“It’s what the heroes do in the novels.”
“Life isn’t a novel,” he said, but she merely laughed.
“Oh, how similar you are to Violet.” She shook her head. “She always says the same thing.”
She gave him a slight nudge, then turned around and crossed the room towards her mother, who was now watching him with a small frown.
Rosalie doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She’s still a child. She doesn’t understand adult relationships.
And yet, for reasons he couldn’t explain, James found himself crossing the ballroom in the same direction his wife had gone, then exiting through the same doors she’d disappeared through, the ones leading to the gardens.
It didn’t take him long to find her. The deeper part of the gardens was where illicit trysts happened, but Violet hadn’t gone that far. Instead, she was standing on the terrace, staring out over the hedges, her back to him.
When he saw her, his anger subsided, and he felt his heart thump painfully in his chest.
Just apologize. You can still make this right.
“Violet,” he said as he approached. “There you are.”
She turned at the sound of his voice, and from the look on her face, James realized that his wife was absolutely not ready for them to put their fight behind them.
“Yes, here I am,” she returned coldly. “Not cavorting with gentlemen I’ve never met before, in case you were wondering.”
“I am sorry about that,” James said awkwardly. “That was a terrible accusation, and it was wrong of me to make it. Please, forgive me.”
“I cannot believe you would think so poorly of me.”
“I don’t! I was merely?—”
“When from the very beginning, it has been you who has been the deceitful one in this marriage!”
James’s back stiffened. His anger was still close to the surface, and he had to work hard to keep his temper in check.
“I don’t know how many times I have to apologize for not telling you I would not have children,” he began slowly, “but I will keep doing it until you forgive me.”
“Then you will be doing it for the rest of your life!” Violet shouted. “I will never forgive you for deceiving me! For making me live my whole life without children, without love, without—” She broke off, and color crept up her neck and cheeks.
Realization dawned on James.
She felt what I felt during our kiss!
The thought was so painful that it felt like a dagger to his heart.
He wanted her to feel what he’d felt—the same intoxicating, heady mix of passion and deep respect, because to feel what he did and not have it reciprocated was a terrible fate.
But he also didn’t want her to feel it, because it would only mean pain for her. And pain was the last thing he wanted for his wife.
He tried to think of something to say—something to reassure herandkeep the distance between them—but he found himself at a complete loss for words.
“You will not explain yourself?” she demanded. “Why you would kiss me back when you have vowed that you will not have children?”
“I—”
He wanted to. He wanted with every fiber of his being to say something that wouldn’t make her look at him like she was doing now. But suddenly, his reasons felt so feeble.
“Well then, I will have to tell myself the reason,” she continued coolly. “Clearly, you do not find me beautiful. Either that, or you do not think that I would be a good mother to your children. I was good enough for a wife, as it allowed you to receive your inheritance, but I am not good enough to mother the next Duke of Attorton.”
“This isn’t about you,” he insisted. “You are totally worthy to be the mother of the next Duke of Attorton.”
