Free Spare Brides by Adele Parks

ridiculous. Such notions were erased with marriage. Indeed, in a good marriage, where intimacy flourished, fanatical obsession must flounder. And since he was no longer besotted, he simply couldn’t find the energy to treat her with kid gloves all the time.
    ‘Darling, you might just have to. Can you pass the salt?’ He leaned forward, towards his wife, suddenly aware of the under butler. Some people thought the servants were deaf and blind, but Lawrence knew better; he was well aware that anything he said would be reported in the downstairs quarters within the hour. ‘I believe Cook has been a little light with the seasoning, don’t you?’ He stage-whispered his criticism; despite his efforts to shield the staff, there was six foot of table separating him from his wife. Lydia picked up her fork again but didn’t comment. He continued to rally; he thought it best to move the conversation on. ‘I’m sure there’s a party, isn’t there? At the weekend?’ There was always a party. ‘Something to look forward to?’
    ‘Not this weekend. I’ve already turned down everything we were invited to.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I don’t know. I was rather …’ She couldn’t finish the sentence.
Sick of it all
sounded too harsh. Lawrence looked confused, concerned. ‘Tired,’ she offered. Lawrence saw her as a delicate thing, although she was not in the least. She was slim and short, but she thought of herself as strong. ‘Ava has invited us to her father’s place in Herefordshire the weekend after this,’ she admitted grudgingly.
    ‘Well, there you go. That’s something.’
    ‘Yes, it’s something.’ But not enough, and nowhere near anything. Lydia listened to her husband’s cutlery scraping against the fine bone china and tried to block out the sound of him chewing the beef and enthusiastically licking his lips. Generally he was a discreet eater, famous for his manners and decorum, but today every bite seemed amplified and dreadful. She scrambled around in her mind for something to talk about. She could tell Lawrence Sarah’s news, although there was nothing substantial, just chatter about the children and hats; he wouldn’t be interested. She could mention that Sarah had caught the five o’clock train back to the country and couldn’t be persuaded to either make use of their driver or stay the night, but he might be irritated and believe that Lydia hadn’t tried hard enough to persuade her; he was very protective of Sarah and all their widowed friends. ‘I met a handsome man today,’ she blurted.
    Lawrence glanced at her. ‘Someone for Ava?’
    ‘No, I don’t think so.’
    ‘Beatrice?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Oh. For who, then?’
    ‘Not for anyone.’ Lydia could not imagine the perfect man with anyone in reality. He was a vision. Separate. Difficult to categorise. Ava was physically his equivalent, but Ava was never really interested in finding anyone permanent. And if she was? Well. The thought of the perfect man and Ava together sent a spear of panic through Lydia’s body. It wouldn’t work. She was comforted by the thought that if Ava ever deigned to marry, she would marry up. A duke or an earl at the very least.
    ‘Then why mention him?’
    Why indeed? Lydia was regretting that she had. But he was there. In her mind. She’d found an inexplicable need to take him out of her head and make him more substantial, more real, by mentioning him in the oak-panelled dining room. Anything, anything to block out the sound of mastication, she told herself.
    ‘He was striking.’
    ‘Where did you meet him?’
    ‘In Lyons.’
    ‘The coffee house?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Who introduced you?’
    ‘No one. He approached me.’ Lydia felt compelled to add, ‘Us. Sarah was with me.’
    ‘You can’t talk to total strangers in coffee houses, Lydia. It’s not proper.’ Lawrence laughed indulgently. He could not imagine a world where his wife might be genuinely attracted to another man. She was not that sort. Oh yes, as