“Yes, madam.”
She exhaled slowly and strode for the door and the carriage beyond. It was time to return to Cornwall. Alone.
Life without Lily was meaningless.
That was what he had learned in the days following her departure. Everything had been according to the exact schedule he had kept ever since the mill had been lost, except now he did not see her at meals.
That was all. And that was enough.
The loss of her was compounded by the fact that he could not now mend what he’d been idiotic enough to break once more. He could not find her in the parlor or the music room and fall to his knees before her to ask for forgiveness. He could not kiss her hands in apology, could not make her blush from praise, could not find any reason at all for bothering with his day-to-day life.
Even when she was gone, Lily was everything. Yet he had forgotten her. Again. If ever he needed the proof that he was unworthy of his wife, it was before him now.
The gall of it was that his finances would actually be fairly well recovered in a few months, if all went well with the other investments. Not as satisfactory as before, but certainly in a respectable place, all things considered. Mr. Tremellion had been magnanimous in his reply to Thomas’s letter explaining a delay in the payment for Pendrizzick and had even gone so far as to recommend his son-in-law as a financial advisor to him, should he have any interest. Thomas had written the man that very day.
He still had a great deal of work to do before he could claim full solvency, but the panic behind his efforts was gone. It should never have been there in the first place.
He’d never felt as low as he had that day she’d left, sitting alone in the silence of the house. Even when he had been ruined and knew she was out of his reach forever, he had not felt so miserable. His aspiration then had been Lily alone, and he had found a way to have her, even if the means had not been altogether right. He’d planned on a lifetime of atonement and had been content with knowing the desire of his heart was his for the taking.
Now…
Now he had thrown away all of that for the sake of his original sin, though he’d been told that the finances made no difference to her. If she did not care about money, why should he? If she had not thought less of him for the ruination he had faced, why was he driving himself into fatigue over a matter without the same severity?
Why had he let the obsessive habit that had dictated his marriage raise its ugly head once more?
It had not gotten him his wife this time; it had cost him his wife. Not forever, it was true. For Lily had made it clear enough that she was only leaving London, not leaving him. No matter how it felt like she was.
London had not wounded her. He had.
London had not ignored her. He had.
London had not betrayed her. Only he could have done that.
And only he had.
Watching her leave, finding himself voiceless when she’d asked him to come with her, he had felt his world shattering at his feet.
He’d have broken completely had she not called up to him before taking her leave. Had she not invited him to come to her when he was ready.
When he was ready? He had been ready then, would have raced down and taken her in his arms as though hell itself were threatening them. Would have prostrated himself pathetically at her feet to beg her to remain. Yet he had not done any of those things. He had stood, still as a statue, as though it was a test of his will to resist her.
Why? Why had he not opened his damned mouth and told her he was sorry, that he was a fool, that he loved her beyond reason, that she was the meaning behind his existence?
Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer.
Because he had not behaved as though that were the truth. Because he had been blinded yet again by ambition, even if it had once been for her sake. Because he had forgotten that the beginning and ending of his dreams were wrapped up in her. Were entirely her.
Because he was a fool. And until he was no longer a fool, he could not be ready to go to her. Much as he might long to.
He’d received word that she had arrived at Pendrizzick, which had also included news of the hiring of a new butler, but not a word to indicate how she was feeling, if she were pleased to be back, or that she loved him. And certainly nothing alluding to the same sort of misery he was enduring.
It was all politeness, and yet she made him smile and ache as though she had filled the letter with declarations and confessions.
He’d have thought himself ridiculous had he not immediately felt the rightness of his feelings. The truth of them.
For the reality was that he longed for his wife, and that was not something that would fade away lightly or something for which he could bring himself to feel ashamed. No, now he would only put his mind to becoming the man she deserved to be married to. Not financially, not societally, not in any respect that the world might consider a mark of success.
His heart needed to be hers.
He’d thought it was, but at the first stumbling block, he had faltered. He would not do so again. Could not.
His wife was a saint and an angel, but just how forgiving could he expect her to be? How many chances would a man get with the woman he loved? Did he dare test it? Could he do otherwise?
Thomas shook his head now as he walked toward the home of the Marquess of Whitlock, wondering what in the world had possessed him to accept the invitation to meet there. He was in no mood for socialization or business discussions, and he had no satisfactory answer for the man as regarding the endeavor he had pitched almost a fortnight ago. He had no satisfactory answers for anything at this point. Only excuses.
Still, he was well versed and well practiced in the art of politeness, and getting out of the London house was surely good for him.
He was shown into the Whitlock home with brisk efficiency, and a tea tray was before him at once, which was almost startling. He began to make himself a cup while waiting for Whitlock when the man himself entered, followed by Lord Blackmoor and Monty.
Thomas stilled, looking at them all in turn, pausing midway through stirring sugar into his tea. “I see I have been summoned before the tribunal… Have you decided what disciplinary action would best serve the crime?”
Monty’s mouth twitched, and Whitlock looked as irreverent as ever, while Blackmoor looked rather long-suffering, clearly wondering what he was doing there.
Thomas was wondering the same.
“Nonsense,” Whitlock told him, a trifle belatedly. “We simply thought it was best to reconvene our little war council and see how you were getting on.”
Thomas raised a brow. “Meaning you heard my wife left London while I remained behind, and you were curious enough to bring me in for questioning.”
Blackmoor nodded firmly behind the others, Monty the picture of composure, and Whitlock utterly shameless.
“Since you put it so succinctly,” Whitlock said as he sat on the sofa opposite him, “why has your wife left London?”
Monty sighed heavily and sank into a chair while Blackmoor continued standing.
Thomas looked around at them all, considering his chances of fleeing the room without being dragged back into this emotional fracas he did not need. Considering Blackmoor was standing near the doorway, he’d have to maneuver around him, but he was not entirely convinced the man would prevent his escape.
Then again…
“I’ve ruined everything,” Thomas admitted, dropping his head into his hands. “One financial scare, and I forgot that my wife comes before money.”
“It was a hefty scare,” Whitlock said with some sympathy. “An entire mill is no small thing.”
Thomas nodded into his hands. “Yes, but I shut her out, just as I’d done throughout our marriage before we went to Cornwall, when I was trying to make myself her equal in station.” He looked up, his hands moving to grip the back of his neck. “I threw away everything I had gained out of sheer bloody panic.”
“Sounds fami
liar,” Blackmoor grunted with a shake of his head.
Monty nodded as well, saying nothing.
Whitlock’s expression did not change. “I haven’t the faintest idea about any of that. I’ve never almost ruined my marriage out of idiocy.”
Blackmoor cleared his throat, the meaning clear for them all, which made Whitlock grin like a schoolboy. “Right, I might have exaggerated my innocence.”
Somehow that did not help Thomas feel any better about it. “What do I do?” he asked them, realizing baring his soul to these happily married men might be his only chance at redeeming himself in his wife’s eyes. Again.
Whitlock held up his hands in surrender. “I have no answers for you there. I realized I’d been an idiot and ran to my wife’s waiting arms.”
“I was almost too late,” Monty told him without shame, “in a way.”
Blackmoor twisted his lips in thought. “I cannot explain mine. I just realized that loving my wife fully was the only way to exist.” He looked at Thomas then, shrugging. “So I have.”
There was something utterly moving about the simplicity of that statement.
Loving my wife fully was the only way to exist.
That was it, wasn’t it?
Another set of rather crisp footsteps in the corridor beyond brought Monty and Whitlock up in an instant, and Thomas stared at them all warily. “What is happening?”
For the first time during this bizarre interview, Whitlock looked uncomfortable. “The chief facilitator of this gathering insisted on her own arrival time and demanded we absent ourselves the moment she did. With that said, we take our leave.”
They were gone before Thomas could ask anything further, and his slow rise to greet the mystery guest was followed by a quick sinking back into his seat in shock.
Lady Tabitha Raeburn marched into the room boldly, her bright blue silks swathed about her in an almost regal fashion. “Ah, lovely. Tea. Pour me a cup, won’t you? Two sugars, splash of cream, and then explain your trouble.”
There was no refusing the woman, and Thomas knew it well, so he did as she bade and handed her the perfectly prepared cup of tea after she had situated herself. As far as his trouble, however…
Lady Raeburn sighed. “Your wife has gone off to Cornwall, and you are here. Why?”
“Lady Raeburn…”
“Call me Tibby, dear. It is always best to do so when I am intervening.”
As long as she knew she was doing so, he’d concede her point. “Tibby, I had business to attend to. I could not…”
“That is a convenient lie you are telling yourself, my boy, and I suspect you rather could have gone off if you had the courage, isn’t that so?” She tilted her head in question, though he wasn’t sure he was expected to answer it. So he did not. “What is it that keeps you from happiness?” she pressed. “Clearly, there is something.”
“Guilt,” he answered roughly. “And shame.”
“For?”
He looked down at his hands, wishing answers lay there. “I married my wife for her money.”
“It’s a well-known fact. What of it?”
“My wife loved me before she married me.”
Tibby coughed a surprised laugh. “And that was a revelation to you?”
He looked up at her in faint irritation. “Yes, frankly.”
Her brow furrowed, and she raised three fingers in the air. “Can you see the number of fingers I’m holding up?”
Scowling, he returned his attention to his fingers. “It should have been obvious, I suppose, but I could not see it. I should have. I should have known she would not need my prospects to convince her I’d be a good match for her.”
“I’ll tell you another revelation,” Tibby interjected almost gently. “She’s loved you while she’s been married to you.”
He nodded, swallowing hard. “I know that.”
“Do you?”
He met her eyes once more. “I do. Now.”
“So why are you sitting here?” she inquired, her voice turning soft. “Your plan worked. Did you not seek to find love in your marriage?”
“I did, and it failed.” He snorted softly, shaking his head in disgust. “Possibly worse than the engagement and marriage in the beginning.”
Tibby frowned at him, drumming her many ringed fingers against her knee. “So begin again.”
He lifted a dubious brow. “With what?”
“Do you love her?” she demanded.
“Endlessly.”
“And does she love you?”
“More than I deserve.”
Tibby hummed softly, giving him a satisfied smile. “Perhaps I’m wrong, but I believe that is an excellent beginning.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I don’t see why you could not do some renovations here. This room, for example, makes no sense as a sitting room when it is abutted by another sitting room and a music room. Why not remove one of the walls and create a larger sitting room or expand the music room? The prospects out of the windows either way will be magnificent, and it really could be made entirely your own.”
Lily nodded absently at the suggestion, though it was a good one, and pretended a thoughtful smile as she looked where Julia was indicating.
They’d gone through the entire house thus far, estate agent in tow, concocting ideas for improvements.
Well, Julia was concocting. Lily filed each idea away and would sift through them another time to see which she truly would consider.
In truth, her heart wasn’t in it.
Pendrizzick just wasn’t the same without Thomas.
Oh, it was a beautiful house still, and she was quite comfortably situated there. She could see herself finding moments of contentment and bliss within its walls or on its land and without much difficulty either.
But that contentment and bliss would not come for some time if she remained here alone. She was sure contentment would come eventually, but bliss…
That seemed reserved for one person and one alone.
Every morning, she wondered if he would arrive at Pendrizzick, returned to the man he had been when they were here before, ready to begin the rest of their lives with love as their focus.
Every evening, she resigned herself that he would not come and went to bed wondering if she had been mistaken in leaving London after all.
She had to stand by her decision, had to trust that her efforts would reap some reward. Even if it was her husband saying he could not live in Cornwall constantly but might make the occasional visit. At least she would have an answer to move forward with. She would not continue to hope in vain and would be able to adjust her life and expectations around the new reality.
It was the varying between extremes she could not stand.
Thomas loved her, she reminded herself. He loved her. She could not doubt his love, even if the manner in which he showed his love could be lacking. They would have to find their footing among the emotions in their hearts and the needs of the other. They needed to form a life together, not apart.
And if she needed to put distance between them to prove to him that was so, it would be worth it in the end. But when would he come?
She knew he would at some point; he would have to. The expression he had worn as she’d prepared to leave London had proven to her that he was not unfeeling and was, in fact, likely the opposite. But until he could resign himself to those emotions and how to live a life with them, she could not help him.
Much as she might want to.
“Lily, what would you think of adding an orangery to the place?” Julia called from the music room just beyond her present position.
Lily shook herself and moved into the room, frowning slightly. “An orangery? Where?”
Julia indicated a space through the window. “Just there. It would be easy enough, just adding to that face of the house, and it would connect to the gardens beautifully.”
Biting her lip, Lily nodded to herself, seeing, for the first time, what could be with Julia�
��s suggestions. “I do like that idea.” She turned to Mr. Morgan, the estate agent, who had been offering his opinions and advice as they had moved through the house. “Do you think it would be plausible for the house?”
“Certainly, Mrs. Granger,” he replied with a quick nod of his head. “I think Mrs. Roskelley’s idea is certainly worth exploring, and I could easily present you with architects capable of the task.”
“Excellent.” She found herself smiling slightly. “I’ll write to Mr. Granger and, if he agrees, ask him to meet with the solicitor about details.”
Mr. Morgan frowned a little, his brow creasing. “He would not need to do so, Mrs. Granger.”
“Of course he would,” she replied, confused by his statement. “There would be a great deal to arrange, and the house is his property, so he must be consulted and act on its behalf.”
“The house is your property, Mrs. Granger.”
It was as though the cold Cornish wind suddenly whipped through the house, stealing her breath and chilling her frame in its wake. Her mind spun yet did not manage to produce a single coherent thought.
She could only stare at Mr. Morgan in abject bewilderment, needing an explanation but unsure how to ask for one.
“Hers?” Julia’s voice rang through the room, and her quick steps echoed after. “What do you mean it is hers, Mr. Morgan?”
He looked at her, then back at Lily, clearly confused by their confusion. “The papers came to my office last week shortly after you returned. The house, the estate, and all on it, apart from the mine, are in your name, Mrs. Granger. Not your husband’s.”
Lily wet her lips carefully, the motion feeling slow and painful. “But… but he purchased it.”
“The sale is complete,” he confirmed with a nod. “Or is in the process of being completed, but the ownership has been transferred, and once it had been, it was transferred specifically to you. The authority to make changes to the house and estate lies with you, madam. The profits from the farms go to accounts in your name, and a large portion of the shares in Wheal Dandrea are now also in your name. Your husband remains chief shareholder there, but you also have shares, as mistress of Pendrizzick.”
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