London dangling after her!” Lord Chalmers retorted. “If not more! Leave Angelica to look after the chit; she’ll do it very well.”
Rosemary could hardly explain that Angelica was too busy attempting to extricate her from difficulties to properly attend to Lily. “You approve of Angelica?”
“Why should I not?” inquired Lord Chalmers, with some surprise. “I like Angelica very well.”
Perhaps Lord Chalmers had married the wrong sister. This realization, that an ugly duckling stood higher in her husband’s estimation than she did herself, was an additional blow to Rosemary’s pride. With all her might she strove to control her trembling lips.
It occurred to Lord Chalmers that the last discussion he’d held with his wife had not concluded amicably. In fact, as he recalled, it had ended with himself in a temper and Rosemary in tears. Perhaps she was still sulking about that? He would not have thought her of so unyielding a disposition. There was one way to find out. “Are you still angry that I took you to task for squandering your pin money? Very well, give me an accounting and I’ll settle your debts, but this is the last time, Rosemary! You must learn to practice economy.”
Were Chalmers to settle her accounts, thought Rosemary, it would be permanently. He was a cheeseparer and a nip-farthing; he expected her to live in the very best possible style on a mere pittance; he was cruel to the greatest degree. Yet Rosemary loved her husband, despite his innumerable shortcomings; and she meant to delay as long as possible the inevitable moment when he cast her off without a farthing.
“Pooh!” she said, somewhat unsteadily. “You’ve no need to trouble yourself, I’m not in the basket yet. Now, if you will excuse me, this is not a subject on which I am particularly anxious, and there are matters to which I must attend.”
Lord Chalmers grasped his wife’s shoulders. “No,” said he.
“No?” Rosemary stared at her husband with fascination. “Why not, pray?”
“Because,” replied Chalmers, in husky tones, “I have not yet finished speaking with you.”
“Oh,” said Rosemary.
Alas, at this most promising of moments, the baron recalled that for a gentleman of mature years and serious inclination to be stricken all aheap by the mere proximity of his wife was the height of absurdity; and the baroness, similarly stricken, recalled her conviction that her husband had a high-flyer tucked away; and both resolved that the other should not learn that he or she had nearly succumbed to the fancies of a disordered brain. The baron abruptly released his wife; the baroness returned in good haste to her chaise longue. “Where are you engaged this evening?” inquired Chalmers, for want of anything better to say. “Perhaps I shall accompany you.”
Rosemary, deep in contemplation of her husband’s highflyer, greeted this offer with no appreciable delight. “But your time is not your own!” she reminded him, rather pettishly.
Lord Chalmers was also deep in contemplation, concerning the identity of the gentleman who dared send his wife billets-doux. “I begin to think that in pursuing affairs of state, I have in other matters been somewhat remiss. Do you wear the sapphires this evening? They suit you admirably. If they are still at the jeweler’s, I will fetch them home for you.”
“Gracious, Chalmers!” Rosemary responded airily, as her heart sank. “I can only conclude you don’t trust me to execute the simplest errand myself! And tonight I wear pink, so you see that the sapphires will not do.” Frantically she wondered how she was to reclaim that accursed necklace.
Lord Chalmers, meanwhile, wondered what he was to do with a wife who so patently prescribed to wrong-headedness. One course of action recommended itself to him, but the baron decided regretfully that it was beneath his dignity to turn his wife over his knee.
Unaware that her husband contemplated taking gross liberties with her
Rosemary could hardly explain that Angelica was too busy attempting to extricate her from difficulties to properly attend to Lily. “You approve of Angelica?”
“Why should I not?” inquired Lord Chalmers, with some surprise. “I like Angelica very well.”
Perhaps Lord Chalmers had married the wrong sister. This realization, that an ugly duckling stood higher in her husband’s estimation than she did herself, was an additional blow to Rosemary’s pride. With all her might she strove to control her trembling lips.
It occurred to Lord Chalmers that the last discussion he’d held with his wife had not concluded amicably. In fact, as he recalled, it had ended with himself in a temper and Rosemary in tears. Perhaps she was still sulking about that? He would not have thought her of so unyielding a disposition. There was one way to find out. “Are you still angry that I took you to task for squandering your pin money? Very well, give me an accounting and I’ll settle your debts, but this is the last time, Rosemary! You must learn to practice economy.”
Were Chalmers to settle her accounts, thought Rosemary, it would be permanently. He was a cheeseparer and a nip-farthing; he expected her to live in the very best possible style on a mere pittance; he was cruel to the greatest degree. Yet Rosemary loved her husband, despite his innumerable shortcomings; and she meant to delay as long as possible the inevitable moment when he cast her off without a farthing.
“Pooh!” she said, somewhat unsteadily. “You’ve no need to trouble yourself, I’m not in the basket yet. Now, if you will excuse me, this is not a subject on which I am particularly anxious, and there are matters to which I must attend.”
Lord Chalmers grasped his wife’s shoulders. “No,” said he.
“No?” Rosemary stared at her husband with fascination. “Why not, pray?”
“Because,” replied Chalmers, in husky tones, “I have not yet finished speaking with you.”
“Oh,” said Rosemary.
Alas, at this most promising of moments, the baron recalled that for a gentleman of mature years and serious inclination to be stricken all aheap by the mere proximity of his wife was the height of absurdity; and the baroness, similarly stricken, recalled her conviction that her husband had a high-flyer tucked away; and both resolved that the other should not learn that he or she had nearly succumbed to the fancies of a disordered brain. The baron abruptly released his wife; the baroness returned in good haste to her chaise longue. “Where are you engaged this evening?” inquired Chalmers, for want of anything better to say. “Perhaps I shall accompany you.”
Rosemary, deep in contemplation of her husband’s highflyer, greeted this offer with no appreciable delight. “But your time is not your own!” she reminded him, rather pettishly.
Lord Chalmers was also deep in contemplation, concerning the identity of the gentleman who dared send his wife billets-doux. “I begin to think that in pursuing affairs of state, I have in other matters been somewhat remiss. Do you wear the sapphires this evening? They suit you admirably. If they are still at the jeweler’s, I will fetch them home for you.”
“Gracious, Chalmers!” Rosemary responded airily, as her heart sank. “I can only conclude you don’t trust me to execute the simplest errand myself! And tonight I wear pink, so you see that the sapphires will not do.” Frantically she wondered how she was to reclaim that accursed necklace.
Lord Chalmers, meanwhile, wondered what he was to do with a wife who so patently prescribed to wrong-headedness. One course of action recommended itself to him, but the baron decided regretfully that it was beneath his dignity to turn his wife over his knee.
Unaware that her husband contemplated taking gross liberties with her
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