A few lavender drops eased my anxiety enough to let me sleep, and the following morning at breakfast I asked my husband, “Do you know of a person named Harriet Wilmot?”
Unblushing, he replied that he did, and did not deny that he had visited her frequently. “But you must not reproach me for these indiscretions, my dear.” He made to take my hands, but I pulled away.
“My God, who then deserves the blame?”
“Who else? Lord Lyttelton!”
“You must think me a fool. I have no great affection for his lordship—quite the reverse—but you cannot expect me to fault an unscrupulous shepherd when the sheep strays.”
Mr. Robinson grew defensive. “Who told you about Mrs. Wilmot?”
“That’s none of your affair.” It fascinated me that he had such a high opinion of his associate that he did not even suspect him of treachery.
My lot was no different from that of many other wives bound lovelessly to philandering men. Yet now my trust in Mr. Robinson was irrevocably shattered. And now that I had firm proof of what sort of life he led outside our home, I wondered about so many other things—chief among them how he came by all his money. I resolved henceforth to take a keener interest in his activities. My own hearth, and my future happiness—not to mention the welfare of our unborn babe—were at stake.
It was at Vauxhall one evening that I could no longer restrain my curiosity—and my tongue. I had been craving a visit there not merely for the gay entertainments, but—since I had become enceinte—for the celebrated Vauxhall ham. Sliced so thin, the meat’s iridescent translucence was, for me, part of the venue’s magic, and in my condition I could never seem to eat enough of it.
I wore a new gown of pale blue satin with slippers to match, only one of a number of recent expenditures. Perhaps it was my pregnancy that rendered me far less patient and my emotions far more unpredictable, for the words just tumbled out of my mouth. “Where are the funds coming from?” I asked Mr. Robinson, drawing him closer as we strolled through the rotunda in search of a place to sit. “Is Mr. Harris financing our lifestyle?” There was no reply.
I pressed on. “Why is our house filled with Jews nearly every morning?”
“In my profession I am obliged to be civil to all ranks of people.”
“But you have not returned to Vernon and Elderton since we were wed. How are you paying for all of this?”
“Do you want for anything, my dear?”
“But for the lack of love and respect, I do not.”
“Your condition makes you most trying, Mary. Not to mention irrational.”
“My vexation is not born of my condition, I assure you. But I do fear what may befall us when the child comes into this world. To my knowledge you have no income beyond the salary of a clerk, and I am not even certain you continue to draw it. Yet we live like the Duke of Bedford!” Biting my lip, I added, “I fear we so outlive our means that perhaps it might be for the best if we were…to retrench.” I was met with another stony silence. How I wished to have benefited from my mother’s hard experience in the selfsame matters, but she had returned to Bristol, leaving me to stand on my own two feet as a married lady. “Good heavens, all I ask is an explanation!”
“Egad, woman, quit being so meddlesome. It is none of your affair. Before God I vowed to provide for you, and I am doing my duty by Him and by you.” This utterance was punctuated by the sharp inhalation of a pinch of snuff. “I beg of you not to plague me with questions. Enjoy your gowns and your footstools and your perfumes and don’t quiz me like a fishwife.”
“A fishwife? I was merely—”
“Ah, the newlyweds.” Lord Lyttelton bowed, and it would have been rude of me not to have returned the courtesy of a curtsy. His manner, so arch, so unctuous, made my skin pebble with revulsion. “Mr. Robinson, may I have the loan of your pretty wife for a moment or two?” I had no say in the matter, and reluctantly permitted his lordship to escort me along one of the illuminated allées.
“You look unhappy, child.”
“Pray don’t call me ‘child.’”
“My apologies.” Lord Lyttelton brought my fingers to his lips. After he released my hand, I wiped it on my skirt when he wasn’t looking.
“Mr. Robinson greatly insulted me when I had the temerity to inquire as to the provenance of his funds. He spends money like water, I am quite sure that his ‘uncle’ is not the benefactor he was advertised to be, and my parlor is almost as much frequented by Mr. King and his bearded friends as though it were their synagogue.” I had been avoiding the Jew King ever since our correspondence had so unpleasantly concluded.
“It was not ladylike of you to make such a request of your husband. The child wants schooling.”
“If you continue to sneer at me, I will not walk with you, nor ever receive you again.”
“Then you will never discover the depth of your husband’s difficulties. He is in debt to his eyeballs, a situation which is not ameliorated by the expenses of Mrs. Wilmot’s rooms in Prince’s Street.”
“With tears in her eyes, she vowed to me that she would no more entertain him!” Suddenly I felt terribly dizzy, as though the earth had been yanked out from under my feet. “I—I must go!”
Lord Lyttelton caught my arm before I had traveled two footsteps. “Mr. Robinson has taken me into his confidence. Previous to your union, he was deeply involved in a bond debt of considerable magnitude. He has continued to borrow money on
