That was something, he supposed, though it seemed difficult to compare a marriage of convenience and a marriage that should have been one of love. The only similarities were unhappiness and actual marriage, as far as he could tell.
Still, the Whitlocks had a marriage now that Thomas could only dream of, and dream he would. Dream he did.
“Tell me about your failed evenings,” Whitlock prodded, sitting back in his chair more comfortably. “What happened?”
Thomas immediately shook his head. “I don’t need to drag you into this. I believe the less people involved in my marital issues the better. I’ve already dragged Monty into this.”
“Yes, so he said when he wrote to beg my assistance on your behalf.” Whitlock scoffed softly. “But I cannot see him being particularly helpful if you’re trying to woo your wife. He didn’t woo his in London, she won him over by her own masterful ways at Knightsgate. Beth did all the work there, I have no doubt.”
“Lily will be glad to hear you think so,” Thomas replied with a laugh. “Beth is one of her dear friends.”
Whitlock nodded. “I remember. And with Monty being her late cousin’s husband…” He paused, giving Thomas a bewildered look. “Why is he helping you when his loyalties lie with Lily?”
Thomas scowled, taking a quick sip of his own drink. “Thank you for drawing the battle lines. I had thought Monty to be my ally, as he has a clearer insight into my wife than I feel I do at present, but perhaps he is only doing what he thinks will ruin me and spare Lily.”
“I’m not implying that Monty cannot be objective,” Whitlock said. “As a matter of fact, I think there aren’t many men who could be as objective as Monty in anything. I only meant that his personal stake in the affair is not aligned with your side.”
In actuality, Thomas didn’t think anyone would align with him. He was surprised that Whitlock was even listening to him, couldn’t believe that Monty had let him finish the question, didn’t know why he thought any of this would work in his favor.
Why should it?
“No one would be aligned with my side.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything about sides,” Whitlock grumbled, shaking his head. “You’re not at war with your wife, are you?”
“Depends on the day. There’s a war of silence at times, but for the most part, I avoid her.” Thomas looked down at the wearing on the table, faint but evident. “It’s easier. I don’t see the disappointment in her eyes, and I don’t make anything worse by saying the wrong thing.”
The marquess raised a brow. “Have you made a habit of saying the wrong thing?”
A humorless smile crossed Thomas’s face. “The beauty of saying little is that one has a far less opportunity to say the wrong thing.” The smile faded and he sighed. “I don’t know, Whitlock. I asked Lily to come to London in an attempt to court her as I might have done before we married. As I had planned on doing, I suppose. But we are not the same people now as we were then, and we have developed such habits…”
“The routine of London has stifled you?” Whitlock suggested in a surprisingly dry tone.
Thomas met his eyes. “Yes, I think. How did you know?”
Whitlock’s smile was brief, but genuine. “Life in London can be a wonderful thing, but it can also put a strain on a couple. Kate and I are always more relaxed with each other, and in general, when we are away from all of this. When in London, we fall into our usual patterns and almost never see each other. She has her interests and friends, I have my business and associates, and those circles take over.”
“So, in other words…”
“I’m not entirely certain London is the best place to woo your wife if you’ve spent enough time here without doing so.” Whitlock hissed, spinning his cup on the table. “Or if you have practiced avoidance regularly. Not a routine to return to, frankly.”
Thomas rubbed his brow in irritation. “Then why the devil would Monty suggest I do so?”
“Because it’s away from your home and there are things to do.” Whitlock pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing. “He’s not wrong, there are many activities in London, and several opportunities to take advantage of.” His eyes flicked back to Thomas. “I’m not sure you or your wife are the sort of people for whom London holds any particular draw. Am I wrong?”
“No,” Thomas replied simply. “But I had to get away from Rainford if I wanted a hope of winning Lily.”
“How can you win a woman you already have?”
“You did, did you not?”
Whitlock opened his mouth, then closed it in a wry smile. “Touché. I tend to forget that I did, given the stark contrast between the woman I thought I married and the woman I am now married to. She changed in more obvious ways than I, but the changing was absolutely mutual. That was what made the difference. We both changed.”
“I don’t want Lily to change,” Thomas insisted. He shook his head very firmly, sitting up and tapping on the surface of the table. “Not in the least. She is perfection.”
“Not true,” Whitlock pointed out.
Indignation roared within Thomas, and one hand became a fist. “I beg your…”
“You want her to love you, Granger,” Whitlock overrode with a firm but gentle gesture of his hand, waving him down. “That is a change.”
The irritation seeped out of Thomas as he began to go cold, his thoughts churning on the statement.
He did want Lily to love him. She’d been fond of him once, friendly for their own sake rather than their families, but how far would that fondness extend? What had she really felt for him? Had there been tenderness in her heart for him? Had she hoped for anything where he was concerned?
He had hoped enough for them both. He had dreams. He had been prepared to fully turn his life around to become worthy of her. He’d felt his soul breathe in a way he’d never felt anything in his life, and Lily was at the center of it.
Yes, he wanted her to love him. So much so he’d married her out of desperation for fear that he would never be able to have her any other way.
Heavens, had he truly been so selfish?
“You’re looking rather ill, Granger. Quite suddenly and dramatically. I’d call you more putrid than peaky. Kindly avoid fainting dead away.”
Thomas tried to scowl over at him, but his face seemed to lack feeling. “If you’d behaved the way I have when you loved your wife, you’d feel peaky too.”
“Clearly we need to discuss my behavior prior to my reconciliation with my wife.” Whitlock groaned and straightened, folding his hands across the table. “What happened on your failed evenings?”
“Nothing.” Thomas shrugged, turning his hands palms up. “Nothing at all. We dined as usual, and I suggested we retire to the drawing room rather than go our separate ways. She agreed, and we went, then nothing. We had nothing to talk about. I tried, I was interested and engaged, but there was nothing to say. Lily tried, she was interested and engaged, but the conversation failed us.”
Whitlock grimaced as though he had swallowed something unpleasant. “You tried the same format for three nights?”
Thomas blinked. “Yes…”
“Oh, gads,” Whitlock grunted, putting his face in his hands. “I am too old for this nonsense.”
“What?” Thomas asked him, completely lost. “What did I say?”
Whitlock dropped his hands, giving Thomas the most sardonic look known to man. “You have the romantic instincts of a child, Granger, and the timing of a newborn.”
Something akin to a boulder dropped into Thomas’s stomach. “I what?”
As though that somehow illustrated a point, Whitlock spread his hands out in revelation. “It’s true. My son could make your wife fall in love with him before you could, and it has nothing to do with the attractive features he inherited from his father.”
“Are you trying to tell me I’m clueless and juvenile?” Thomas asked, more out of interest than offense.
“Personally, I don’t know you that well. In this
sense? Yes, I believe you are.” Whitlock stared at Thomas as though he were a strange creature he couldn’t fathom. “How did that happen? If I recall, you were well on your way to courting her before your marriage. I recognize your financial difficulties spurred on the trip to the altar, but you were headed there anyway, in theory. That could not happen without some romantic intelligence.”
A defeated air settled around Thomas, and he sank back against his chair. “I didn’t have the guilt and shame I carry now. I wasn’t as quick to assume the worst of myself or concerned that I’ve hurt the woman I love.”
“You’re afraid, aren’t you?”
“I’m a damned coward when it comes to my wife,” Thomas nodded fervently, completely unashamed to admit so. “Terrified to the core.”
Whitlock whistled low. “That makes this more interesting.”
Thomas snorted. “Don’t you mean more difficult?”
“You’re already trudging over a mountain pass without a guide, so the only way it gets more difficult is if your wife hates you.”
“She might,” Thomas pointed out glumly. “I’ve hurt her enough.”
Whitlock rolled his eyes, rubbing at his brow again. “Granger, I like you well enough, but if you play the martyr one more time, I’m going to like you less. You’re not perfect, which is not a crime. You could have done better, but you did not. You want to change things, which any wife would appreciate. You actually care, which makes you better than roughly half of Society, and I’m being generous in my estimation. If you want any chance of actually succeeding in this endeavor, you’re going to need to stop being afraid and start being attentive.”
“I am attentive!” The protest was ripped from Thomas before he could stop himself and sounded more childish than he’d have liked. It was a true statement, he thought, but it lacked the significance and weight he’d need in his own defense.
The look he received was almost pitying. “My friend, if that were true, you’d know exactly why your attempts at quiet evenings at home with your wife are torturing you both rather than encouraging.”
Thomas couldn’t deny that, much as he would have liked to. He’d often felt that he was missing something but couldn’t seem to discover what that was. He never knew what to say to his wife, what she was thinking, how she was feeling, and he’d spent so long trying to remedy their finances that he’d neglected the actual marriage itself.
He slumped further in his chair, the truth sinking deep into his heart and mind. “True enough, I suppose.”
“I suppose as well.” Whitlock took a drink of his beverage before exhaling slowly. “You have spent five years avoiding your wife, by your own admission, to spare her feelings and your own. That’s not unthinkable in your situation. But it would render you rather unpracticed when it comes to the art of wooing your wife, however skilled you might have been prior to your marriage.”
“I was not that skilled,” Thomas admitted bluntly. “I have no assurance that she would have consented had she been given the choice.”
Whitlock shrugged with a nonchalance that suited him. “Which makes you no different than any other man who marries for any reason other than necessity. The fact of the matter is that you needed her fortune, and you went to her father, knowing he would accept your offer despite your having nothing to give in return but your good name. You chose the direction that would give you certainty.”
Thomas nodded, his cravat threatening to strangle him as he attempted a swallow. “I couldn’t lose her.”
“Unfortunately, you proceeded to place yourself in a very deep hole dug by your own two hands,” Whitlock told him, ignoring the admission. “I have no confirmation of this, but I think your wife had a degree of affection for you before your marriage, and being married for her fortune rather than her person caused a wound.”
“I know. Don’t you think I know?”
“But,” he went on, still ignoring his words, “that is not to say that a wound may not heal. Does your wife know how you feel about her?”
Shaking his head, Thomas spun his glass against the table surface slowly. “I couldn’t tell her. Not after…” He shook his head again. “No. She doesn’t know.”
“So, we are starting from the beginning. Further than that, as it happens, for your beginning with her would have been a fond acquaintance, yes?”
At Thomas’s nod, Whitlock grunted. “Then you are now attempting to woo a stranger, for so she is, after all this time.”
That did not sound promising. He’d spent the last five years wrapped up in guilt over Lily and almost painfully attuned to her. He knew every facet of her features and could see the slightest hint of strain in her face.
But he couldn’t make her smile. He couldn’t make her laugh. He couldn’t find words.
“My shame blinds me,” he murmured in despair, finally seeing what Whitlock was hinting at. “Blinds my actions. In my desperation for redemption, I have forgotten to love her.”
“Forgotten is not a word I would choose for the scenario. I’d venture that you were distracted from loving her. Again, not unthinkable. You did not find yourself worthy of doing so. You might find a kindred spirit in Lord Blackmoor, Granger.”
He’d have been lying if he said he hadn’t thought of that before. Lily was quite fond of Gemma, Lady Blackmoor, and knew of the painful situation her friend had endured in the early days of her marriage. Blackmoor’s past had overshadowed his ability to find present happiness for a time, though, as Thomas understood it, things were in far better straits now.
Blackmoor was not a particularly social man, which would either make him the perfect candidate for aiding Thomas or the worst. But if Blackmoor held his wife’s happiness above all else, which Thomas thought he might, then it could follow that he would be more inclined to help. After all, Thomas wanted the same for his wife, did he not? And Lily’s happiness would bring Gemma’s in part, would it not?
“So many allies for a helpless fellow,” Thomas said with the first hint of humor he’d felt all morning. “Do you think there’s a chance my prospects might become less dismal with your help?”
“Mine?” Whitlock laughed once. “Not a chance. But with Monty and Blackmoor as well? I’m sure one of us will have a good idea.”
Thomas rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Marvelous. Four clueless men scheming to make a woman fall in love with one. I may be doomed before I make any progress.”
The remark made Whitlock sputter, still chuckling. “I beg your pardon, but three of us have wives who adore us. And we wooed them post matrimony to boot. We certainly have a few clues, I thank you.”
“Not many,” Thomas retorted. “Between you and Monty, I’ve been told to come to London to woo my wife, and that London is a terrible place to come and woo my wife. Really, it is so helpful.”
Whitlock surprised him by barking a laugh of real amusement and grinning broadly. “That might be the first sign of true life I have seen in you yet. I may rather enjoy this.”
“Happy to provide entertainment.” Thomas looked away, dubious about the entire project at this point. “Monty is due to arrive tomorrow or the day after. He claims he will assist me once he arrives.”
“I have no doubt he will. I’ve had a thought.” The marquess tapped the table again, looking almost mischievous. “We’ll invite the lot of you to our home for dinner and an evening’s entertainment. Blackmoor, since he’s a viscount; Montgomery, since he’s an earl and a near relation; possibly the Gerrards; anyone else you or your wife might like. It will give the four of us a chance to meet without raising suspicions and provide your wife with an evening with people she enjoys, which will further your cause anyway.”
Thomas nodded at the idea, though he failed to see how a party of Lily’s friends would do anything to help him win her. “She’d love it, I have no doubt. Quiet evenings are always her preference.”
Whitlock’s brows rose in surprise. “What in hell’s name gives you reason to think that an
evening at my home with my family will be quiet?” He waved a hand, dismissing his own remark. “At any rate, we must establish that you and your wife can have an enjoyable evening together, not just independently. What better way to do that than with a gathering of mutual friends?”
“I wasn’t aware we had mutual friends.” Thomas smiled without humor. “I was of the opinion that her friends wanted me to writhe on a spit over an open flame.”
“Only on Thursdays,” Whitlock shot back. “Which is why we will gather on a Tuesday. Come, man, do you want my help, or have I been wasting my considerably sacrificed time?”
Thomas could only sigh and nod.
“Yes, you want my help?” Whitlock pressed, more filled with energy than he had been yet that morning. “Or yes, I have been wasting my time?”
“Probably both.” Thomas smiled reluctantly. “Invite whomever you like. Lily has no enemies, and I’ve no preferences.”
Whitlock’s expression soured. “Your enthusiasm overwhelms me.”
Thomas gave him a hard look. “I’ve set myself the task of winning the love of my wife, which I may never have had, after marrying her for money and leaving her alone for five years rather than actually living in our marriage. I think enthusiasm is a bit much to expect.”
“The miraculous act is never simple, else it would lack any miraculous aspect.” Whitlock downed the rest of his drink, then pushed up from the table.
“You think I need a miracle?” Thomas asked, making no move to rise himself.
Whitlock looked down at him, straightening his coat. “You’re the martyr, Saint Granger. You tell me.” He waited, clearly expecting an answer for his jab.
Thomas thought of Lily, thought of the awkward evenings they’d shared in London, thought of silent meals where he had longed for the clock to move faster, thought of hours upon hours spent in his study at Rainford Park poring over reports and financials in the hope that he would not forever lean on the dowry he had bought with marriage.
The flame of hope flickered, then went out.
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