“You married a beautiful woman, Garson, old man. Other fellows trying to poach on your territory is an occupational hazard.” Silas frowned as Garson downed his brandy, and the facetiousness vanished. “Dash it, Hugh, you think I’m serious. Jane isn’t the sort to stray. If that’s what’s worrying you, you need to see for yourself. Sulking in here isn’t doing you any favors.”
“I’m not sulking,” Garson said, resenting the childish description, and resenting even more that his reply really did make him sound childish.
Silas studied him with the penetrating intelligence that made him one of the world’s greatest botanists. “What would you call it, then?”
With a bang, Garson set down his empty brandy glass. “Can’t a man seek a moment’s privacy, without every fool and his dog nagging at him?”
As usual, Silas proved remarkably difficult to offend. He leaned back in his chair and extended his long legs in their black trousers toward the fire. He looked completely at home, whereas Garson felt like a scientific specimen under Silas’s microscope.
“Not when he retires to his burrow in the middle of one of the season’s most anticipated balls.” He still spoke in that deuced reasonable tone. “Not when he’s been slinking around like a sick cat for the last month or so.”
“Do you think anyone else has noticed?” he asked, although he’d had no intention of admitting that Silas was right.
Silas shrugged. “You know what the ton is like, always ready to sniff out trouble, even when there is none.”
Damn, damn, damn. He’d hoped his turmoil and confusion went unremarked. “There is no trouble,” he said, knowing he fought a losing battle.
“Glad to hear it,” Silas said peacefully, emptying his brandy glass.
“Really there’s no trouble.”
“What trouble could there be?” Silas’s lips twitched. If the sod laughed openly, he’d earn himself a punch on that beak of a nose.
“Exactly.”
To Garson’s relief, silence descended. Silas rose and filled both brandy glasses before returning to his seat. Garson didn’t touch his second drink, although he’d come in here, desperate for something to help him through the rest of this hellish evening.
After what felt like a long time, Garson finally spoke. “Marriage is harder than I expected it to be.”
Silas, to his credit, didn’t look smug—although Garson knew very well that his friend had manipulated him into confessing his worries. “Worth it in the end, though, especially with a good woman.”
“Jane’s a good woman.”
“I know. Are you unhappy that she’s become such a success?”
“She was such a quiet little thing when I married her.”
“She’s just kicking up her heels. I remember when Caro came out of mourning—she’d have danced all day and all night, if she could. She was making up for the time she’d wasted.”
As always when Silas spoke of his wife, love warmed his voice. Hugh stifled a pang of envy for his friend’s domestic contentment. “Jane’s life has been so restricted until now. I can’t blame her for wanting to squeeze everything she can out of her first season.”
He wondered if he was alone in noting the desperation behind her endless flurry of activity. As if pausing for even a moment’s reflection threatened annihilation.
“But that’s not what you signed up for.”
A grunt of unamused laughter escaped Garson. “Looking back, what I signed up for strikes me as completely unrealistic.”
“The marriage of convenience isn’t convenient after all?”
“No.” Garson was well aware that the world’s opinion was divided about his marriage. Some people were convinced he’d married Jane, while still in love with Morwenna. The more sentimental—boneheaded—members of the beau monde believed he loved his wife and made a new start.
“You appeared delighted with your choice when you came to dinner back in March. I know this started as a practical solution for both of you, but when I saw you together, I hoped that you might have fallen in love with your wife. That night, you certainly acted like you had.”
He shot Silas a dark look. “You should know better than that. Love was never part of the arrangement.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. You seemed so comfortable together.”
“We were.” He noted the past tense and felt like smashing something.
“Tell me—just what were you expecting, when you married Jane?”
Garson shrugged, although he felt anything but casual about his wife. “I’d pictured something like a friendship, with a bit of bed sport thrown in to spice things up.”
“But that’s not what you got?”
He thought he had. At first. But what intimate details could he share without betraying his wife? That was another unexpected result of married life—the way he and Jane had become a unit. Now his first loyalty was to her.
Anyway, he wasn’t even sure he was capable of defining the problem. Most people would say he had damn all to complain about. In bed, Jane was endlessly cooperative. When she was indisposed, she slept alone, but she invited him into her chamber readily enough afterward. If she held something back from him, something she’d once shared with him, the difference was so subtle that he’d be hard placed to describe it.
Perhaps it was that these days, she never initiated their encounters. He craved the return of the woman whose sensual curiosity prompted her to take him into her mouth. She’d taken him into her mouth since, but always at his request.
And there were no more jokes about the Tower of London. There were no more jokes at all. Damn it, he missed the laughter they’d shared more than he missed anything else.
He’d feel a fool trying to explain these hazy impressions to a friend, even if he was inclined to share such private matters.
“I don’t think she’s happy she married me,” he said in a low voice. Putting the oppressive truth into words twisted his gut into tangles of misery.
Silas looked thoughtful. “Are you talking to one another? I mean, really talking.”
“We talk,” Garson said. Although he knew what Silas was asking, and the answer was no, they weren’t. After his wedding, he’d spent a fortnight discovering an intriguing woman. But these days, the gates to true intimacy slammed shut in his face.
And left him outside on the empty road, starving and cold.
“Good,” Silas said. “Because if I’ve learned anything in all my years of marriage, it’s that a woman’s mind is a labyrinth where a man gets lost if he’s not careful. You need to find out what’s worrying Jane and fix it, if you want to have a prayer of making her happy.”
Garson gave a heavy sigh and set aside his brandy. Liquor wasn’t going to soothe his wretchedness. “I’ve asked her what’s wrong, and she says everything’s fine.”
“Bugger.”
When Silas looked really worried, cold terror settled in Garson’s belly. “What?”
“Fine is the worst thing she could say. If she says everything’s fine, it most definitely isn’t.”
“Perhaps I should take her up to Derbyshire. All this gallivanting might be the problem.”
“Don’t be a damned coward. Sit down with her and don’t get up until she’s told you what’s upsetting her.”
That was good advice if only she stopped flittering about long enough for him to catch her.
“I hate feeling so inadequate. I hate to think she regrets marrying me.” Garson spread his hands in bewilderment. “This isn’t what I wanted.”
Silas’s glance was unimpressed. “What you wanted when you married her didn’t do her justice. Damn it, it didn’t do you justice either. It was a blasted cold bargain.”
“There’s nothing cold about how I feel about Jane,” Hugh snapped, bristling at the criticism, even if he deserved it. “That’s part of the problem.”
Silas’s smile held too much pity for Garson’s liking. “Having a yen for your wife is a good thing.”
The damnable truth was that, despite their estrangement, Garson still wanted her all the time. He resented being at the mercy of his animal impulses. “Maybe.”
“You’ll work it out.” Silas tried to sound encouraging. “All marriages require compromise. It’s early days yet.”
“Any other platitudes you want to share?” Garson asked grumpily.
“No.” The pity in Silas’s expression deepened. “Because I see my good advice is falling on barren ground. I wish you well, my friend. You’ll muddle through. We all do in the end.”
Hugh gave a noncommittal grunt and stared moodily into the fire. He’d muddle through, all right. But the devil knew where he and his beautiful wife would be once he did.
*
Chapter Thirty-One
*
Jane watched Hugh and Silas return to the ballroom. Her husband always danced the second waltz with her, and whenever he did, it only sharpened her heartbreak. Every time he touched her, she thought she must crack with the force of the titanic feelings she struggled to contain.
She’d spent her life longing for a London season. Now here she was, popular beyond her wildest dreams, and she hated every moment of it.
Because the man she loved didn’t love her.
She suspected Hugh was as unhappy as she was. The stiff set to his broad shoulders hinted that his casual manner was as artificial as her endless sparkle. She supposed she could ask him, but these days they only spoke about trivial matters. That was her fault, she admitted. She couldn’t risk a deeper discussion, for fear that she might reveal too much.
But the strain of keeping up a constant façade was telling on her. The pretense—to Hugh and to the world—that she was blissfully happy was draining every ounce of vitality. She felt like she was nothing but a dried-out husk. How much longer could she continue? Pride was all that sustained her, and it grew more tattered by the day.
Hugh bowed to her. “My dance, I believe.”
“I wondered if you remembered.” She took his arm and let him lead her onto the crowded floor. “I looked for you and couldn’t find you.”
They turned to face one another. He looked exceedingly handsome in his evening clothes, the crisp black and white setting off his chiseled features. Somehow that just made Jane feel worse. He was so fine inside and out, and having to live without his love was a constant torment.
“I’ll always remember you,” he said. The gentle words only increased the weight of misery pressing down on her heart. He cared about her, she knew he did. But it wasn’t enough. “I was talking to Silas in the library.”
She sniffed and tried to sound teasing. “And drinking Anthony’s brandy.”
He smiled, but compared to the smiles he’d once given her, this was a mechanical effort. “It’s too good to pass up.”
The violins took up a lilting melody. Hugh’s arm curled around her waist, and his gloved hand caught hers. She set her other hand on his shoulder and started to move in time with him.
Once, his touch had been paradise. No more. It only reminded Jane of what she couldn’t have. Oh, how she hated her stupid heart for wanting more than he could give her. She wished she could rip it out and go on without it.
Still, she must endure. They were in public, and she owed Hugh an appearance of amity. She lifted her head and fixed a smile to her lips. Most nights by the time she went home, her jaw ached with smiling, when all she wanted to do was crawl away into the dark and cry.
Jane tried to lose herself in the swirling movement, to recapture some of their earlier ease with one another, but it was impossible. She was too aware of his hands on her and how he cursed the fate that placed his wife in his arms and not Morwenna.
“You’re very quiet,” he said, after a while.
Her feet naturally followed his, without her having to think about it. After all, he’d been her first dance partner. Warily she glanced up at him. “I’m a little weary.”
A little weary? The effort of hiding her feelings, not to mention all the late nights, and the endless tossing and turning when she finally got to bed, left her feeling like a wrung-out rag.
“Jane,” he said, and the edge in his voice alerted her that for once, this wouldn’t be some polite banality, “would you like to go up to Derbyshire? There’s nothing to keep us in London. Not really. You haven’t seen the house in years, and it’s beautiful there with spring coming on.” He paused, then went on with an urgent sincerity, that made her heart cramp. “We could spend some time alone together, away from all this flummery.”
Oh, God, give her strength. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with Hugh. But on the other hand, she was reaching her limits as the queen of society.
She swallowed to moisten a dry mouth and said in a low tone, “Let me think about it.”
“Please do.” His grip on her waist tightened. “I want to have you to myself again. I want what we found in Salisbury.”
“We’ve still got that,” she said, knowing it was a lie. “You share my bed every night.”
And she could hardly bear it. Because the desire between them, however powerful, was a mere counterfeit of what she really wanted.
She could never have what she really wanted.
He frowned, and regret sliced her heart when she saw his disappointment. “Yes,” he said, not sounding convinced. “Think about Derbyshire. A few weeks in the country would do you good.”
While she was convinced that a few weeks in the country would dissolve the threadbare truce that kept her marriage together.
But Hugh was right. The way they went on was untenable. She rapidly ran short of both pride and endurance. Something had to change—and if change meant utter destruction, right now, she almost welcomed that.
Her touch on the back of his neck was tender with unspoken love, all the more poignant for being forbidden. “Yes, let’s talk about it tomorrow.”
*
“Lady Garson, your ladyship.”
As Jane stepped into Fenella’s airy morning room a couple of days after the Kenwicks’ ball, she found her friend playing with her children, Henry and Emily. A tan and white beagle puppy gamboled toward her with a high-pitched yelp and a madly wagging tail.
Clearly she’d interrupted some private family time. Flustered, she turned away, eager to leave. “I do beg your pardon, Fen. You’re busy this afternoon. I can come back another day.”
Fenella rose from her chair, the book she’d been reading to her seven-year-old daughter dangling from one hand. Dark-haired Emily had inherited her dynamic father’s striking looks, whereas Henry had his mother’s classic features and golden coloring.
“No, Jane, come in.” The blonde woman raised her free hand to smooth the stray strands of hair escaping her simple knot. Jane had never seen Fen less than perfectly turned out, but today her pink muslin gown was crushed and showed traces of puppy paws and a nursery tea. She gestured to the toys scattered across the priceless Aubusson carpet. “As you can probably tell, we weren’t expecting company, but it’s always lovely to see you.”
“I was just passing, and I thought I’d call in.” Not true. She’d set out, hoping to catch Fenella on her own. She liked all her new friends, but she felt a particular affinity with Fenella. Perhaps because unlike her stubborn clodpoll of a husband, Fenella had learned to love again. Or perhaps because Fenella’s quiet strength was something she desperately needed right now, as she struggled to find a way forward in her marriage. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll see you this evening at the Jamesons’ musicale.” She struggled to sound enthusiastic about yet another party.
“No, please stay. The children will play in here, and we can go through to the drawing room.” She sent nine-year-old Henry a minatory glance. “The first sign of a quarrel between you two, and it’s back to the schoolroom and Latin translation. And don’t let Milo chew the furniture, or your father will hit the roof.”
“Papa likes Milo,” Emily said, darting forward to pick up the squirming puppy and clutch
him close to her chest.
“He won’t, if every chair in the house is only fit for firewood,” Fen said sternly, then turned to Jane with a brilliant smile. “Jane, take me away from this madhouse.”
Jane soon found herself clutching a cup of tea and sitting beside Fen on a green brocade sofa. She looked around the pretty room and struggled not to sound too envious. “This is such a happy house. You can feel it.”
“Thank you.” Fen smiled and nibbled at a sugar biscuit. Jane’s biscuit balanced on the edge of her saucer. She hadn’t touched it. Lately food stuck in her throat. Her glamorous new dresses all hung too loose on her. “When I married Anthony, everyone except my closest friends was convinced it was the mismatch of the century, especially as we’d only known one another a few weeks. It’s been nice to prove all the old biddies wrong.”
“You’re lucky,” Jane said, staring down into her cup.
“Yes, we are.” Fenella’s emphatic tone was surprising, coming from someone who looked as fragile as a Meissen shepherdess. “People predicted disaster for Anthony and me, just as they predicted it for you and Garson.”
Jane’s eyes flashed up in shock. “We trot along all right.”
Fen looked skeptical, as she took the cup and saucer. “Give me that. You’re just playing with it. I’m really glad you came to me today, Jane. I’ve wanted to talk to you for weeks, and it’s hopeless trying to find a private moment at any of the crushes we’ve attended.” To Jane’s relief, she began to sound a little less militant. “Am I wrong in thinking you need a friend?”
Jane hadn’t arrived with any plans to confide her troubles. She’d just felt a craving for some undemanding company to distract her from endless brooding on her hopeless and destructive love.
“I believe we’re friends,” she said cautiously. The ton was a hotbed of gossip. Much as she liked Fenella, she wasn’t in a hurry to share her secrets.
As if she read her mind, Fen sent her a straight look. “You can tell me to mind my own business. Usually I do. Interfering is much more in Caro or Helena’s line. Anyway, I expect I can guess most of the trouble.”
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