The shine of Paris had already started to dim and I saw the place for what it was, a dirty, hurried city that put elegance above comfort. Maybe my discontentment was because my beloved spouse had quite unreasonably forbidden me to spend another franc on clothing or that he had sulked since we'd gone to that dreadfully modern gallery and I had failed to appreciate the art enough for his liking. Marriage was hard and I had hoped that Paris would be the remedy, that somehow we would be swept away with the romance of it all and find relief from the mundane frustrations of married life. For a while, it seemed to work and Daniel was warmer to me than he had been for months, but a chill wind had blown and my husband was taciturn once more.
One evening, as I was struggling to choose between two evening gowns that had both started to disappoint me, I threw them down in a temper. I felt so dowdy and provincial surrounded by the sophisticates of Paris and the spousal shopping ban weighed heavily on me. My husband peered over his newspaper and shot me a look of disapproval.
"What now?" he said sharply.
"I have nothing fit to be worn," I said.
He leapt to his feet and rescued the evening dresses with a frown, dusting them off and placing them on the bed with care. I wished he'd show as much solicitude to me as he did those gowns.
"You have plenty of clothes," he said sternly. "And you are not buying any more."
"What is the point of coming to Paris and hardly visiting a couturier?" I said.
"You've already spent more than we can afford," he said. "And asked your father for more money too! Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me?"
My husband's handsome face was taut with anger, I looked into his eyes and my frustration subsided. I had been a plain girl who had grown into a plain woman, I knew the faults of my face even better than my mother did, and yet here I was married to the most handsome man in Kent. I had been in love with Daniel Mordaunt for as long as I could remember and ignored by him for almost as long. But he couldn't ignore me now I was his wife, try as he might, and if I couldn't get him to stare at me in adoration, I would at least get him to look at me with anger.
"It's only money," I shrugged. "And Papa has plenty of that."
"I don't want to sponge off your father," he said, his grey eyes blazing into mine. I was the price Daniel paid for my father's fortune and he resented every penny my father flung his way.
"Well Paris is boring without shopping and you need money to shop," I said.
"Paris is boring?" he said, shaking his head with disbelief. " I thought Paris was your dream!"
"It was never my dream, it was Mary's," I said.
Mary. Her name hung in the silence between us, still casting a shadow on our marriage. The distant look in his eyes told me that he was reminiscing, I wondered what memory of Mary he was lingering on now as I too reluctantly slipped into thoughts of the past.
* * *
The lake was our favourite place to spend a summer's day, Mary loved to sit on the banks to read worthy books and I loved to sit and braid her soft golden hair. My life had really been quite lonely before she came, I was my parent's only child and my homely face repulsed my mother so she showed very little interest in me. Mary was beautiful like a wax-doll, doe-eyed and gentle but with a delicious streak of tragedy beneath her surface. I adored her with an intensity that surprised everyone, not least myself.
The day after he returned from university, Daniel came strolling by the lake and headed to the jetty that our respective families shared. The border of our estates split the lake right down the middle and for decades the jetty and boat house had been the site of neighbourly goodwill between us. As I saw his fair-head come into focus, my heart beat faster. I knew this summer he would no longer see me as a girl, but as the woman I had become.
"Daniel!" I squealed with joy. "You are back home at last."
"Oh hello Harriet," he said. "You've grown a little taller since Christmas."
The warmth that had flooded my chest to see him, grew hotter and I burned with pride at this scrap of notice. The storm-grey eyes had left my face already, sweeping across the banks of the lake until he noticed Mary. The daisy-chain I had made her sat on her wheat-blonde hair, giving her the appearance of a summer meadow. The boredom on his face was replaced with a keen interest.
"Who is the girl?" he asked, never taking his eyes from her.
"Oh her? That is my Cousin Mary, she lives with us now," I said. "Her father died leaving her utterly penniless and Mama took her in."
"Poor child," he murmured.
"She's not a child," I said indignantly. "She only two months younger than me and we will both be out this September."
"Introduce me," he said, turning his face back to mine. "After all, we are neighbours now."
A strange lump formed in my throat as I walked over with Daniel to the bank where Mary sat. There seemed to be a strange electricity in the air as they looked at one another, like the prickle of heat before a thunderstorm, and my heart beat heavy in my chest. The formalities passed and he did not let go of her hand, he gazed at Mary without saying a word until she dropped her eyes coyly and took back her hand with a smile. Even at the tender age of sixteen, she knew how to hold a man's attention.
"And what puffy nonsense are young women reading nowadays," he asked with a smile as he took the book from her.
"Middlemarch by George Eliot," she said with a blush.
"I'm impressed," he said, a little chastened by her reply. "You are fond of more worthy literature than your cousin. I must bring you some books from my library if you like reading."
My mother's rebuke that men do not like young ladies who read books, seemed to be proved false in Daniel's case. The two of them had a delighted conversation about books and poems that bored me to utter tears and yet it seemed to increase Daniel's admiration of Mary even more. The talk turned to favourite places to read, with attention falling on the lakeside.
"On a fine day like this, I think there is no better place to be," Mary said glowing with smiles.
"Well I am happy to hear that you love my lake," he said.
"Your lake? I thought it belonged to my cousins," she said with a hint of curiosity.
"Our estate owns half each," he explained.
"Who owns that mysterious little island in the middle?" she asked.
"Now that is disputed territory," he said with a grin.
"Oh Daniel," I cried, eager to be let into the conversation. "Do let us row out to the island and show Mary around."
Sometimes Daniel would take his sister and me out on the lake on a little blue boat he called the Bluebottle. I loved watching Daniel row, the muscles of his arms straining beneath his shirt and sweat shining on his forehead. He looked at Mary, trying to gauge her interest as she looked out to the little island, she paled a little and bit her lip.
"Would you like to go, Miss Taylor?" he asked. "It is ever such a nice place for a picnic."
"Is it safe out on the lake?" she said, frowning slightly.
"Of course it is," he said with a gentle smile. "You're safe with me."
Waves of sickness washed over me as I sat on the boat, I could feel myself disappear even though I was right next to her. He could see nothing but her as he pulled the oars effortlessly through the water. Mary looked away, her fingers trailing dreamily in the water below, the small smile on her face betraying the knowledge of his gaze. My silent tears fell into the lake below and I wished to join them in the deep waters, for I knew right then that I would never be enough to capture his attention like that.
* * *
Daniel's voice cut through my memories and I was back in our Paris hotel room, the hot prick of tears burning once more. I looked up, drinking in the beautiful grey eyes flecked with threads of brilliant gold. I wanted him to look at me the way he looked at Mary that day when she was just a sweet girl of sixteen with loose hair down to her waist.
"You were lost in thought," he said. "What is on your mind?"
There was an eagerness in his voice as he anticipated a conversation about Mary, I had not seen him so animated for weeks. Inside, my stomach knotted. I would not give him the satisfaction of dwelling on the past, he had made his choice and married me, I was his future and Mary had to remain a forgotten memory. It was really quite pathetic that even the mention of her name turned him into a panting spaniel pining for the return of his master. There was an edge of defiance in my voice as I answered.
"I was thinking about that yellow hat in the milliners on Rue-de-la-Paix," I said without the slightest blush at my dishonesty.
I took a bitter pleasure in watching him deflate, his shoulders rounded and the glimmer from his eyes dimmed.
"No more hats," he said through gritted teeth as he left the room.
I had noticed that wherever we went he gazed expectantly around, seeking something he never found. He dragged me around every boring art gallery he could find and made me sit through every celebrated opera and ballet there was at the Palais Garnier. My head throbbed with boredom, as he rarely spoke to me but just searched the crowds for his elusive quarry. The opera was only good for one thing and that was for watching the fashions of La Belle Paris, the achingly stylish elite in their gilded boxes. It was as I looked through my opera glasses at the sumptuous satins and deep velvets that Daniel's behaviour began to make sense. There she was, her golden beauty lit up by the candelabra below her box.
"Mary!" I said, with a gasp.
Daniel's attention snapped to where I was facing, his eyes hungry for the sight of her. A sickening jealousy crept up my throat, not at her effect on my husband, I had grown resigned to that, but of the beautiful gown she was wearing. Skilled with a needle and with a keen sense of style, she had always managed to tweak a simple dress into something more but even an untrained eye could see that she was wearing some of the most expensive haute couture in Paris.
The realisation that Mary was rich floored me. I could just about endure the deplorable way Daniel pined for her when I thought she was poor and wretched, but knowing she was wealthy and still had my husband's heart was unbearable. His fingers gripped tightly around the mother-of-pearl opera glasses as he stared over at her, making no pretence that he was doing otherwise.
"Daniel! So this is the reason you've been acting so strangely," I hissed.
There was no reply and I had expected none, his silence was a wall Daniel built around himself to keep me out. Clutching my fan, I jabbed him sharply in the ribs to break his gaze. A sullen look spread across his face, like a child who has been caught redhanded and yet resents the punishment. My anger blistered and boiled, I could feel my face burn red with rage.
"I want to leave now," I said.
"We can't," he replied coolly. "The first act isn't over yet and it would cause an awful bother to everyone in our row."
It was typical Daniel to consider the comfort of perfect strangers more important than mine. I trembled at the fury inside, a scream building up inside me that I longed to release, but I knew if I did then Mary would turn her lovely face to me and give me that gentle look of pity that always broke my heart. Tears poured down my cheek at the utter humiliation I felt, watching Daniel as he drank in the sight of Mary, beautiful and unaware at the storm of feeling that she had raised across the auditorium.
I knew then even a glimpse of her could still eclipse me and I would never be free of her shadow.