They were in good health, it was true, but neither of them were perfectly happy. Wasn’t the nature of well-being to encompass health and happiness?
He had only ever given his wife one of those things.
“Now that we’ve exchanged pleasantries, would you care to enlighten me as to your true purpose?”
Thomas glanced up to find Monty still watching him, eyes narrowed, barest hint of a smile evident at the corner of his mouth.
“I need help.”
Monty blinked, expression blank. “With what?”
“My wife.”
It was a simple statement, but the weight of each word was enough to sink a boulder into the pit of Thomas’s stomach.
“Is something wrong?” Monty asked carefully, crossing one leg over the other, shadows of a furrow forming on his brow.
Thomas nodded once. “My marriage.”
Monty exhaled a short, irritated burst of air. “Granger, I am not about to help you rid yourself of your marriage to my cousin. That is on your own head, and if you want anything from me, I’m going to need a little more content to your answers than two or three words a piece.”
“I don’t want to be rid of my marriage,” Thomas insisted hotly as he shifted in his seat, the feeling of comfort fading. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“Really?” There was a note of surprise in Monty’s voice, no matter how shrouded in disbelief it was. “You don’t?”
Thomas took a moment to exhale very slowly. “The fact that you sound so dubious reinforces my fears and redoubles my determination.”
Monty’s frown fully formed then, though he didn’t seem particularly upset. “I’ll need you to explain that, if you don’t mind.”
That didn’t surprise Thomas. He imagined he would need to explain quite a bit to quite a few people as time went on. It would be excellent practice, he supposed, for when he was finally ready to explain himself to Lily.
“I’ve been negligent of my wife and the vows I made to God and her,” Thomas admitted, the glass in his hand somehow growing colder to the touch as he did so. “Not in any way the law would concede, and likely not even in any way Society would concede. But where the truth of the matter is concerned, I am just as guilty as though I had violated those vows with crime or sin.”
Monty swirled his brandy almost absently, his attention fixed on Thomas. “How so?”
“The marriage vows instruct us to have, hold, love, and cherish our wives, do they not?” Thomas asked in an emotionless tone.
“They do. Along with some conditions you haven’t mentioned.”
Thomas ignored the additional commentary. “I can only claim to have abided by half of those vows, and even then, it is a poor excuse for my efforts. I certainly have my wife, as she is still married to me and living beneath my roof. And, though it may surprise a great many people, including her, I love my wife.”
Admitting it aloud when he had kept it hidden for so long was strangely emotional, and Thomas swallowed with some difficulty. “But holding and cherishing my wife is where I have failed spectacularly.”
Monty said nothing and showed no emotion.
That made Thomas smile. “You don’t seem particularly surprised.”
“I’m not.” Monty lifted a shoulder in a polite shrug. “I’ve long suspected you loved her, though I didn’t see why you wouldn’t show it. And I agree that you have failed spectacularly, so I saw no need to correct your statement. It seemed accurate enough.”
A humorless laugh escaped Thomas as he lifted the glass of brandy to his lips again.
“I presume you mention your failings in these vows because you mean to remedy the situation,” Monty said simply, still swirling his drink.
“I do,” Thomas confirmed with a nod.
“How?”
“No idea.” He smiled blandly for effect, then sat back more comfortably in his chair. “I have five years to make up for, and I’m not sure where to start. I’ve known Lily most of my life, but it’s as if I’ve been married to a stranger. I don’t know how to begin to mend the rift I’ve created, or if there’s any point in doing so. I was hoping you might enlighten me, if not advise me.”
Monty’s brows rose, and the swirling of his glass stopped. “You’re serious.”
Thomas nodded again. “Entirely.”
The fair-haired man straightened in his chair, though he had never slouched so much as a hair. “You want me to advise you on improving the state of your marriage, your relationship with your wife, and, in essence, the life you have lived from the moment you became man and wife.”
“Please.”
Monty rubbed at his brow, exhaling roughly. “I knew I should have stayed in bed longer this morning. Lord knows, I deserve it after being up with the baby most of the night, and now with this…”
“Lily’s happiness is everything to me,” Thomas murmured softly, hoping it would plead his case for him.
A dark scowl met his plea head-on. “Well, you’ve got a damned peculiar way of showing it. I’ve seen too many expressions of distress on Lily’s face for my liking, and were Caroline alive, she’d certainly have several harsh words for you, given her affinity for her favorite cousin. And if Beth knew we were having this conversation, she would have a thing or two to say as well.”
“Don’t you think I know she deserves better than what I have given her?” Thomas cried without rancor. “That I have consigned her into a faded hue of the luster she once possessed? I’ve been painfully, acutely aware of it every minute of every day. I have seen every dampening of the light in her eyes and every smile that fades into sadness. When the hope in her voice turned to resignation, I hid myself in my study for days on end in shame.” He smiled bitterly at the one man who could possibly help him in all this. “No matter what either of your wives would have to say on the subject, I would take it all and probably think them too generous.”
The corner of Monty’s mouth twitched a little. “I don’t know about that. Caroline could be vicious in a temper and exaggerate as it suited her ire.”
“And Beth?”
Monty shuddered. “Beth has an accuracy that stuns, and the lack of venom in her barbs does nothing to lessen their potency.”
Thomas wasn’t sure if he was supposed to nod, shake his head, protest, or laugh, so he settled for sitting in silence, waiting.
Hoping.
“Fine,” Monty groaned, downing the remaining brandy with startling ease. “I’ll do what I can to help you find your way back into Lily’s good graces, though what you do when you get there is on your own head.”
“Thank you,” Thomas said with a relief that made his head swim. “Truly, I am indebted to you.”
Monty snorted once. “You’d better wait to see if I am any help before you claim servitude. I may be a dreadful advisor for you.”
“Any advisor is better than none.”
“Not always true, but let’s hope it helps you here.”
Chapter Two
“Thank you, Mrs. Robbins. It is so very generous.”
“God bless you for your kindness, Mrs. Granger.”
Lily Granger smiled, dipping her chin as modestly as one could while accepting praise that wasn’t deserved, and turned away from the cottage. She walked out to the road that would take her back to Rainford Park and away from Lundstead, away from her tenants, and away from wearing a smile she did not feel.
It was always a smile she did not feel these days. Not that she hated her home or the village nearby, she simply struggled to find joy in any of it.
Life had made it that way. Or perhaps just her marriage. In many ways, they were one and the same. But she had her independence, and she was well aware that being married to an actual villain would be far worse than being married to a man who couldn’t be bothered to notice her.
Even if she did want him to notice her. And oh, how she had wanted it!
Not so much anymore, however. Those yearnings had been for the early days of her marriage
when she still had hope that Thomas would come to love her, would be the man she thought he had been, that their marriage could become one of love despite not being arranged as such. When she looked for him, waited for him to look for her and sat with bated breath in anticipation of being called for. When she hoped to sit with him, walk with him, do anything with him.
When she hoped for anything.
There was no hope for anything anymore, only a mute acceptance of what had become normal. Was it worse to be abused by one’s husband than to be ignored by one? She couldn’t imagine so, but then, Thomas would never be one to injure her in such a physical way. His injuries would always be the silent, unseen sort; the ones that evoked pity but not sympathy; the one that many wives in England would be grateful for.
But not Lily Granger. She wanted her husband’s attention. She wanted his affection. She wanted him.
Years of not having him, his affection, or his attention had left her feeling empty and alone. Despite being surrounded by people in Society and thought to be the most fortunate of women, she felt as though she were living a lie.
And there was no joy whatsoever to be found in the lie.
Out here in the country, it was easier to forget the lie existed. Rainford Park was a large house, as was the estate as a whole, which meant separate lives were far easier to maintain than in London. But London had her friends, and Hampshire had her family. Or, at least, the family she liked best.
Her late cousin’s husband lived a few miles away, and his new wife was one of Lily’s oldest friends. But their lives were full of children and newlywed bliss, something Lily knew absolutely nothing about. She was happy for them, delighted on many levels, but surrounding herself with such happiness was taxing at times, and she could not always bear it. Not when the halls of her own home rang with a deafening silence that echoed into her heart.
Maintaining joy in the midst of such a life had taken its toll on Lily. She could lose herself in serving her tenants, could do good in the neighborhood, and could run a household in the exact way her aunt and mother had educated her, but it all lacked significance when she thought about it too much.
There had to be a better way to live a life, had to be more than just her marriage to define her existence. But when her parents had only ever cared for the connections their daughters could afford them and took little notice of anything else, a mind could become quite fixed on the idea purely from a lack of other incentives.
In that respect, Lily had quite soundly filled her parents’ expectations.
Not as exceptionally as her sister Rosalind, who had married the younger son of the popular, much-envied Rivertons, but there were not many who thought ill of Thomas Granger. Even she could not think particularly ill of him, despite being unhappily married to him these five long years.
Marrying for money when one longed for love could do that.
Her father hadn’t cared that Lily’s dowry would essentially be absorbed by Thomas’s financial losses, leaving them with very little to sustain them without additional gains. He’d thought it his duty to help an old friend in such a way, and that Lily would not do better in connections than to a Granger.
Somehow, their finances stabilized without any noticeable retrenchment, and money had never been mentioned again. Not that Lily cared so very much, given her dowry had never belonged to her in the first place and made her feel more like a horse at market than a woman, but it was curious that a hastily arranged marriage to a fortune hunter had not resulted in any sort of ruin.
Would ruination have brought her closer to her husband than stability had?
She might have preferred it that way.
Days like today were more difficult to bear, as she would have to discuss her activities with Thomas when they dined together this evening. She had been checking on those of their tenants who were less fortunate, offering food and other necessities to help them, and listening to the concerns and worries of several of the women. The winter had been harsh in many respects, and many hopes were pinned on the spring planting the Grangers would host for the estate, if not the fall harvest as well.
Lily did not imagine her husband would take issue with any of this, but if the year were not an abundant one, desperation could become rampant in the area with all the risks and dangers it provided.
If there was one thing Thomas knew well, it was how to make the estate thrive. Their discussions on various aspects of the subject were the most animated conversations they had on any topic. More than once, Lily had wondered if they should dine together on a more frequent basis than every evening, just on the chance the subject might present itself.
It would appear the man had thrown himself into estate management rather than his marriage.
At least he’d given up gambling.
Losing his money twice would surely finish him off.
Lily wouldn’t have liked it either, but it was not as horrific a thought. What would being poorer take away that she would truly miss? Was she not already found to be wanting in the things that mattered?
If she considered any of it for a length of time, the despair would overwhelm her. She could not become one of those women that stayed in her rooms and turned invalid due to fits of nerves and distress, emotionally teetering on the tip of a pin. She had to keep placing one foot in front of the other, her eyes fixed on the future, even if it had no bright promise.
After all, things could have been worse. Her husband could have been a true villain, an evil man who had no care for humanity or any other living creature. Thomas was a good man and a good master to his tenants.
If she didn’t find herself occasionally pining for his love, she might not have had a quarrel with him at all.
But every now and again, she did pine, hopeless though it was.
And every now and again, it hurt a little more.
Lily looked up as Rainford Park loomed before her, quickening her steps just a bit more as the clouds in the sky began to darken and hang with foreboding heaviness. If rain did fall, it would be a perfect day to shut herself up in the music room and play until her fingers ached. It was one thing she could say with certainty about her married life: there was always a beautiful music room at her disposal.
Though it likely wasn’t intended as a gift, or in any way significant toward her at all, she liked to pretend that her husband had intentionally situated this and their London home with a perfect arrangement for her love of music and her abilities to play. She had situated each of the rooms in each house, of course, but she hadn’t been involved in the purchasing of either house, and the layout of those rooms had been set before she had ever become Mrs. Granger.
There was something to be said for the peace and joy she found through her playing, especially when her heart was particularly tender.
Not that it was so on this day. She had no particular complaints, wasn’t especially pining, and held no misery of note. She was only tired.
Again.
It was astonishing how exhausting living a life of polite distance could be.
Her encounter with Mrs. Robbins today had been simple enough, bringing a basket of food and some tinctures the housekeeper had made up for the unwell children. The woman had been so grateful to receive such things and had offered Lily a hand-knitted shawl she had finished the day before. Lily had tried to protest, given she could just as easily purchase an article of clothing without taking a possible source of earning a little income from a tenant. But Mrs. Robbins had insisted, so Lily now carried a beautiful, thick shawl that she felt rather undeserving of.
After all, she did the same thing once a week for any in their care that the local clergyman thought might be in particular need. It was simply something a woman of station did for those in her neighborhood without much thought for true sincerity. Of course, she wanted her tenants and fellow parishioners to be well and to have enough, and she had always been on the better side of average good Christians, but she could hardly claim the goodness of her heart b
eing particularly involved here.
Was that something to be held against her? She rather thought it was a responsibility of hers, not a true act of service. These were questions she would have loved to discuss with her husband, were they on speaking terms that weren’t verging on the tangential.
But as he only tended to care about the actions she took up and not the feelings those actions engendered, they were not. Facts only, rarely details. He never wanted to discuss thoughts and feelings with her, only their tasks and duties, and even then, they were short discussions. Once in a great while, one of them would mention some details pertaining to their families, and a brief but recurring tangent of familial relations was permitted.
It was the strangest sort of life she led.
How could she have loved a man who saw her so little? Yet he hadn’t always been so hopelessly blind where she was concerned. Thomas had once been sweetly shy, gentle in his attention toward her, and content to converse with her on any topic or subject that came to mind. They’d never had a courtship, but she’d felt sure they’d been on the cusp of one.
Then her father had announced their engagement, and in the next breath mentioned Thomas’s financial ruin. It did not take great intelligence to find the connection between them.
The sweet, gentle, content Thomas she had known and loved had never been seen again.
Now there was only her husband. He was a decent man, a polite man, and a careful man, but he was a stranger even still. Five years of marriage, and she barely knew him.
Someday, if she ever found the courage, she would approach the subject of children. It would, of course, require a certain degree of physical intimacy between them, but those interactions could be limited to the bare minimum, once they bore fruit. Two children, perhaps three, and then he need never trouble himself with her again.
She could only think that he found something about her distasteful, given they had never shared a bed. He’d done his duty the night they married, but it was clear the experience had been torture to some degree, and it had never been repeated. Given it hadn’t exactly brought her delight, it didn’t seem much of a sacrifice, but she did know enough to understand that such things were necessary for a family to be formed.
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