She glanced back at him, suddenly curious. “What do you mean?”
Bennett shook his head slowly, as if she were not thinking. “Darling, if you had been paying any attention at all, you would have seen how he looked at you. Tormented, I tell you.”
Gemma shook her head. “I know he’s tormented. I can see it. I just wish I knew what it was; how I can help.” She lowered her eyes and swallowed with difficulty. “If it is because of me…”
Bennett sighed a bit dramatically next to her. “Oh, to be in love with one’s spouse and in doubt of a return.”
She threw a sideways glare at him. “Don’t mock me, Bennett. You have no idea what this feels like. Or how it hurts.”
“Just because I smile doesn’t mean I don’t hurt,” Bennett muttered from beside her, his brow furrowing suddenly.
Gemma leaned her head back, groaning again. “He’s taken to walking in the mornings. Did I tell you that?”
“You did not.”
She nodded once. “I noticed it the other day, and this morning I followed.”
“Intriguing,” he mused with a teasing hint. “And where did the viscount lead his intrepid wife?”
She swallowed hard, her mind going back to the chilly morning she had spent following him. “A cemetery.”
Bennett stilled beside her, but she hardly noticed.
“I didn’t think of it,” she murmured, finding herself shaking her head slowly, “but she must be buried here. Celia. She isn’t buried at Thornacre, though I suppose her family could have her on their estate. But why else would he come to a cemetery early in the morning? His family are at Thornacre, I have seen their graves myself. But this was different. He was barely dressed, it was just dawn, and it was as if nothing else existed.”
“That is unlike him. Blackmoor always has a plan.” Bennett shifted, turning towards her more. “What happened?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing. He knew exactly where to go, and he stood there. Staring down at the headstone. Just staring. I don’t know how long he was like that, but my legs began to ache before he moved. And then he only exhaled heavily, as if the weight of the world were on him, then he turned and walked among the others, but he didn’t stop again.” She blinked away a stray tear and frowned at her increased emotion where he was concerned. “I left after that.”
Bennett seemed as struck by the information as she was. “And he has not done this before?”
She shook her head quickly. “I’ve asked the servants, and it is only lately that he has taken to morning excursions. And you know he would not dare go there during the day when someone might see him.”
“Yes, it would draw comment,” he mused softly. He shook his head again and sighed. “Well, I suppose this explains his comment the other night.”
Something cold hit Gemma’s midsection. “What comment?” she whispered, afraid of the answer.
He lifted a shoulder. “I made the mistake of suggesting, in a teasing manner, that his troubles might be because of a woman, and he gave me a very stern look, even for him, and he said…” He hesitated, giving Gemma a long look.
“Tell me,” she pleaded.
“He said ‘I never forget my wife’.” He frowned, his perfect complexion marring. “I thought it odd at the time, but now I think I see it.”
“He still loves her,” Gemma breathed, her heart sinking. “I knew it.”
“I can’t say that,” Bennett said swiftly, his eyes widening, “and it certainly does not take away regard from you.”
“But I will always be second to her,” she replied. “She will always hang over his head, always have his heart, and I will get whatever is left of him.”
Bennett did not answer that, which told her all she needed to know.
“I need to know for certain,” she whispered, wondering if it were possible to feel any smaller or less significant than she did now. “I cannot live like this, wanting him and not having him.”
Bennett took her hand and kissed it gently, squeezing a little. “Well, my dear, then I think you had better pluck up the courage and ask him.”
That was certainly easier said than done, but he was right.
How could she ask Lucas such a thing?
And when?
Chapter Twenty
The very last thing that Lucas wished to endure at the present was a ball, but he could hardly refuse to attend Colin Gerrard’s elegant evening. It was an annual event and one he had long made a priority, given his proximity to the family and his respect for them. Now with having a wife, he absolutely could not refuse to attend.
He would be expected to show her off, at least a little.
He would even have to dance with her.
That might be a touch tricky. He and Gemma had spent no time at all together since the dinner with Stanford last week, and the separation was killing him. He was drowning in his own misery and craved the light and radiance she had once brought him. But her wishes and desires had been clear and he would take no pains to prevent her, if that was what she wanted.
He prayed it wasn’t.
He couldn’t bear losing another wife to the charms of others, especially one that he loved so fiercely.
He should never have gotten married again, and he certainly should not have married her.
Damn his selfish pride and foolish naiveté.
But there was nothing to be done about it now. He would move forward as best as he could, go on however he must.
It would be a right sight easier to do so if he wasn’t so terrified all the time. Missives arrived almost every other day, having returned to the scrawled hand of before, and not the horrifying reminder of Celia. The notion that something was coming, to be aware, to watch, to prepare… The messages were varied, but thematically the same, and each chipped away at his already crumbling resolve.
He was as firm as ever on the barrier between him and his wife, but how long he could actually maintain the strength to endure it was coming into question.
He wanted to cling to her and never let her from his sight. He wanted to carry her off into the night and stay at Thornacre forever. He wanted to tell her everything, he wanted to hide all the evidence, he wanted…
He wanted more than he had ever wanted in his entire life, and such wanting was as painful as it was unfamiliar.
But nothing, not even the missive that arrived just before his departure, saying only the words “Prepare yourself,” would sway him.
Not the repeated letters from Beverton offering help, not the scattered notes from Gent that contained nothing, not the curious looks at his club when he was too vigorous; his own mind was the only haven he would find.
He addressed nothing and no one. Silence had saved him before, been penance enough for the crimes of his family and his past, and such an atonement had served him well. While he suffered unseen, the rest of the world could speculate at will. Gemma would be free to do as she pleased, the distance now starting to be remarked upon. They would forget about him, as they had before, and she could enjoy her life however she chose.
While he only watched her from afar.
As he did now.
She was perfection embodied this evening, and he was not the only one to notice. She was dancing nearly every dance, whether for the spectacle of dancing with Lady Blackmoor or for her charms, he did not know, but he prayed for the latter. She deserved the attention she had never received before their marriage, but none of the censure from after. If her smile at present was anything to go by, she was enjoying every moment.
At one time, not too far gone, he had made her smile in such a way.
His cravat seemed to tighten more against his throat as he heard Gemma’s rich laughter over the sound of the musicians, so real and genuine, cutting to his core. He ought to escape to the card room, as he had done so many times before.
Yet here he stood, watching his wife like a lovesick fool.
Which, of course, he was.
“Staring won’t mak
e her come over.”
Lucas slowly turned his head to glance down at Marianne Gerrard, resplendent in her brilliance, as always, her fair eyes fixed on Gemma as well.
“I know that,” he murmured, keeping his face as impassive as ever. No one in the world would believe the two of them thought well of each other, and they liked it that way.
“So why do it?” she asked, snapping open her fan.
“What else can I do?” he replied, his voice carrying far more emotion than he’d ever meant to expose.
Marianne sighed, and he heard the sad note in it.
“Don’t go soft now, Mrs. Gerrard,” he scolded in a very low tone, trying to remain gruff despite the situation.
“In my condition, I am as soft as a pillow,” she muttered, fanning herself rapidly to distract from her quickly fluttering lashes. “If I were myself, I would tell you that you are an idiot, and you should do something about it.”
He restrained the sudden urge to snort. “Yes, I am sure you would.”
“You agree with me?”
“With your hypothetical scold? Absolutely.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I am an idiot, and growing more so every day, and I should do something about it, but as I am neither all-wise nor all-knowing, I do not know what that something should be.”
Marianne turned then, looking for all appearances as though she were about to walk away from him, but in reality bringing herself closer and allowing her fan to shield their conversation. “The pair of you are miserable. Everyone is talking about it. I know you, Blackmoor, you are protecting her and sacrificing yourself, but enough is enough. I can’t bear this, and I am not even in it. I know very well I am well out of line to say anything… even Kit told me so… but there is no hope for it.”
Lucas did snort now, wondering how his friend managed with a woman so independent. She was brash, interfering, and did not understand the meaning of the word discretion. Despite all of that, he admired her spirit and her heart, and his estimation of her was only growing as their association furthered.
His friend was a fortunate man, despite evidence to the contrary.
“I am telling you, Blackmoor,” she murmured, dropping her voice further still. “Let her share the load, whatever it happens to be. She does not need your protection as much as she needs you. And surely you could get used to living in sunshine, could you not?”
His throat suddenly tight and having nothing at all to do with his cravat, he swallowed with difficulty. “The trouble with sunshine,” he eventually managed, “is that the clouds always seem darker by comparison.”
“But when there are two of you facing them together, they will not be so daunting.” Marianne gave him a bit of a smile, but her eyes showed understanding beyond his comprehension. “Believe me, my friend, you need her for this, and she desperately needs you. Don’t put distance between you when you ought to clinging to each other.”
In the face of his suddenly overwhelming emotion, he turned to gruffness. “And you are an expert on my marriage because…?”
Her smile deepened and her eyes twinkled. “My dear viscount, haven’t you learned yet? I am an expert on everything.” She briefly set her hand on his arm, and then wandered away as if they had never spoken at all.
Lucas watched Gemma again, now chatting animatedly with Lily Granger, who looked a little paler than normal, and somehow less inclined to smile. That was concerning, but Gemma seemed to be easing her friend well enough.
She was gifted that way.
His cousin was approaching her, the charming viscount smile on his face attracting every female eye despite his recent marriage, and Lucas bit back the desire to grin. He could intercept them, appear to cut the much-adored man and claim his own wife for a dance. The room would positively explode with gossip and titters, with Lucas being further solidified as a ruthless villain with no manners or respect for decency, whereas Henry would see it all as the best sort of joke and laugh about it for days.
No one would know this was as close to familial interaction that he would ever get.
Or what a rare flash of pleasure it gave him.
He started in that direction, various patrons moving out of his path as if he bore a plague. He paid them no mind. He never did.
He was going to emphatically claim his wife once and for all, and before most of London.
Let them speculate on his relationship after that.
Gemma’s smile turned to his cousin, growing surprised but brilliant, then she caught sight of him. Something in his face must have given her a hint of his intentions, for her smile suddenly tucked in and became a rather devious smirk that spurned him on.
This could be the start of something rather intriguing for them.
It was a pity he had to skirt the entire dance floor to get to her. He would rather march across the floor, through the dancers, to do so, but that was extreme, even for him.
A soft murmuring and a few gasps of surprise slowed him, and he found his attention turned towards the distraction along with everyone else.
Heads turned, the crowd parted, and he caught sight of the guest that had drawn so much attention.
He stopped dead in his tracks, his entire body going cold.
He had not seen that man in six years.
They’d vowed to have as little to do with each other as possible.
He never came to London, yet here he was.
It was the worst possible luck.
Gemma saw the change in Lucas at once and felt her breath catch. She had no idea who the new guest was or why it should shock everyone so, let alone leave Lucas so altered, but she was suddenly on edge.
The man, foreign looking but impeccably dressed, met Lucas’s gaze and he stopped as well, his expression aghast.
Gasps went up all around as people stared between the two, and it seemed the entire room fell silent.
No one moved. No one breathed.
Then Lucas swallowed and nodded once. The other man’s jaw tightened, then he returned the nod and continued on, expression taut and higher in color.
Lucas’s hands were fists at his sides, and everyone in the room watched him in horror. He barely glanced towards Gemma, his eyes never quite making it to hers, and then he turned and exited the room, guests milling in and closing the gap after him, making it impossible to follow.
The room exhaled, then the soft chattering began, several sets of eyes glancing over at Gemma with wariness and disapproval. The music began to strike up, and dancing resumed.
Gemma felt unaccountably on the verge of tears and looked over at Lord Sheffield with watery eyes. “What happened?” she managed to ask.
He looked as troubled as she felt and it took him a moment to respond. “That was Mr. Antonio Lattimer. Brother to the late Lady Blackmoor.”
“As in…”
“The first wife. Celia.”
Gemma swayed a little and was grateful Sheffield secured her elbow before she could falter completely. “Why?” she whispered, the word ripped from her.
“I don’t know,” he replied, not needing any sort of clarification as to what she was asking. She glanced up into his face and found a surprising degree of understanding, and the shared torment between them settled her somewhat.
“I need a moment,” Gemma begged, attempting to straighten up but finding herself weak.
He nodded and looped her arm through his, wandering the room as if they were simply conversing lightly, nodding very politely at the inquiring eyes. “I’ll probably set the room aflame with gossip for doing this,” he muttered to her, “but hang me if I care.”
“It’s fine,” she replied, her head spinning still. “Sophie will come and you can spend the rest of the evening with her, forget all about me.”
“If you think for one minute I am going to leave your side…”
“Please, Henry,” she gasped, feeling the pressure of every eye upon her, the whispers of her husband’s name and distress, the pangs of anguish for his suffering that she could
not comprehend. “Make them talk about something else. Make them look at something else”
He exhaled in irritation. “I am not a shocking person, my lady. I leave that for other relations.”
She raised a brow in a shadow of her usual attitude. “Then get Will to do something.”
That brought him up short, and he suddenly smiled. “I have just the thing. Let me see you to a quiet place first, and give you the proper vantage point. You will wish to see this.”
“Oh, lord,” she muttered, shaking her head.
He nudged her gently. “Smile, Lady Blackmoor. Pretend it was nothing.”
“Pretending is all I ever do anymore,” she whispered.
He squeezed her hand tightly, then made a quick gesture with his head, and suddenly Sophie was with them, as was Lily. “Mind her,” he murmured quietly to them both. “Make her smile, make her laugh, behave as usual. I’ll be back in a moment.”
The ladies nodded, taking her arms, and began chatting animatedly about the latest musical discoveries from Italy, of which both were informed, and Gemma attempted to join in the conversation. Or at least to look interested in it.
Sheffield made his way through the crowds, some looking curious, others simply impressed. He commanded that sort of respect and attention wherever he went, no matter how modest and unaffected he might be in private. He might not be shocking, but he would draw his own sort of attention no matter what he did.
Sophie and Lily found them some chairs and they sat for a few minutes, each keeping contact with Gemma whether by hand or sitting close enough for their bodies to brush. She was grateful for the reminder of their presence, the connection to her reality and keeping her grounded. Her thoughts were filled with Lucas, wondering at his pain and distress.
Was the reminder of Celia too much? Did seeing her brother bring back more of the horrible memories he could not seem to escape? Was his guilt and pain too much?
Did he love Celia too much to ever really love Gemma?
She clamped her hands together in her lap. Why did Mr. Lattimer have to come now? Lucas had been about to come to her, and the hope that sight had ignited within her had been a furious one. Now she was more crushed than she had ever been, feeling as though they were truly at an end.
A Wager Worth Making (Arrangements, Book 7) Page 23