Playing To Win

But she had recovered herself, and was calmly drinking her tea when Tony emerged from his bedroom, looking tired and surly, his brown eyebrows furrowed over his troubled blue eyes as though a headache were gnawing at him. It would be amazing if he didn’t have a headache, if he had indeed consumed as much wine as Stewart had reported to Marie. “They have brought coffee, too, if you would like some,” Sera said brightly.

“Nothing, thank you.” He picked up the newspaper from the table and withdrew behind it so as not to face her. They had conversed so easily before they were married, and even in the carriage on the way, and at dinner, that she had no idea it would be difficult to talk to him now. He seemed like nothing so much as a sulking boy, and she instinctively knew that a display of temper or tears on her part would only make him angry.

“What would you like to do today, Tony?”

“Whatever you wish.” He said it grudgingly, as though it were his duty to do what she wished.

“Perhaps we could just take a walk and look around the town by daylight.”

“Yes, of course, whenever you are ready,” he said from the depths of the paper.

She finished her breakfast in silence, but the bites of toast had a hard time getting past the lump in her throat. She felt herself to be in a tense situation, felt that one wrong word would be enough to endanger their future together. When she had eaten a reasonable amount, she went to put on her hat and gloves. She took her time over this, and was somewhat pleased to see, when she returned to the room, that Tony had at least had some coffee.

* * *

They walked down the Marine Parade in silence in the warm September sun. She had remembered from her trip to Belgium how delicious the sea air smelled. She was about to make some such comment to Tony when he remarked out of nowhere, “I suppose Wentworth and his friends will be sniggering about me.”

Sera saw them then, the same few young bloods who had been there the previous evening. Wentworth looked uncertainly at Tony. Sera shook her head no, and the young man went back to disputing with his friends over something. “They don’t look at all like they are sniggering. Most probably he is trying to decide if he should risk apologizing to you or just consider himself well out of a dangerous situation.”

Tony left off his beetling scrutiny of the group of men, and as soon as he glanced toward Sera, they made off. “What are you talking about?” he asked, glaring after the young men, who glanced nervously back at him.

“When I informed him you had been wounded in a duel, Wentworth straightaway became very apologetic. I can only assume he thought your opponent got the worst of the affair.”

“What?” Tony stopped to stare at her.

“He must have assumed you were striding off to get your pistols when you left so hastily last night. He did not stay. I suppose just now he had one friend urging him to do the manly thing and offer you an apology while the other advised him to split and run.”

Tony teetered for a moment on the edge of amazement, wondering if he should be angry with Sera, but the satisfied little smile she gave when she finished this speech tipped him into a laugh. “How could you lead that stupid boy into thinking me a desperate character?” He shook his head and smiled at her.

Sera chuckled then, too. “I assure you I said nothing untruthful. You don’t suppose he will cut short his stay just because he fears to be called out by you?”

“I don’t suppose anything of the kind. What exactly did you say to him?”

Since Tony was still laughing, she answered without hesitation, “Only that it was too late to apologize, or some such thing, since he had already set your back up.”

“Of the two of us, I think you are the more dangerous,” Tony vowed.

“Me? What harm could I do?”

Tony was still chuckling when Sera felt his arm suddenly stiffen in her loose grip and saw him flush as though in pain. He was looking at a gaily dressed young woman walking toward then between two gentleman and laughing at their sallies.

She was blond and strikingly beautiful, Sera had to admit, but only in a theatrical way. Her exaggerated features were distinctive at a distance.

Tony hesitated. They would have to either cross the street or turn around to avoid the trio, who had not noticed them yet. Sera looked at Tony sympathetically. He had now gone somewhat pale.

“It’s Lady Vonne, isn’t it?” Sera asked quietly. He gave a guilty start. “Do you mind so much?” Sera continued. “We shall have to meet her sooner or later. Perhaps it’s best to get it over with.”

“Do you always run at your problems head-on?” Tony asked with a faint smile, as he took her hand more securely.

“It sometimes even works.” She laughed and started to walk on. He could do nothing but go with her. She noticed that Lady Madeleine Vonne, too, blushed at the sight of Tony, and then looked at her angrily, even though she was herself on the arms of two gentlemen, neither of them Lord Vonne. Madeleine stiffened even more as Tony introduced Sera to her, to Lord Meade and to Sir Randall Yates.

Lady Madeleine looked Sera up and down. She was jealous to see this nobody on Tony’s arm, and the thought of his making love to this chit whipped her passionate nature to indiscretion. “I had heard you married the daughter of a cit, Tony. I see it’s true.” Both Lord Meade and Sir Randall gasped. The dumbstruck look had scarcely appeared on Tony’s face when a ripple of laughter from Sera caught them all off guard.

“Tony told me about your sense of humor. But this is wonderful. Such wit is a rare treat.” Lady Madeleine did not appreciate being appreciated, and ground her teeth. “Wait until I tell Lord Grenville that Father has been called a cit. He will get a chuckle out of that.”

“You know Lord Grenville?” Lady Madeleine gasped involuntarily.

Sera had purposely picked the name of the most influential of her father’s intimates to flaunt, and she was satisfied to see a shade of fear color Lady Madeleine’s expression. “We have entertained him at home often. He likes a quiet evening of political talk. I have grown quite tired of it, I confess, having heard it from the cradle.”

“You were your father’s hostess, then?” Sir Randall asked.

“Yes. It was challenging, because I had to keep up with what was going on just to converse intelligently at the dinner table. Do you know he means to marry Lady Jane Stanley? But they are such old friends, I’m sure no one will wonder at it. I suppose she will convince him to run for Parliament after all.” Sera said this last as though she didn’t really care to have her father exert himself in this way. The two gentlemen stared at her in fascination, Madeleine in horror.

“Oh, your father is Barclay, the banker,” Lord Meade said, as though it took an effort of memory.

“He is very nearly retired now, but he likes to keep involved. Well, it was a pleasure to have met you all.” Sera’s dismissal of the three went unquestioned, and she took Tony’s arm again as they passed them by.

He interlaced his fingers with hers. “Madeleine’s behavior was terrible, but you were superb.” He looked at her in genuine admiration.

“I did all right, then, to treat it as a joke? Sometimes it’s the only way to defuse a serious argument at one of Father’s dinners. Lady Jane taught me how to keep people from each other’s throats. I hadn’t expected it would be such a useful skill.”

“I had no idea you were so experienced socially.”

“Only among cits, of course.”

Tony gave one of his rare laughs.

“It will be easier to meet her from now on, won’t it?” Sera asked.

“It will never be easy,” Tony said. “But it will be possible now.”

* * *

If Sera hoped this would release Tony from his reluctance to make love to her, she was disappointed, for he never came to her room. She even checked with Marie to see if she was doing something wrong, but her maid assured her that English ladies did not go to their husband’s rooms. Stewart reported that one or two nights he thought Tony had screwed up enough courage to knock on Sera’s door, but nothing had come of it. Each day it did get easier to converse with him. And, perhaps because she did not lay on him any of the recriminations he expected, Tony began to relax a little and talk to her normally.

They occupied their daylight hours with walking, either through the town or on the beach. Once Sera ordered a gig and drove them into the country for a picnic. Tony was surprised that she drove so well, having lived all her life in the city.

“I drove the gig on the farm.”

“Farm?”

“Gott Farm, Father’s weekend place, near Dorking. It’s generous to call it a farm, I suppose. It cannot be more than thirty acres—enough for him to exercise his passion for fruit trees.”

“I just realized,” said Tony, as he watched her spread a cloth on the ground, “I know nothing about your father, and little more about you.”

“I grew up at Gott Farm until I was sent to school in London. I was a day student, so I got to live at home. Father and I have been unusually close,” she said, laying out their lunch. “Still, I like the farm better than London. I have him all to myself at Gott Farm.”

“And the fruit trees?” Tony asked, seating himself against a convenient beech tree.