An Inconvenient Wife (12 page)

That night was the opera. Merely the thought of the terrible, cacophonous music, the gloominess, the close air, the jewels
and the perfume and the inquisitiveness—
How have you been, Lucy? You look tired, Lucy. Are you going to so-and-so’s supper, Lucy?
—made me irritable. Worst of all would be William’s cloying concern, his disappointment.
You were doing so well, Lucy. What happened?

But I readied myself obediently. That evening, as I neared the bottom of the stairs, I heard my father’s voice coming from
the study. Then he came into the hall, followed by William.

“Ah, there you are, my dear,” Papa said when he saw me. He was dressed for the opera, which I couldn’t countenance. “Well,
now, Lucy, you do look in fine fettle tonight.”

“Thank you, Papa,” I managed. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were planning to accompany us. But I know how you
dislike the Metropolitan.”

“As it happens, I am going,” he said. “Much as I dislike it, I’ve promised to attend Dunsmuir’s supper tonight after.”

“I see,” I said, though that hardly explained it. It would be easy enough for him to go to the supper with or without the
opera.

William said, “I’ve managed to convince your father that he might enjoy the German style after all.” Then he frowned. “Where
are the emeralds, Lucy? The emeralds are for green.”

I had chosen simple diamonds. “I didn’t feel—”

“Moira!” He stepped to the bottom of the stairs. “Moira, bring Mrs. Carelton’s jewel case here immediately, please.”

“William, really,” I said, putting my hand on his arm. “I thought the emeralds were too much for tonight.”

“Don’t be absurd. They’ll wonder where the emeralds are.”

I said nothing more. Moira brought the jewel case, and it was opened, and the diamonds were exchanged for a necklace of huge
square-cut emeralds, the earbobs for elaborate emerald earrings that dangled to my jaw.

We arrived at our box just before the second intermission, fashionably late, to the murmur of voices and the turning of heads,
the lifting of opera glasses. My emeralds reflected the stage lights, as they were intended to do. I removed my cloak and
took my time sitting, as I knew William liked, giving them all a chance to see me, letting the glare of my jewels lure their
gazes. I felt William’s smile in the darkness. He put his hand possessively over my arm. Papa sat grumpily behind us.

I watched the last minutes of the performance before the break. I could not have said what the opera was tonight; my program
lay unopened in my lap. I felt as if I were moving in a dream. Then the music stopped, and the lights rose, and I was revealed.
William’s hand tightened on my arm, and then he got to his feet and said, “I’ll get us some refreshment,” and left me there
with my father.

He was gone only a moment before my father leaned forward and whispered, “Good God, Lucy, you’re like a statue tonight.”

“I haven’t slept well,” I answered.

“Of course not. No one has. It’s the middle of the season.” He harrumphed in my ear, a breath of sound that stirred my earrings.
“That’s no excuse. You’re a Van Berckel. Be a credit to your family. And your husband. William said you’ve been better. I
came tonight to see it for myself. I’m beginning to think William is being overly hopeful.”

I took a deep breath. Just then there was a movement at the curtains, and I turned to see Clara Morris pushing through, her
husband, Bartlett, in tow. Clara was a society matron of long standing, her pedigree nearly as exceptional as mine. She had
enhanced it by marrying into a Knickerbocker family when she was barely eighteen. Tonight she wore a gown so bundled in lace
that she looked more like an ancient schoolmarm than a youthful woman, an image she was obviously trying to recapture. That
was accentuated by her keen gaze, which swept me from head to foot.

My father was on his feet in moments. “Clara. Bartlett. So good to see you.”

“And how surprising to see
you,
” Clara said archly. She rapped Papa with her fan, a flirtation that only looked silly. I saw Bartlett wince. “What brings
you here after all this time, DeLancey? I know I heard you swear you wouldn’t set a foot in the opera house until they changed
the program.”

“I was persuaded otherwise,” Papa said.

“How delightful.” Clara’s eagle eye swept past my father to me. “And how lovely to see you, Lucy. Mamie Fish and I stopped
by on your calling day last week, to find you out.”

At Dr. Seth’s. I tried to smile. “I was called away unexpectedly.”

“Well, I’m happy it was nothing more. We had thought— It’s of no matter, of course, but there has been some talk that you
haven’t been home on your calling day for weeks. Have you been ill? Oh, I do hope it’s not a reprise of last spring.”

I heard the words she didn’t say:
When you offended Caroline Astor and took to your bed for two months.

Papa gave me a sharp glance, and I saw Clara catch it.

“No, of course not. Everything’s quite lovely,” I said, though I couldn’t rid myself of the notion that she saw straight through
me to the lie.

She gave me a little smile and looked smugly satisfied. “How good to hear that.”

“Here we are.” William came through the curtains holding two drinks. “Well, hello, Clara, Bartlett. Lucy, darling, you’ll
never guess who I found.”

I reached for the glass. It was warm. The sweet, sticky scent of it was overwhelming. “No, I’m certain I won’t,” I said faintly.
“Who did you find?”

Before he could answer, a man came through the curtains behind him. It was Victor Seth.

He was dressed as I had never seen him, in deep chocolate brown. His matching vest hung with two thick watch chains, each
dangling a charm I couldn’t identify from where I stood. He looked like any of William’s friends might, and his smile showed
he was completely at ease in this society. His thick hair was swept back, his glasses were gone, and without them his eyes
seemed even more piercing.

I stared at him, unable to speak, though I did gasp—I know I did that, because Clara looked at me with sudden avid curiosity.

“Have you met Victor Seth?” William asked the Morrises.

Clara Morris extended her hand. “No, I fear I haven’t. Though I’ve heard so much about you, Dr. Seth. We both have, haven’t
we, Bartlett?”

Bartlett grunted.

William introduced them smoothly. Seth took Clara’s hand with a smile and said, “Mrs. Morris, it’s a pleasure to meet you
and your husband.”

“You’re new in town, eh?” Bartlett said, the first words he’d uttered since entering our box. “You’re a doctor?”

“Yes,” Seth said, and to his credit, he didn’t hazard so much as a glance in my direction. “I’ve only just opened my practice
here a few months ago.”

“A physician? Seems we hardly need another one of those.”

“Perhaps not,” Seth said graciously. “But one never knows.”

William said, “Victor’s interested in joining the Staten Island Athletic Club. I’ve been trying to talk him into polo, but
he claims he has no talent for it.”

“I’m afraid not,” Seth said. He looked at me and said to my father, “Your daughter does you credit tonight, Mr. Van Berckel.
Mrs. Carelton, you look lovely this evening.”

“Thank you,” I said. My heart was beating so hard I could barely hear my own voice. I did not know how to feel about meeting
him here—it was so out of context. I had known I would see him in society again, and I thought I had braced for it, but not
well enough, it seemed. To think of what he knew of me . . . I had the image of him seated before me, between my spread legs.
My hand went involuntarily to my low décolletage. He did not miss even that small motion.

“Where is your office, Dr. Seth?” Clara asked.

“On Broadway, isn’t it?” Papa said, then smiled at me triumphantly.

“Why, yes, it is,” Seth said. “Not the best part of town, I realize, but I returned from France only last September. I had
little time to find an office.”

Papa nodded. “God knows we’ve enough ailments to fund a multitude of doctors. I’ve paid half of them myself.”

I took a sip of my punch, pressing the glass hard against my lower lip.

“The fees today are so high.” Clara shook her head in mock disgust. “I should think it would be economical to have a doctor
as a friend.”

“Which is precisely why I don’t treat my friends,” Seth said, and the others laughed.

I could not bear it, not another moment. The images from my dreams, from my times in his office, would not leave my head.
I felt violated, invaded. I did not want him to have a life beyond the hours I spent with him. I wanted him caged there, cocooned
in his office, contained so that I saw him only when I wanted to. This was impossible.

I put down my cup with a loud enough clank that Papa frowned, and then I touched William’s arm and whispered to him, “I have
a headache, William.”

“One moment,” he said to me.

I smiled weakly at the others. “You must excuse me for a moment,” I managed. “But it’s so warm in here—I really must get some
air.”

“Of course, my dear,” Clara said, and then someone else said something, but I was already past them, through the curtains,
into the hallway, where people milled, talking, laughing, looking at me curiously.

The lights went dim, the signal for the performance to start again. I made my way to the foyer, past the startled doormen,
outside. It was cold; the snow had turned icy, drivers were huddled in a circle talking, rubbing their hands, burying their
faces in scarves, and yet I hardly felt the chill upon my bared shoulders, or on the gold and gemstones that touched my skin.
It was a relief to breathe air that burned my lungs, that smelled of ice and mud. I felt myself calming in only a few moments.
Then one of the drivers caught sight of me and spoke to the others, and one of them—Jimson—hurried over, touching his hat,
looking worried behind the bulk of his collar. “Ma’am?”

I meant to tell him to go back. I meant to say that I was going inside again, that I was escaping the headache. But before
I could say any of that, I felt a hand on my arm, and I turned to see Dr. Seth standing behind me, with William coming quickly
after.

“It’s nothing to be concerned about,” Seth said to Jimson. “Mrs. Carelton needs a moment to rest.”

Jimson looked at me questioningly, and I found myself nodding my agreement, watching as he reluctantly went back to his friends.

William came beside me. He held my cloak, which he put gently around my shoulders. Surprisingly, there was no hint of irritation
in his voice when he said, “Your father’s quite worried about you, as am I. Do you wish to go home, darling?”

“Yes,” I said, gathering my cloak close. “Yes, I would like that. I’m so sorry, William. It’s simply that my head—” I caught
Dr. Seth’s gaze, how he watched us, how avid was his expression, and blurted, “I didn’t know you cared for the opera.”

He nodded. “I spent quite some time in Leipzig. I’ve developed a fondness for the German.”

“I see.”

“You seem distressed, Mrs. Carelton.”

“It’s just that I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I don’t know why not,” William said. “You’ve seen him about before. And I told you I was putting his name forth for SIAC.”

“I’ve distressed you,” Seth said. He sounded chastened, apologetic, and that bothered me too, that he would know so well how
I felt.

“It’s only that I’m surprised.”

“I’ll go get DeLancey,” William said. He was never so accommodating. I could only think it had something to do with Dr. Seth’s
presence. “We’ll leave straightaway.”

But William did not go, and Seth did not move. I did not move. Seth said, “Tell me, Mrs. Carelton, why seeing me here disturbs
you so.”

“Why shouldn’t it?” I whispered. “You’re my doctor.”

“You seem afraid.”

The word shook me. “Afraid? Of course not.”

“Perhaps you’re worried that your friends might reveal your secrets.”

Something leaped in me, some twinge of feeling. I turned away.

William laughed. “Secrets? Lucy has no secrets.”

“Is that true, Mrs. Carelton?”

I could not look at Seth. “Of course it’s true. This is absurd, to be having this conversation here. It’s freezing.”

“Yes, it is absurd.” Dr. Seth hesitated, then said, “William, might I have a few minutes with your wife?”

William frowned. “Whatever for?”

“I think I may be able to relieve her headache.”

“It feels better already,” I protested.

William glanced at me in worry and nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ll go find Lucy’s father.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “Let’s all go inside, where it’s warmer. I am feeling much better.”

It was as if I hadn’t spoken. William hurried away, leaving me standing alone with Dr. Seth beneath the glare of streetlights
and the icy brush of snow.

Dr. Seth turned to me. “Your husband insisted I come to your box. Otherwise I wouldn’t have surprised you that way. Apparently
your father had some desire to meet me.”

“He thinks you’re a charlatan.” I had not meant to say the words, but he waved them off impatiently.

“He’ll be impressed, then, when I cure you.”

I forgot my discomfort in a rush of gratitude, and then was startled that he should so easily change my emotions. “When you
cure me?”

“Yes, of course.” He stepped closer. “But we’ve discussed this before, Mrs. Carelton. I can help you only if you trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

“Then why did you leave so hastily when I came to your box? What is it you’re afraid of?”

He was too close. I took a step back. “Why, nothing.”

Dr. Seth held out his hand. “Come,” he whispered, and I felt helpless against him. I put my hand in his, and his fingers crept
up, circling my wrist, pressing lightly, almost a caress. “Now, Mrs. Carelton, shall we find out what your secrets are?”

The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the carriage, dimly lit from the streetlamps shining outside. Dr. Seth was sitting
across from me, his arms crossed over his chest. William and my father were nowhere to be seen.