A Bride Worth Taking (Arrangements, Book 6)

by Rebecca Connolly

  Between Marianne and Tibby, who was shockingly dressed in all black silk and lace, though she had nothing to mourn, it was astonishing that anyone watched the stage at all.

  The more people stared, the surlier Kit grew. His face was composed, but cold, and it was palpable.

  Duncan and Annalise had tried to ease things before the show and during the first interval, and while Kit had answered their queries with all politeness, he had added nothing to the conversation and avoided anything to do with Marianne. Duncan had given Marianne several pointed looks, all of which she had pretended not to see.

  She would have much to answer for if ever they were alone.

  She could not keep the secret for long, not when Kit was telling quite enough for them both with his manner.

  The curtain fell, signaling the second intermission, and Tibby whirled in her seat to look at them both. “You two need to go out and be seen.”

  “What?” Marianne all but barked, her gloves feeling very hot.

  Tibby’s eyes narrowed and her black feathers waved a little. “Go out of the box. Walk. Be seen. Smile pleasantly. Let the world observe you. They’ve done nothing less all night, and the pair of you are as stiff as statues. Get up and do it now, or I will do something that will really start some gossip.”

  That was all the encouragement either of them needed and they were suddenly on their feet and out of the box. Kit held out his arm and Marianne took it very lightly, both of them avoiding eye contact.

  They smiled and nodded to several people, never pausing in their slow, apparently leisurely walk to refresh themselves. Whispers and smiles surrounded them, and Marianne waved to a few people she genuinely liked, smiling as easily as she could manage. She had no idea if Kit did anything of the sort, but neither was she going to look.

  It felt ridiculous to parade this way. Why should they matter to anyone else now? They were married, they were back in London, and there were plenty of other scandals to remark on since theirs. She didn’t want to pretend anymore, and neither did Kit.

  That much she still knew about him.

  When people started returning to their boxes for the last acts of the evening, a small burst of panic hit Marianne. She might never be this close to Kit again, not for a long while, if his behavior towards her was any indication. She had to say something, do something, now, while he was being forced to touch her.

  Halfway back to their box, she pulled them both to a stop and yanked him into a small and abandoned hall just off of the main thoroughfare.

  “Kit, I have to speak with you,” she rushed in a low voice before he could protest.

  The brow he raised was as taunting as it was imperious. “I gathered.”

  “Kit…” she began, her voice gentling.

  “If you are going to speak on the same topics as earlier,” he interrupted gruffly, “save your breath. I refuse to discuss it here.”

  She exhaled and barely resisted the urge to rub at her brow. If he was in a difficult mood, she couldn’t approach a topic of emotions or any sentimentality. If she wanted to properly communicate with him, it would have to be something on which he would converse.

  “Then maybe you’ll discuss this here,” she snapped. “I think we should send Rosie to school.”

  He went slightly slack jawed, and his eyes became colder. “Excuse me?”

  “Finishing school,” she elaborated. “I think she would benefit from it.”

  “You want to send her away?” he asked, his agitation rising.

  Marianne huffed a sigh. “Just to school, not forever.”

  He set his jaw and firmly shook his head. “Out of the question.”

  “Why?” she demanded.

  “No, Marianne.”

  “I am only thinking of Rosie,” Marianne tried to reason.

  “That is my job, not yours,”

  Marianne paused, clamping her lips together hard as she considered him, and what he was saying. “So I am to ignore the girls in our house?” she finally asked. “Pat them on the heads and beg that they are seen and not heard?”

  He seemed to shrug without actually shrugging. “You seemed keen enough before to do just that.”

  Marianne stepped back a little, shaking her head. “Not anymore. I love those girls, Kit. I want to be in their lives, and I want to help you raise them, but not like this.”

  “I thought you had no expectations of this sham of a marriage,” he said, his words sending a chill through her.

  She slowly shook her head, wanting to take his face in her hands and force him to really see her. “I have changed, Kit! Why can’t you see that I have changed?”

  “We all change, Marianne. It is a fact of life.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “In a matter of days, you have gone from my husband to a stranger. I had hoped…”

  Kit turned away and shook his head. “I was a fool,” he muttered with heavy bitterness. “I thought that ignoring the world would be enough, but it is not. It is foolish to think that either of us could change enough for this to be… anything but what it was when we wed.”

  “Then why did you marry me?” she cried, a pair of tears finding their way to her cheeks. “If that is how you feel, why?”

  He turned his head only and gave her a look that was half furious, half anguished, carrying the torment of the damned within its depths. “Because I couldn’t help myself,” he rasped. He flung himself out of their hiding place and down the hall, away from their box.

  Marianne rested against the wall, listening to his angry footsteps fade, and letting more tears roll pathetically down her face. She knew enough of Kit to know that at least half of his words were spoken in anger. But which half? What was truth and what was heat of the moment?

  The depth of his agony stole her breath and she cursed herself for having had such power over him. No one should feel that much when it is so little returned or even acknowledged. But how long would he punish her for that?

  He deserved to be free of the torment of her, but she deserved the second chance he had vowed to give. If he let her, she could prove to him that his love had not been misplaced. She could not give him the distance he seemed to crave, not now and not yet.

  But could he, perhaps, be reminded of why he loved her? He’d had his reasons for loving her before, and she’d been ignorant of them all. Now she was more aware of him than she was herself, and she wanted to earn him.

  She wanted her husband to love her again. And she wanted to love him back.

  She made her way back to the box just as the music started back up. Duncan saw her enter and frowned at her being alone.

  “Where is Kit?” he hissed, leaning over to avoid being overheard.

  Marianne smiled as sadly as she could. “He is unwell, I am afraid, and went home. I would accompany him, but he insisted that I stay, as I love the opera so.” She bit her lip and forced down the lump of shame in her throat. “If you could perhaps see me home tonight, I would be most appreciative.”

  Her brother looked at her carefully, and she prayed she was enough of an actress to fool him. He pursed his lips a little and nodded. “Of course, minnow. I don’t like your husband leaving you, but it is done now.”

  She nodded her thanks and focused on the stage, but noticed nothing at all as her mind whirled with how to put a plan into action.

  When the opera reached its conclusion, their party made their way to the carriages, several admirers and associates slowing their way for final conversations and praises. But Duncan was imposing enough to ward many away, and Tibby was not shy about her desires for home either.

  Marianne wrapped her cloak more tightly around her as they exited the theater, then came to a startled halt as her carriage and footmen waited there. It took her several moments to understand what that meant.

  Kit, despite his fury, had hired a hack or walked to wherever he had gone, and left the comfort of the carriage for her.

  Impossibly, her emotions welled within her at the sight. Still
a gentleman after all. He had made sure she would not want for a way home.

  Hope, that stubborn little flame, flickered again.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “And then she had the gall to tell me that she wanted to send Rosie away! After everything, after my sister finally started trusting her, she wants her gone! I don’t know her at all!”

  Kit ran his hands through his hair then tugged at his already mangled cravat. He was so enraged, so beside himself, that he was surprised at his coherency. He’d hired a hack to take him to his club, and had been relieved to find Blackmoor already within. It had taken only a little prodding from his friend for all of his frustrations and irritation and confusion to come tumbling forth.

  Blackmoor sat at the table, boots propped on a nearby chair, watching him with interest. He was still impeccably dressed, even as Kit’s appearance became more and more deranged.

  “I thought finishing schools were fairly commonplace for young girls,” Blackmoor mused thoughtfully.

  Kit gave him a wary look. “They are…”

  “And you do want your sister to be finished, yes?”

  Now Kit glared at his friend. “Of course, I do.”

  Blackmoor wisely said nothing and only shrugged, looking down into his glass.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing, Blackmoor!” Kit moaned. “I want her, I don’t want her, I hate her, I very much don’t hate her… She drives me to distraction, from one end of my emotions to another.”

  “Sounds painful.”

  “She encourages attention, she finds offense at the most obscure things, and she seems to think that being married gives her some new means of independence.” He shook his head and gestured wildly at his friend. “Good heavens, look what she did to you! And she barely knows you!”

  Blackmoor frowned and tilted his head. “What are you talking about?”

  Kit rolled his eyes and paced around. “The ball! When she got worked up into a frenzy, no doubt over some gossip surrounding you, and then refusing you! Such a ridiculous, vain thing.”

  Blackmoor’s eyes widened and slowly he dropped his legs to the floor. “Kit, she was defending me.”

  Kit came to a very abrupt halt. “What?”

  There came a slow nod and a pitying smile. “When I went out there? She was telling everyone that she was not going to play any games with me or let anyone else do so. I should be left alone to my own devices without consideration to anyone else. And she refused to dance with me because she knew I didn’t care for it, and hardly cared for her. Suffice it to say, we have agreed to dance at another time when we feel more inclined.”

  Kit rather thought his heart was going to fly out of his chest and he had to press his hands into the table to keep from toppling over. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered painfully.

  Blackmoor’s thick brows rose in surprise. “It hardly seemed appropriate. I thought you knew your wife.”

  “So did I.” He paused, letting the revelation sink in. Then he looked at him carefully. “Did you see her today?”

  “Yes. Coming from St. Ann’s, of all places.” He snorted softly and shook his head in disbelief. “I thought it best not to ask, but I could hardly let her walk about London unescorted, and she had no carriage, so I offered to take her home, only to be told she was going to Whitlock’s. I drove her myself, so if you hear of us having a mad affair, you’ll know why.”

  Kit winced, sank into the nearest chair, and buried his face in his hands.

  “Hmm,” Blackmoor mused, propping his feet back up. “Maybe I won’t get married again.”

  “I don’t think all wives are like this,” Kit muttered from behind his hands. “Just mine.”

  His friend barked a hard, mirthless laugh. “You should have met my first.”

  “I did.”

  “And that wasn’t enough to scare you off?”

  “Shut up.” He dropped his hands and looked at him with a sigh. “What do I do?”

  Blackmoor shrugged slowly, a secretive smile on his face. “I believe apologizing would be an excellent place to start.”

  “I was afraid of that.” He heaved himself out of his chair and rubbed at his brow. “I still have to keep my distance. For my own sanity.”

  Blackmoor gave him a disapproving look, but only said, “That does not mean you cannot apologize, you stupid dunce.” He grunted softly. “If you doubt her word, have Gent look into it. He loves gossip and intervention.”

  Kit shifted a quick glare at him. “I don’t doubt her.

  “No?”

  “No…” Kit offered a very short sigh. “I think I doubt myself.”

  “Well, then Gent won’t be much help at all, will he?” Blackmoor mused sardonically.

  Kit nodded and then switched to shaking his head as he left, feeling like a heel of epic proportions. He’d overreacted. Again. And he had the suspicion that Blackmoor had meant his words far more than his careless attitude had portrayed. He couldn’t have the Gent keep a watch on his wife any more than was already there. He couldn’t ask that of his friend, and he couldn’t bear the thought of reducing himself to such actions.

  He didn’t doubt his wife; he just didn’t know what to do.

  His wife had him tangled up in knots, and no matter how many times he caught her stroking Ginny’s hair as the child fell asleep in her lap or wandering the gardens with a basket and clippings or reading herself in the library, it was easier to believe the creature had returned. It was easier to bear the old familiarity of hating her, resenting her, than it was to accept that he could have everything he’d ever dreamed and more.

  She had changed. He knew that, had known it all along. And he hadn’t really needed Blackmoor’s confirmation on her location today. He just… couldn’t believe his own heart.

  And now, when he’d gone so far beyond his boundaries in the opposite direction, he had to make amends. She didn’t deserve his resentment, nor his malice. He was better than that. Distance was all he needed. He could do that. He could maintain a safe distance without hurting her.

  He nodded firmly and quickened his step as he hurried for home.

  Marianne sat at her toilette brushing out her hair, lost in her thoughts. She’d sent Anna to bed ages ago, but she had remained here, scheming ways to win her husband back.

  The first thing she needed to do was somehow force him to stop being angry with her. She would temper her finery, take more consideration with her words, and practice reserve in public. She really ought to have done so anyway, if she were being honest with herself.

  After he could stand her again, it should be simple.

  She’d written several notes tonight, none of which would be sent until morning, but she’d had to do something tonight. The first was to Miranda Ascott, asking if she might play at the musicale next week. She was terrified at the prospect, but surely Kit would approve, knowing her fears as he did. The second had been to Kate, Lady Whitlock, begging her to help her prepare something that wouldn’t let her be embarrassed.

  The third had been to Lady Sprotmire accepting the offer to volunteer regularly at St. Ann’s. She’d felt something special in that place, and the desire to help had continue to build within her. She’d have the girls look through their things and see if there was anything they could spare for those poor children. It could be good for all of them to be exposed to those less fortunate than they. She touched the letters with a tight smile. This would help her, she knew it.

  A soft knock sounded at her door and she turned in surprise. “Come in?” she called, unable to keep the curious question from her tone.

  Her brows shot up when Kit entered, looking all too much like the man that had pressed her against the wall and kissed her wildly. Yet his expression was careful and composed, contrasting with his appearance starkly.

  “I hoped you had not gone to bed yet,” he murmured, shutting the door and leaning against it, his eyes trained on her.

  She offered a very tremulous smile. “Not yet.
I’m not as tired as I should be. The opera, you know. It energizes me.”

  He almost smiled, and she felt like wilting at the failure to draw one out. “I need to apologize, Marianne,” he murmured hoarsely. “For today… for recently… but especially for tonight.” He shook his head and she waited, hoping he would go on. He sighed and met her eyes. “That wasn’t fair, what I said to you before. I couldn’t let you think that I don’t hold you in some regard, or that I disliked you. The words were very poorly chosen, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. You know me well enough to know that I would never have married you if my feelings were so opposed to you as a wife.”

  The air seemed thick between them and she took a careful moment to consider her response. “I hoped that was the case, though I was curious. We had hardly been on speaking terms for years.”

  His brow furrowed a little. “But you should never have had cause to doubt… That is, I hoped you knew that I would come for you. With Colin and the rest. That I wouldn’t sit by and let that happen.”

  “I didn’t know,” she admitted quietly, drawing her knees up beneath her chin. “I didn’t know what you thought of me or what you would do.”

  That seemed to disappoint him. “I owe you an explanation. You asked me earlier why I married you if I was…”

  She nodded and sat up straighter. “If you felt so against it. Yes.”

  He nodded and gave a short sigh. “The truth is, ironically, what I said to you before. I couldn’t help myself.”

  Now it was Marianne who frowned. “I don’t understand,” she told him apologetically.

  He shrugged his shoulders, his mouth tightening in another almost smile. “Neither did I.” He sighed heavily. “The trouble between us has less to do with you and more to do with me. You see, something about you always has and probably always will test my resolve and control, and after what passed between us six years ago, I have learned, through much practice, how to exude comportment and control at all times.”