Something Old

by Rebecca Connolly

  Marianne raised a trim brow, her lips pursing. “Don’t you, then?”

  Obediently, expression blank, Lily shook her head.

  She was not about to tell her friend that she was absolutely right, and that Lily had every intention of staring at her husband all night. Oh, she’d be as social as she was inclined, as usual, and enjoy the music and the dancing, as she’d been doing so far this evening. But the majority of her attention would be devoted to watching her husband.

  Since the evening spent with the Whitlocks and their other friends, they’d begun having more conversation, stilted though it was, and she was eager for more. He’d asked her if she wished to go for a stroll in the park with him yesterday, and it had crushed her to have to refuse him, as she had already arranged to take tea with Lady Riverton, Rosalind’s mother-in-law.

  It was a well-known and well-abided tenet of London Society that one did not refuse the Rivertons, nor cancel arrangements with them. Lily had no wish to sin against such a truth, much as it might pain her.

  She’d asked him if he wished to listen to her play this morning, and there had been no hiding the disappointment in his features when he’d told her that he’d accepted a request for a meeting with some partners in his business interests. The meetings had taken the whole course of the morning and into the afternoon, and she hadn’t seen him again until they’d met to attend the ball.

  They’d been seated far apart during supper, and now he was surrounded by various associates of Society, deep in conversation. Lily was amid friends as well, though hardly so popular.

  “Is she or is she not staring at her husband at this moment?” Gemma, Lady Blackmoor, asked Marianne in a loud whisper.

  “Indeed, she is,” Marianne confirmed in an undiminished tone. “Which begs further consideration of my previous question.”

  Lily did her best to ignore them, the beat of her fan steadying her.

  Thomas was looking over at her. Not at this particular moment, but on occasion. Repeatedly on occasion, as it happened. His expression was not especially reflective of any particular emotion, but it seemed more open than she had known in recent years. It gave her hope yet did not encourage. It made her heart beat yet did not make her warm. It made her want to smile yet did not actually produce the thing.

  It was as though she was caught between the despair of disappointment and the longing of almost. What good was feeling that her husband might not be indifferent if it changed nothing?

  She was all confusion, there was no room for any other sensation, and for that reason, she would continue to look at her husband.

  Blatantly.

  “Would you care to tell either of us what precisely you are doing?” Marianne asked with the same imperious tone to her voice she had held only moments before.

  If there was anything Lily had learned during the several years she had been friends with Marianne Gerrard, it was that when she had an idea in her head, nothing in heaven or earth could remove it from her. And when she wanted the answer to a question, she would press and press until a satisfactory one was given.

  “Would it be fair to admit that I don’t know?” Lily inquired in return. She tried for a smile, knowing it shook where it sat. “I want… I’m trying… That is, I’m hoping to change the nature of my marriage.”

  Gemma raised a golden brow. “The nature of it? How so?”

  Lily swallowed with some difficulty. “I wish to make it a proper marriage of companionship, not one of distance and politeness.”

  “Are you indeed?” Marianne looked either impressed or startled, or some mixture of the two, and for her to show any particular expression in company was a feat. “How are you faring there?”

  “I’ve barely begun,” Lily admitted, looking over at her husband again, this time with all the glumness her situation afforded her.

  “And what do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing is happening.”

  “Well,” Gemma scoffed without much concern, “that follows, doesn’t it? Nothing ever happens in the beginning, else you are doing the thing backward.”

  Lily turned to look at her fair-haired friend, frowning a little. “Explain that, if you please.”

  Gemma seemed surprised by the request. “The beginning is awkwardness and planting seeds. True moments of satisfaction there are few and far between, simply because there isn’t a leg for any of them to stand upon. You are breaching the walls that have been put up, perhaps for a lifetime, and that is no simple task. You may feel as though you are not making any sort of progress or are even moving backward.”

  “Yes,” Lily whispered, though she truly could not say that she knew much of this for certain. A few days at attempting to be accommodating, open, and more affable hadn’t given her anything to find encouragement in, or to think herself particularly successful. But the decision to try and alter things had given her the sense that she was working toward something, even if there were no rewards to be seen as yet.

  In that respect, she could comprehend Gemma’s meaning.

  “What do you mean by nothing?” Marianne retorted, completely disregarding anything Gemma had said. “I arranged for the two of you to dance together when we were all with the Whitlocks at their home. The pair of you were a charming picture of a couple.”

  “And then I played for Kate so she might dance,” Lily reminded her. “That was part of a plan Granger and I had set up to avoid dancing. I had thought we might have conversation while I played, or that he might stand too close, or that I might be rendered a little bit breathless, but none of those things happened.”

  Gemma heaved a heavy, dramatic sigh. “Your romantic expectations are too high and too specific, my dear. I doubt you’ve ever been truly rendered breathless by Granger, so why should he start doing so now?”

  That wasn’t fair. Granger could be very charming when he chose, and there was no reason for Lily to not become breathless because of it. She had not done so before, but surely now that they were married, it would have a greater effect.

  Marianne gave her a pointed look, her rich blue silks reflecting the color of her eyes perfectly. “Do you feel anything when he stares at you?”

  “Surprised, more than anything.” Lily laughed at her own answer, which prompted her friends to do so, though they likely would not have had her reaction been otherwise. “I have never known what to feel when he looks at me, and he doesn’t stare that often. Nothing has ever come of it, so it means nothing.”

  “Then that is where the problem lies,” her friend insisted. “You must feel things for your husband.”

  Lily bit back several sounds of derision. “He would have to do something in order for me to feel something.”

  “Lily Granger, is that cynicism I hear from your lips?”

  “Yes, Gemma, I do believe it is.”

  Her friends looked at each other wide-eyed before returning their attention to her.

  She blushed at the direct attention. “Is it so wrong for me to want the sort of marriages that the two of you share with your husbands?”

  “No,” Gemma insisted firmly.

  “Of course not,” Marianne said at the same time.

  Neither of them said anything further.

  Lily looked between them. “But?” she prodded.

  They glanced at each other, an understanding of sorts passing from one to the other. Marianne sighed and gave Lily a pitying look. “You cannot force such things, Lily. It would be much easier if you could, but I imagine that would impact the quality of the emotions involved. It will not happen on a schedule, nor when you demand.”

  “I don’t want to force it,” Lily protested, the attempt halfhearted at best, as she was almost positive that she did want to force something, if only to bring about something to adjust the way things were between her and her husband.

  She looked at the man in question now, still surrounded by people without being the focus of any of them. He was not at the center of anyone’s attention, nor of the group as
a whole, but he was taking an active part in the conversations at hand, which seemed a small miracle. He peered up from the discussion, his eyes clashing with hers again, and this time, her heart did lurch, careening to the right and slamming against her ribs somehow.

  Why had it done that? What had changed to make her feel more now than she had only seconds ago?

  “I want him to look at me,” she admitted to her friends with a raw honesty that ripped at her chest, keeping her eyes on him. “I want him to take pleasure in looking at me. And I want to prefer no sight more than his presence.”

  “Well, staring at him like this will give you a fine start,” Gemma encouraged, a light giggle in her voice. “But perhaps smile as you do so? At the moment, you seem to be almost haunted.”

  That broke the spell Lily felt holding her attention on Thomas, and she looked at Gemma, aghast by the comment. “Haunted?” she repeated. “I was only looking!”

  Marianne sighed in an almost irritated huff. “Yes, but if you do not wish your emotions to be on display, you must learn to wear a mask. Looking at the object of our emotions will always reveal more of ourselves than we would like. On occasion, that works to our advantage in the end. When it does not…”

  “Wear a mask,” Lily finished, her lips barely moving. She shook her head, swallowing. “I feel as though I already wear a mask on a regular basis. I am so tired of masks.”

  “You only wear the mask until you no longer have to,” Gemma assured her. “Then you share an understanding that does not require masks, explanation, or reason.”

  Marianne nodded fervently beside her.

  There was nothing to do except sigh at the shared insight of her friends, particularly when Lily had nothing else to go by and no other guidance in these matters.

  “We’re naturally gravitating towards our own, independent ways,” she admitted to them, not bothering to hide the note of resignation in her voice. “London patterns are well established for us by now, and we keep to them despite anything else. I’m as much to blame as he, making calls and outings as I normally would. I, who has determined to be more encouraging, cannot seem to do so here. There is too much else to do, too many distractions. We are too set in our ways.”

  Gemma shook her head in sympathy. “It is London, Lily. I may have met and courted my husband here, but we did not love each other here. We had to leave this place to find our way to each other.”

  “So did we,” Marianne reminded them both. “Nothing pleasant happened for us here until we were already in love. Some people can find romance in London, but I was not one of them.”

  “Nor I.” Gemma smiled fondly. “Perhaps you and Granger should get out of London to start again.”

  “I would love to,” Lily admitted without shame. “But where would we go? Things would be worse at Rainford. We are so separated there.”

  Marianne’s fair brow furrowed in thought. “You could go out to Somerset and use Glendare while we are in London. If either of you would be comfortable there. That was where everything changed for us, and it is pleasantly removed from the village, though not remote.”

  There was something appealing about the idea of removing to the coast, and knowing the place was a favorite of her friend’s and held fond memories certainly spoke in its favor.

  And yet…

  How could she improve things with her husband if she was reminded of Kit and Marianne around every corner?

  “What about Thornacre?” Gemma offered helpfully. “It’s such a beautiful place, and so comfortable. Granger would be at ease at once, I am sure of it.”

  If only that were true.

  If only it could be true.

  But in someone else’s home, particularly someone he knew, Lily felt certain he would not be able to settle and lose some of his reserve. He, too, would be seeing shadows of their friends in every aspect of the house and would not feel wholly himself.

  If there was anything they needed, it was to be more of their true selves and less of their past selves. Could they find those people again?

  “I just don’t think either place would suit our present needs and aims,” Lily confessed. She sighed and glanced at her husband, seeing him less actively engaged than before, though still involved in the conversations.

  He looked up as though he knew she had been looking, and this time, she saw a hint of longing there, something longsuffering and almost pained, and she wondered at it. Was he desperate to be away from his group and not certain how to manage it? Was he feeling that way toward Lily in particular?

  She wanted to go to him, rescue him from the conversation he seemed trapped in, but her hesitation locked her feet in place.

  What if he wanted freedom, but not with her?

  It seemed a silly idea, given he had invited her to London with him, but her fears were founded in their past behaviors. He had avoided her at every turn possible, short of truly abandoning her, and with that, had given her insecurities that would not be easily shaken.

  She could not march across the room to her husband and call him to her side. Could not summon him from across the room, either. Could not do anything where he was concerned with any degree of confidence. She could rely on him to see her home in their coach, and that was all.

  And the realization of that burned across her heart as though laying fresh wounds.

  “I must get away,” Lily whispered to her friends, the words hitching in her throat. “If there is any hope of improving my marriage, it must be away.”

  “I had no idea,” Marianne murmured, eyes wide, her beauty undiminished by her shock. “No idea at all that you still felt something for him.”

  Lily tried for a smile; the strain of it was too much to fully form. “I’ve always felt something, but that something is getting harder and harder to define. I cannot bear the thought of feeling nothing at all, and yet that looms ever closer the more we live like this.”

  “You deserve a marriage of equal attachment,” Gemma told her, putting a hand on her arm and squeezing gently. “Whatever the measure of it, you deserve to not stand alone in your emotions.”

  “I have no notion of how he feels for me. Or that he feels for me at all. He is a good man, there is no denying that.”

  Marianne made a soft sound of hesitation, but Gemma elbowed her into silence.

  Lily ignored them. “He takes prodigious care of me and our tenants. What he has done for Rainford and the local businesses has been remarkable, and his keen mind has clearly been put to good use.”

  “But?”

  Startled out of her thoughts, Lily looked at Gemma in surprise.

  Her friend smiled. “Surely there is a ‘but’ coming, is there not?”

  That there was.

  Lily returned her smile. “But he is not the man he was, and I cannot let myself be resigned in this marriage until I am sure that the man I am married to is the man I wish to continue to be married to. If there is any hope that I may yet find the Thomas I once loved, I cannot be content.”

  “Nor should you be.” Marianne offered her a smile, expression more tender than anything Lily had seen from her friend in some time. “Gemma and I may not be inclined to forgive Granger for what he has done, but we are not the injured parties. If you can find it in your heart to love him still, and to love him better, we will happily apologize for our continued resentment.”

  “Perhaps not happily,” Gemma said with a playful wince, “but we will do it.”

  Lily took the chance to look at her husband again, and his gaze on her was steady, expression unreadable. She managed to smile a little at him and was relieved to receive one in return for her efforts.

  Not a great one, or even an obvious one, but there was no denying a smile was there.

  The evening proceeded as expected, various dances bringing either amusement or comment, and Lily had no objection to remaining by the wall, never dancing but hardly being ignored. Thomas did not come to her, but as the event wore on, she could see in his face that it was no
fault of his own.

  What a pair they were. One unwilling to be bold enough to move, the other trapped by his fellows and unable to move should he wish to.

  There was no regret when the night was over and it was time to depart. Lily welcomed it gladly, wishing for nothing more than solitude and comfort. Her friends wished her well, their expressions filled with encouragement that she felt bolstered her weary fortitude.

  Thomas helped her into the carriage, and they were off toward their London house in a moment, the sound of the carriage wheels and the horses’ hooves echoing more loudly in the silence.

  “I must confess, I did not enjoy myself tonight as I had hoped,” Thomas announced without any hint of preamble.

  Lily looked at him, wary of his meaning and his energy. “No?”

  He shook his head, his eyes dark in the dim light of the coach. “I was rendered immovable by others around me, conversations I could not end, and my attention clamored for unlike anything I’d expected. I lack the character and confidence to brush that all aside in favor of my own wishes.”

  “So do I,” Lily told him, her fingers beginning to tremble in her lap. “What did you hope it would be?”

  “I’d hoped…” He paused, shaking his head and laughing to himself. “I had hoped to recapture the lightness I’d felt at balls in London in the past rather than the drudgery they have been in more recent years.”

  Lily’s heart thudded anxiously within her, making speech momentarily impossible. Did he mean the times where he was free? Or could he be speaking of the time when they had been more free with each other rather than so confined and strained as they were now?

  She dared not hope for the latter.

  “To be perfectly frank,” Thomas went on, “as much as I am able, at least, I had hoped for everything to be as light as they had once been when I suggested that we come to London. I fear I am susceptible to habit and pattern here and have not felt anything that I had wished to for the time we have spent here.”

  “Nor I.” Lily smiled, her spirits gently lifting with every additional word he spoke to her, particularly with the tone of them so warm and open. “And I have found myself clinging to old habits as well, rather than deviating for something new. Or more.”