“Probably because you call so infrequently, and politeness says the children must not disturb guests.” Lily scoffed softly, shaking her head.
“I am not particularly sociable,” Thomas reminded her, wondering how they got to a topic of such sensitivity so quickly. “I’ve been much occupied with business, almost constantly.”
He could almost hear her laugh of disapproval, though there was no sound at all.
She knew he was occupied with business. He was always occupied with business.
He had his reasons, but she did not know them, therefore he could not be irritated.
“I do know,” he added as quickly as he could, “that I shall endeavor to be more sociable in the future. And more available for such niceties. I don’t dislike children, for what that is worth. I simply… know nothing about them. Or how I feel about them.”
He held his breath, watching his wife as much as he could without looking at her, barely glimpsing her in his periphery.
Her shoulders slowly lowered on an exhale, and he felt as though he had just been spared something. “That’s fair, I suppose. I hadn’t considered… Well, I’ve had so many opportunities to be around children and to determine my opinions, it never occurred to me that you wouldn’t have.”
“My sister Martha doesn’t visit from the north,” he said, relief washing over him. “I only know the names of her children. And you know my brother Lawrence has none. My parents were encouraging but hardly doting, and I’ve never known anything else.”
Lily nodded once, and this time, Thomas did look, catching a surprisingly hard expression on her face. “I was kept away from everyone until I was thirteen. Even my parents did not care to see us. We came down to be presented at afternoon tea for precisely seven minutes, and then we were taken back to the nursery. We did not dine with our parents until we had been tested on the manners acceptable for Society. Emma believed I was her mother when she was old enough to speak. Imagine her distress to learn the truth.”
Thomas had known the dismissive nature of the Ardens, but in only seeing the public image they portrayed, he could never have imagined the neglect inflicted upon their girls.
“The only reprieve,” Lily went on, her voice dipping lower with emotion, “was when we could stay with Aunt Augusta. She is no saint, but she at least cared enough to see us and converse. We felt acknowledged, if not appreciated.”
Before he could think, before he could consider his actions, he reached out and put a hand on her arm, squeezing gently.
She looked at his hand in surprise, then up to his face.
He offered what he hoped was a gentle smile. “Should we be fortunate enough to have children, they will feel acknowledged and appreciated. That I can promise you.”
Lily’s dark eyes widened, searching his, and her throat worked on a swallow. She looked away then, blinking rapidly, but she did not pull away from him or shrug his hand off.
He would consider that a miracle.
The carriage appeared then, and Thomas would normally have stepped away to speak with the driver while their trunks were loaded or asked for his horse so he might ride on his own rather than in the carriage.
Not this time.
He stayed exactly where he was, feet firmly planted, hand still touching his wife. He wouldn’t break that contact until he absolutely had to, the drought of connection between them too much to bear now he’d had a reprieve. Their moments of being together had been so few and far between, connection of any kind had become a rarity.
He aimed to remedy that now.
Lily sniffed once, then exhaled a happier sound and gestured to the carriage. “Shall we?”
Thomas nodded, applying the slightest pressure to her arm in an attempt to steer her, his fingers pulsing with the sensation of touching her. They moved to the carriage, and he folded the steps down for her, then offered his free hand to assist her up.
She didn’t take it, but she smiled, which seemed almost the same thing.
Almost.
His fingers slid from her arm as she entered, the air around them suddenly cold. He curled them into a fist instinctively before climbing into the carriage himself, situating himself in the seat opposite, his back to the driver.
Lily did not like riding against the motion of the carriage. It made her queasy.
He couldn’t remember her ever telling him that; he just knew.
Of course, it was possible that she had mentioned it at some time or another, something in passing, but he couldn’t recollect the moment she had done so.
He never minded sitting with his back to the motion, and he certainly did not mind sitting opposite her. It gave him ample opportunity to observe her, to enjoy the beauty in her appearance and the radiance of her person. She wasn’t particularly talkative on journeys, but she was surprisingly expressive in her features. It had long been a favorite pastime of his to watch her face and try to guess at the reasoning behind various expressions. He had yet to work up the nerve to inquire about them, to see if he was in any way correct, but he hoped that someday he might manage it.
There was no assurance that she would actually grant him the insight into her thoughts, but feeling comfortable enough to inquire would be an improvement.
He frowned slightly as he considered that. He might never be comfortable with asking such a personal question, but it would at least be an improvement to feel safe in doing so.
There was a marked difference between safe and comfortable.
Presently, he was neither.
He felt ill at ease and markedly uncomfortable, in fact.
But that was neither here nor there.
The carriage pulled away from Rainford, and Lily watched the house fall away from their sight as though something dear were within.
What did she see when she saw their home? What did she feel? What did it mean?
Or did it mean anything?
Wrapped up as he was in his determination to start anew in this marriage, he found himself deluged in questions that he hadn’t considered before, hadn’t allowed himself to ask—had barely allowed himself to think before.
But now…
All he had were questions. Endless, pressing questions.
“What do you intend to do in London?” Lily asked before he could say a word, before he’d actually settled on a word or a thought to pursue.
What did he intend to do? He intended to make his wife fall in love with him. That’s what he intended to do.
But in lieu of being blatantly honest, he settled for a different response. “Enjoy ourselves,” Thomas told her vaguely, smiling for effect.
“Enjoy London?” Lily laughed a little, her own smile turning lopsided. “You and I?”
The disbelief stung, but Thomas only folded his hands across his lap. “Is that so unheard of?”
Lily tilted her head in consideration. “No, but it would be unusual. You hate the fuss of the Season, and I’ve run my course as a figure of accomplishment, which makes me fair to be ignored.”
Nothing could have been further from the truth, but Thomas bit back the sharp scolding that had risen up and chose instead to relish the thought that she had not been referring to the pair of them as a couple, but as individuals. As individuals, they were not likely to enjoy London.
Which was true.
“I will have my friends, I suppose,” she allowed, unaware of Thomas’s internal discord, “but they are adored by Society, so I shall feel dragged about.”
“You have several friends in London during the Season,” he reminded her gently. “You needn’t wait for Marianne Gerrard or Lady Blackmoor to do anything. Why not visit Lady Whitlock? The two of you are masterfully accomplished in music, it would be good for you to see her. And with the number of children she has and how active she is in raising them, she may not have as much time for music, which means you could be a reprieve for her as well.”
Lily’s smile brightened. “What a delightful idea! I’ll send her a note when we get
to London. And Mary Harris, too.”
“Our neighbors?” Thomas chuckled in surprise, settling more comfortably into the seat of the carriage. “But we see them fairly often, do we not?”
“They’ve been in London a long while now,” Lily reminded him. “And I have missed her. Truly, I believe I owe her for my finding happiness in London at all when I was first out.”
Thomas stilled in his seat, heart beginning to thud unsteadily. “Do you?”
His wife nodded, looking down at her perfect fingers. “I was almost painfully shy at first. The only thing I could do was play, and so I did, often without notice, which was how it had always been for me. I was unsure of how I should act in London, what I should do, and who my friends were. Mary took an interest, which brought Lady Whitlock into my life, and Lady Raeburn.”
“Lady Raeburn knew who you were before Mary adopted you,” Thomas said without thinking. “She’d offer you up to accompany any singer who could not play.”
Lily’s brows rose. “How do you know that? You were hardly in London in those days, were you not?”
It was all Thomas could do not to wince at the question. “I was in London,” he assured her, “and in Society, too. But… there is a reason I have the label I do.”
“You know about that?”
“London is terrible about keeping secrets, especially from those about whom the secrets relate.” He laughed to himself, shaking his head. “‘Everybody’s favorite nobody’, which, in effect, means I have never sinned badly enough to warrant notice and have not been generous enough to earn acclaim.”
“That seems a trifle harsh,” Lily murmured, her tone taking on a scolding edge that sent his pulse skittering.
Thomas shrugged. “It’s true. I was a gentleman, which was enough, and I was adept at cards the way others are adept at conversation. Not entirely honorable, but hardly dishonorable. For some reason, I had gained favor in the eyes of Lady Raeburn, so I had occasion to attend some social gatherings in her home. I took notice when she favored you.”
Lily blinked at this revelation, the motion of the carriage swaying her slightly. “You never said anything. I don’t think I knew you were in London at all until Mary’s evening for me.”
“I should have made myself known,” he agreed with a firm nod. “I have no explanation for it, no reason I can give. As we knew each other a little, it would have been proper, polite, and decent to become reacquainted.”
“I would have welcomed a friendly face.”
The whisper cut through his chest with an icy blade that rendered him speechless. He stared at his beautiful wife who had somehow been so unaware of her magnificence that she thought he’d have been of some help or comfort to her in those days. Before he’d had purpose, before he’d felt clarity, before he’d managed to begin a life worth living. He’d have been nothing but a hindrance to her, perhaps a source of entertainment and a subject of warning, but hardly anything good. It would have been a waste for her.
She could have done him a world of good, however. He might have behaved with less impulsiveness, discovered the better part of his nature sooner, seen what his life had the potential to be before ruining it all in desperation.
More time with Lily could never be a waste.
He suddenly felt more a fool than he’d considered himself, which said a very great deal indeed. “Forgive me, Lily.”
His plea hung between them, balanced precariously on an invisible thread that ran from his heart to hers, and it waved dangerously with the motion of their carriage.
Forgive me.
Such simple words, ones he should have uttered daily from the day he met her at the altar of St. George’s Hanover Square. She had so much to forgive him for if he had any hope for a future of love, and though she was a saint in his eyes, he could not have rightly said how far her patience and graciousness extended.
Forgive me.
There would be no hope for him if she could not forgive him this, considering all there would be left to forgive.
Lily sighed, smiling with a warmth that would have thawed the whole of winter. “Of course I forgive you. We were both children, were we not?”
“Not that childish,” he managed around a bursting heart, trying for a dry wit in the face of his glee. “I knew well enough what I was doing. I was a fool, make no mistake.”
“We were young,” Lily insisted. “And we’ve established that London does not best enhance our natures.”
Thomas grunted very softly. “No, it does not.”
“Why are we going, then?”
He had to smile at that, finding it strange to do so in her company when for so long he couldn’t bear to. Yet he’d been doing so of late and found it growing easier on each occasion. “Perhaps the older and wiser versions of ourselves might navigate it better, now we are more experienced there. Could we not enjoy the theatre?”
“I think so.”
“And balls?”
“Oh, certainly, if they aren’t a crush.”
“I daresay we could find opportunities to enjoy music.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Then London sounds rather fine, does it not?” He watched the corners of her mouth with interest, noticing the faint lines cradling the hints of smiles as they came and went with her light banter.
“We might even find a card party or two,” she pointed out.
Thomas stiffened with a faint inhale and shook his head. “I’ve sworn off, I fear. But I am happy to attend one, if you’ve a knack for whist.”
The lines at her lips faded, but her eyes retained a gentle light to them. “I should like to become better at cards.” She exhaled a hum, then looked out of the window again, watching the scenery pass. “And you aren’t a nobody. You never were. Not to me.”
Never had bitter and sweet come together in so vibrant a combination. Thomas shut his eyes, fearing the luminescence of the moment would forever blind him. What else could he expect from being wed to an angel?
It was a miracle he had not actually earned his damnation yet.
Or perhaps he had, and this torment was his hell on earth.
And yet, what delight!
Thanks to his years of restraint, he managed not to lunge across the carriage to pull his wife into a desperate embrace, accompanied by showers of adoration, though the image of doing so took place in his head well enough. But he was a man of caution now, and until all was perfect, he could not relent.
He would make his wife love him and make it a joy that she’d married him. And he would earn her hand this time.
Chapter Four
“Bless you for this, Lily. I’ve needed an afternoon of music for ages.”
“Ages? Really?”
“At least three years, I’m convinced of it.” Kate, Lady Whitlock, sighed as she looked through pieces of music Lily had brought over, smiling as though each were an old friend. “Oh, I heard this one played at a musical evening hosted by the Harpers. I adored it! Is it a joy to play?”
Lily glanced at it, then smiled and nodded quickly. “Yes, it is delightful! My fingers feel so alive after I play it, and the coda is simply thrilling.”
Kate shook her head, her smile turning almost blissful. “This is the one I want to play first. May I?”
“You know you need never ask,” Lily reminded her, a bit of a scolding in her voice. “We are in your home, and your instrument is there.” She gestured to the pianoforte as though the direction would help her friend.
With a surprisingly girlish giggle for a marchioness of such dignity and respect, Kate scampered over to the instrument, and within moments, her talented fingers were racing along the keys with a skill that belied her need for any sort of musical afternoon. While she might have wanted to discuss music for a while, she certainly kept her skills well honed. Lily had long admired this woman and her ability to play so beautifully, and the fact that they had become friends, not just acquaintances, was something for which she would be eternally grateful.
/> Lily listened as her friend played, feeling the peace on Kate’s face too perfect to disrupt with conversation. The piece was a difficult one in passages, and if Lily were the one playing, she would not wish to have the distraction of talking while trying to manage it. But perhaps Kate was more accomplished than Lily in that respect.
She was certainly more talented in music as it stood.
“You’re quiet, Lily,” Kate announced without looking up from the music. “Is something on your mind?”
Lily jerked in surprise, her fingers gliding absently against the paper of the music in her hands. “Not particularly.”
“Then tell me what is not particularly on your mind. It’s been several months since I’ve seen you. Are you well?”
“I don’t wish to disturb you,” Lily murmured, shaking her head.
Kate glanced over, features hard. “If it would disturb me, I wouldn’t have inquired. Tell me whatever you like.” She turned back to the piano, her playing unaffected by her addressing Lily.
She was clearly more gifted than Lily gave her credit for.
Holding her breath a moment, Lily felt the practiced perfection in her pose slip, easing against the back of the chair. “I want children. I want a baby, Kate. And in order for that to happen, I need to have that conversation with my husband.”
Kate hissed slowly through her teeth as she turned the page of her music. “Would it be so impossible with Granger?”
“I don’t know,” Lily groaned, putting a hand to her brow, then lowering it to her lips as she looked out the window to the garden where a few of Kate’s children were playing. “A few days ago, I would have said yes.”
“But… ?”
Lily bit her lip, slowly releasing it as her thoughts began to turn the last couple of days over in her mind. “I don’t know,” she said again. “We weren’t going to come to London for the Season this year. It didn’t interest either of us.”
“And yet, here you are.”
“Granger came to see me while I was playing the other morning,” Lily told her. “Normally, we live as separate as strangers, apart from dining together. We send messages across the house if there is a more urgent matter that cannot wait for meals. But that day… He was more like the man I’d known before our marriage.”
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