On a Cold Dark Sea(17)
The biggest shock came when she emerged from newlywed seclusion to rejoin society. As Mrs. Hiram Harper, Esme was expected to be modest and discreet: no more wicked laughter with her friends at parties; no more dances with unmarried men. With every dull pleasantry exchanged at staid dinners and morning teas, Esme’s natural exuberance shriveled. When she mingled at the engagement party for Theo Yates, who’d managed to charm an Ohio heiress, Esme faced a dilemma completely new to her: for the first time, she could think of nothing interesting to say. Once she had children, she supposed, she’d be one of those women who talked about nothing else. She was already older than friends who’d started families, but Esme wasn’t quite ready to retreat into motherhood. Not yet.
“Your mother tells me you’re off to New York for your honeymoon,” Esme said to Theo and his future bride, as if she’d never heard such thrilling news. Theo, to Esme’s satisfaction, barely paid attention to the woman at his side. It was gratifying to know Esme could still capture his attention when she wanted to.
“We’re staying at the Waldorf Astoria,” Theo’s fiancée said. “I’ve heard it’s very grand.”
“I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time,” Esme said. “Hiram and I will be in New York soon, too. We’re sailing for France in March.”
Theo nodded his approval. “W-w-w-wonderful. What a jolly time you’ll have.”
“I will do my best to make Mr. Harper jolly, but it won’t be an easy task.”
They all laughed, and if Esme felt a twinge of disloyalty at making fun of Hiram, it was worth it. Basking in Theo’s admiration, she described her future travels with an enthusiasm she hadn’t felt for ages. She and Hiram would have a jolly time. They had introductions to well-connected families in Paris and London, and she’d be coming home with a trunk full of brand-new French fashions. With enough good food and wine, Hiram’s restraint might ease, and she’d be able to enjoy herself. As Esme looked at Theo’s face, his mouth slack like a child’s, she knew she’d made the right choice. She couldn’t imagine Theo guiding her through Europe, ordering porters and shop assistants around with Hiram’s dignified poise. She’d been right to marry Hiram, and if the realities of marriage had knocked her off balance, the honeymoon would set things right.
Instead, it would end her marriage.
After a short excursion to Biarritz, Esme and Hiram spent the second half of March in Paris. Hiram didn’t blanch at the bills for gowns and shoes that arrived at their room in the Ritz, and he soon gave Esme an even more valuable gift. Sabine, a maid at the hotel, had been helping Esme with her hair in the evenings, and Esme had been charmed by the girl’s cautious smiles and tidy precision. Within a few days, they’d developed a conspiratorial rapport, with Esme trying to explain what she wanted in broken French, and Sabine responding in equally atrocious English. When Hiram walked in on them laughing one evening, he asked Sabine if she’d ever traveled outside of France.
“Non, monsieur,” she replied. “I would like, one day.”
“Any interest in seeing America? My wife is in need of a lady’s maid.”
Sabine looked shocked but pleased, and Esme felt like a little girl whose father had surprised her with a pony for Christmas. Her own maid, and a French one, at that! Hiram consulted the hotel’s manager, who summoned Sabine’s father, and they all met in the manager’s office a few days later. Holding a shabby hat, looking ill at ease beside the elegantly polished manager, Sabine’s father said her family was grateful for the offer but needed some time to consider it. Hiram explained exactly how generous he was prepared to be, and when the manager translated the amount Hiram was offering, Esme immediately recognized the expression on Sabine’s father’s face. It was the same one she’d seen on her own father, on the rare occasions the factory showed a profit. It was soon agreed Sabine would join the Harpers when they departed for London a week later.
Sabine’s sweet yet deferential presence was a boost to Esme’s confidence, but her new companion couldn’t make up for her steadily increasing frustration. All the shopping and sightseeing only underscored how little Hiram and Esme had in common. Esme loved music and chatty gatherings; Hiram was most content reading alone. In Philadelphia, he’d escorted her to events because it was his duty to mingle with their social circle. In Europe, he felt no such obligation.
“Tea with the Deauvilles? I hardly know them.”
“That’s the point, darling. We’re having tea in order to get to know them better.”
“Isn’t that best left to you women? No need to force the husbands into it.”
Esme began attending events alone, defiantly, until she realized Hiram didn’t object because he didn’t care. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even glance up from his book when she came back to their room. It wasn’t until she started talking that he’d lift his head with a distracted “Hmm?” It was a sound she came to loathe.
In London, Esme found she wasn’t the only wife who socialized without her husband. Some of the women she met were outspoken suffragettes who believed they should be able to do whatever they wanted, the law be damned. It was an attitude Esme privately admired but would never have announced in public; she was content on the fringes of notoriety rather than at its center. And one of the most satisfying ways to be daring was to flirt outrageously with other men.