asked the middle-aged spinster to dance. Verity was beginning to see and appreciate her husband's kindness, beginning, too, to understand it. He was as kind to those he pitied as he was smug to those he disliked. And to Mrs Walthrope, who he did not pity or dislike, he was not kind, but something else, something better.

Slightly jealously, as she knew herself pitied by her husband, and thus held in some lower position of regard, Verity faced the older woman, who was continuing to fan her face, watching the dancers.

"How long have you known my husband?" she asked quietly. "You seem to know him very well. Much better than I."

Mrs Walthrope put her fan down and smiled at Verity. "Jealous?"

"No! Just curious."

"Oh, well I suppose I do know him well." Mrs Walthrope stared off in the distance, as though remembering. "Since I was a child of eight or so. I haven't seen him for twelve or more years, of course, but the character is set when you are a child, and I can tell you his character as I saw it."

"Please. I would like to know how you see him."

"Very well." Mrs Walthrope picked at a bread crumb. "He's cold. He's all cold on the outside, and all hot within – when you see him in a temper – but you won't. He never shows his temper. He never shows his passions. He hides them all – love, hate, anger... but they're there, simmering below the surface. Sometimes he says or does things that are quite incomprehensible, because he's feeling something he never let you know he feels. I'm sure he didn't exactly sweep you off your feet, with the proposal now? But that doesn't mean he wasn't feeling it. Though it doesn't mean he was either. You can't tell with Neil. Was he feeling it, do you think?"

Verity looked down at her dirty plate, remembering the pale penitence on Mr Armiger's face when he kneeled down beside her bed to ask for her hand. "He was rather more emotional that day, than normal," she said guardedly. "Perhaps his character has changed, since you knew him. He may have become more open."

Mrs Walthrope laughed, and continued laughing, long after it seemed proper. Verity waited nervously. Finally Mrs Walthrope leaned over the table, her big blue eyes open and whispered:

"I thought I might get it from you, but I can see I won't. He did tell me, you know, how you came to be married."

Verity's stomach seemed to turn over on itself.

"Entrapment!" whispered Mrs Walthrope. "Really! I must congratulate you for it. Upon meeting you, I couldn't quite see how you had it in you – but oh you've got boldness alright, and a different kind from mine. I do admire a woman who chooses her path, and then tramples all over those who stand in her way of it. I really do."

Verity stared at the other woman. Now her hands were shaking out of shock, a strange venom of emotion seeping through her veins. He had told her!

Mrs Walthrope's eyes were large and blue and bold.

"How do you think he feels about you?" she asked innocently. "It's so hard to tell with him.

Verity could stand it no longer.

She stood, pushing her chair back from the table. She tried to say goodnight, but the words would not come. A smile was playing across Mrs Walthrope's lips. It taunted her. She left without a word.

*  *  *

Fifteen minutes later, Neil pushed open the door of their room. As soon as he returned from the dance to find Verity gone, he had made his excuses and left also, remembering how social expectations had interrupted him from her warm kisses and quivering touch before dinner. But the room was dark, bar for one lamp still lit on the wall, barely showing her huddled lump in her bed.

"Verity?"

After a long moment, her voice, thin and cold, answered him.

"Yes."

Silence.

"You're well awake?"

"Yes."

Silence.

He came and sat down on the side of her bed. The bed sheets rustled in alarm. She sat up.

"What are you—?"

There was just enough light for him to see her face. Her eyes were dark and wide, not frightened, but surprised.

"Verity."

He caught her chin, and raised her face to meet his, but she received his kiss with a stiff unpleasedness completely out of sorts with her warmth only an hour earlier. He pulled back.

"What's wrong?"

She turned her head away.

"Verity, please, have I done something wrong? Why won't you talk to me?" He ran his mind over the events of the past hour, and came to the conclusion too quickly. "What did Jane say to you? She must have said something – oh, she's a devil when she wants to be! But it can't have been true, whatever it was!"

"She said nothing untrue. I am tired and going to sleep."

The bed clothes rustled. Verity lay back down and turned away from him. He put out a hand to grasp her shoulder, to stroke her cheek, but pulled it back before it could reach. No. Better not. Right now, it would only anger her, and make her retreat back into her haughty, proud shell.

He stood, and undressed in the semi-dark. Only when he was in bed, the light vanquished, preparing to sleep, did she speak, one cold sentence:

"Why did you tell Mrs Walthrope how we came to be married?"

He breathed out, slowly. So Jane had told her that and certainly that was true. But Verity was silly to be angered over it.

"I'm sorry," he said to the darkness. "I should not have done so. She will not repeat it to others." And then, after a silence. "She sensed it was not a love match. She pressed me. I could not lie to her."

"You could have said nothing of it."

Could he? It had been easy to agree to marry Verity, so easy, but with every passing day of winter, the consequences of that choice had become harder for him to bear. He had needed to confess to someone his doubts, and Jane had been his only someone. He had felt so much lighter after speaking to her.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

There was a much longer silence this time. He was almost asleep when she said, in a very low voice:

"Did you call it an entrapment, or was that her term?"

"That was her term," he mumbled. "Not mine."

But he didn't disclaim it this time. Half-way, he thought tiredly and pettishly, it was true.

Yay! Arguments! Drama! Anguish!