Widow in White

Chapter Twenty-Two: Very, Very Close

Laura knew it wasn't easy for her father to give up on anything. Even with Richard's door closed against him, Laura feared he would attempt to approach her in public places, or by subterfuge gain entry to her home. For some weeks, this fear haunted her, until it was suddenly relieved when, riding in the park, she turned a corner and came suddenly upon her father, walking with a friend of his.

For a moment, she almost reined her horse in, and, sensing her distraction, it lazily slowed. Then she dug her heels into its sides and it trotted reluctantly on again, but not before she heard her father's companion say:

"Isn't that your daughter, my lord?"

And her father's cold reply: "You are mistaken. I have no daughter."

It was a relief and a humiliation for Laura to hear it. What had decided her father to cut her, she did not know. Perhaps, for the first time in his life, he had learned to give up. Or, more likely, he had come to believe it served him better to distance himself from her and Albroke than to continue his attempt to persuade them to marry. But either way, the next few times she accidentally ran into him in public, she had the relief and satisfaction of seeing him turn away and pretend not to see her.

By now, the season was progressing, and Laura was becoming used to being a sensation just as people were beginning to grow bored of her. She no longer caused a stir when she walked into a room — that privilege was reserved for a certain young actress who had married an elderly duke, or for a continental princess who had, it was whispered, murdered her three husbands and come to London to find a fourth. With fewer eyes upon her now, Laura found she could even enjoy society, in her own small way. She liked dancing, for one thing. Richard did not dance, nor did she have entrée into any of London's exclusive clubs, but a private ball offered partners enough and the music was no worse there than at Almack's. Plus, there was an intriguing and gratifying novelty in dancing with another man with the approval of her own. Richard liked seeing her dance and had none of Maidstone's obsessive jealousy to poison her enjoyment of it.

Conversation, too, when it was not about her, began to have some appeal. Laura could not deny she was curious about the continental princess or the clever actress herself. And there were the usual joys of London shopping and play and park and museum, which she had the freedom and finances to fully exploit for the first time in her life.

One rainy day in late June, she was idling amongst some stone tablets in the museum when, coming around a display, she came face to face with Lady Elizabeth, who was leading a little girl and a little boy either side of her and followed behind by a nursemaid loaded with umbrellas and parcels.

Laura said hello, not expecting any reply, but Elizabeth surprised her by saying, rather archly,

"Good afternoon, Lady Laura." She then nodded her head at her children. "My son, Frederick, and my daughter, Margaret."

"It's nice to meet you," Laura said, curtsying helplessly before the two ivory-faced children.

The little girl executed a perfectly formed curtsy and the boy a stiffly angled bow. Neither said anything, and their eyes stared glassily back at Laura. They looked exactly like little china dolls. Not a curl was out of place. Not a wrinkle on their stiff white clothing.

"How very... well behaved they are," she said helplessly, thinking it was the compliment Elizabeth would like best.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said, with grave pride. But the interview was not over yet. She dropped her children's hands. "Go with Nanny around the displays, children," she said, as a general might to an army, and the children stepped away from her side and dutifully started to march around the displays with their nanny shuffling after them. Laura noticed that they stared at the inscriptions for several minutes each, though she was sure the boy was too young yet to read.