Cliché Prompt 4: A Lord and a Lady
He rather likes the ladies. No one would dispute this. In fact, many say that Lowell Manchester likes them rather too much. He has something of a history with them. Or rather, he did. In his bachelor days.
“I’m going out again, darling,” Margaret informs him over breakfast as she sorts through the calling cards, organizing them by some system of categorization that only women can comprehend, he’s sure.
“Where to today, dear?” He asks not because he is particularly interested but because he knows how much his wife adores expounding on her ever-growing list of influential acquaintanceships. Yes, Lowell had indeed chosen the right woman to be the lady of his house. She has all the proper priorities in place.
“There’s a luncheon at the Ladies’ Club and then tea with Lady Worthington - you’ve met her; she was at that ghastly affair at the Ascots’ this summer…”
Yes, where his little sister-in-law had caught him out. Lowell grits his teeth, irritated with the social inhibitions that restrict him from giving Alice Kingsleigh a very sound talking-to.
Margaret natters on about this lady or that, this scandal or other, this appointment or whatnot. Lowell couldn’t care less about all that peacock posturing. When he’d first met Margaret, she’d been charming, always with a smile ready, and witty. Now… now he watches as she frowns at her new gloves and picks at a smudge. Yes, now she is more concerned with fashion than with silly things like romance. Now she spends more time at the tailor’s than she does in their own parlor. Now she spends more energy on discourse with her supposed friends - her fellow Society ladies - than in conversation with her own husband. It has been over a week since she has thought to ask him how his day was.
“I’ll miss you,” he says as she stands, ready to race off to her busy day. He smiles instead of wincing at his own words: he already misses her. Has for a while now.
She gives him an indulgent grin and, leaning down, gives him a peck on the cheek. He’s so startled that he doesn’t even think to reciprocate. In fact, he merely sits there gaping as Margaret invalidates the tenderness by brushing the same spot with her handkerchief. “You’re so charming, darling,” she praises him, and then admires the embroidery on the square of linen she holds.
Had she truly felt inclined to kiss him? Or had she merely wished to have an excuse to use her latest bauble? In his chest, a strange ache blossoms.
“I shall return before dinner!” she declares, sweeping from the room.
Lowell sits in his chair, his tea untouched. He listens to the sounds of her retreating footsteps, to the sound of the front door of their fashionable Kensington townhouse as it is opened and then shut. The ticking of the clock marks the silence. He is alone. Again.
On his lap, his fingers curl, crumpling his napkin.
Well, if Margaret is permitted to enjoy the benefits of their marriage, if she is allowed to indulge herself as she wishes… why not he?
Lowell considers this, weighs his options. True, he could try to sit Margaret down and attempt to explain to her the nature of her negligence, but the very thought makes his pride burn and simmer. No, he will not beg his wife to remain home with him more often.
“Sir?” the butler inquires as Lowell stands with a decisive tilt to his chin and a gleam in his eye.
“I’m going out,” he informs the man. “I intend to return before dinner.”
“Very good, sir.”
Very good? No, his life is not that. But as Lowell thinks of the kiss he’d been given amongst the Ascots’ hedges, he smiles. Things are not very good now, but soon perhaps they will be.
*~*~*~*~*
Notes: Before you bite my head off because I made Margaret look like a villain, let me just point out that her "pep talk" in the movie consists of, "Alice, you should marry Hamish because he's a lord and you'll have everything you could ever want!" Yeah, I know I'm simplifying things a bit by disregarding the death of their father (and the fact that Alice doesn't have a protector/provider), but developing Margaret's motives are for another day and another drabble.