Chatter had reached the village as well. The vicar had reported as much. There was talk of strife between the Duke and Duchess. Some said it was on account of Mrs. Baker’s pies. Another storyheld that he did not like Ruby the pig. It was all ridiculous, of course. But in the absence of fact, people would make up their own.
The pig, as it happened, was the only thing giving him any joy at present. He had taken to feeding her himself, and even let her walk through the house on occasion. He was aware of how that reflected on his current state of mind and chose not to examine it too closely.
He had thought about returning to London. His friends were there, after all. But Helena was there too, and he did not want her to think he had followed her. Not that he hadn’t felt the urge. He had packed his portmanteau twice himself and had once ordered his valet to do it. But he had unpacked each time, knowing that if Helena did not want him in her life, he was not going to make himself a pest to her.
An arriving carriage caught his attention. He scraped his feet across the ground and stopped the rocking chair, then went down the front steps.
The carriage door flew open and James leaped out without waiting for the steps. His feet hit the ground with a bang and he marched across the gravel.
“Well,” he said. “You look dreadful. Positively Friday-faced, and as though you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.”
“It is lovely to see you too,” Gideon fired back. “What brings you here?”
“What brings me here? You did, of course — your letter. You sounded dreadful. What sort of friend would I be if I was not here when you were in need?”
“I do not recall asking for your aid.”
“You did not have to. I have known you for years. I can read between the lines.” He fell into step beside him as they went up the stairs. “And before you ask — yes, I have made sure your wife is well looked after. Frances and her cousins are attending to her, along with Lady Clara. That is dealt with. Now. What are we going to do about you?”
Gideon shrugged. “For the time being, perhaps you can come inside and share a glass of whiskey with me.”
“Whiskey sounds exactly right. I have been longing to wet my whistle since Yorkshire.”
They made their way to the parlor. Gideon poured them each a generous measure and settled into the armchair by the fire. James took the seat across from him and crossed his legs.
“So your wife has made you out to be a menace, if I understand your letter correctly.”
“It seems so. She acts as though I am a barrel of oil that might go up at any moment and take everything with it.”
“Well, you do have a temper. I would not call it explosive as such, but it is there.” James swirled his glass. “What has made her think this of you?”
“Her former husband, I suspect. But she has never truly confided in me — only hinted. Clara was much the same. Hinting at what Huxley was like. I cannot say with any certainty what she endured, but it must have been enough to make her distrust me. Though I will say it did not start until after we were married.”
“Well,” James said, “we do not always show our true selves until after we are married. You should know that better than most.”
A groan escaped Gideon. He was right, of course. James was almost always right, which was one of his more irritating qualities.
“It could be compared to Cassandra,” James said. “She was different how you…”
He stopped. “Although that is hardly a fair comparison.”
“Is it not?”
“No. Because I was not pretending with Helena. And neither did she pretend with me. She saw every part of me from the very beginning — the good, the bad, and the thoroughly irritating. I never put on a performance for her.”
“No,” James agreed. “You did not.”
“So how is it the same thing? Cassandra presented an entirely false version of herself. I presented myself exactly as I am. If anything, she should have run a great deal sooner. Not because of my supposed outbursts, but because of the thoroughly disastrous way I’ve conducted my life.”
“That is precisely the point,” James said. “You were not trying to impress her.”
Gideon looked at him, not comprehending.
“Think about it. With Cassandra, you were always performing to some degree because you wanted to keep her interested in you. Showing your best self. Making certain she saw what you wanted her to see.”
Gideon nodded. This was true. He had wanted Cassandra to think he was exciting, witty, daring. The truth was, a part of him had always felt as though her interest in him wasn’t entirely honest. That she wanted more than he could give.
He shrugged and let out a grunt that was as much as an agreement as James was going to get out of him.
