“Everything will work out for the best,” Clarice promised her. “Write me every day.”
“I will.” She tried to smile through her tears.
Her father came next, looking worried and grim. “I hope you made the right choice, daughter. God knows I intended so much more for you.”
“He’s a good man.” Natalia found herself defending Dylan despite everything that had happened. “Don’t worry, Father. I’ll be fine.”
He nodded, then returned to Clarice’s side.
Sherbourne approached her next, while Dylan and Basingstoke said their goodbyes on the other side of the room. “Congratulations. You’ve managed to achieve something people in our class rarely do. You’ve married for love.”
Love.She looked away, embarrassed. This man had heard her say those damning words. He’d seen her locked in Dylan’s passionate embrace.
He should have been at her side today. She almost wished he was. At least with him, she would have always known where she stood. He would never have made her heart race and her breath catch. He was far too proper to feel such a crass emotion as love.
“Dylan married me for my dowry. It had nothing whatsoever to do with love.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain of that. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” Sherbourne lowered his voice. “He has a good heart. He just needs someone to care about. I know he’s hurt you, but I think if you give him a chance, he’ll never let you down again.”
“I wish that were true.” The picture he painted of his brother resembled the one she secretly held in her heart, and she desperately wanted to believe he knew Dylan well enough to be right.
Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for your kind words. They mean a great deal to me.”
He flushed, obviously taken aback. “My brother is a lucky man. A very lucky man.”
Chapter Nineteen
Natalia and Dylan set off for Aldabaran in a fine coach that Basingstoke had loaned them. Dylan was grateful for his friend’s generosity. It would have been impossible to have a meaningful conversation with his wife if they were surrounded by strangers.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t easy to have a meaningful conversation when they were alone, either. Before they even reached the outskirts of London, Natalia turned her face away, curled into a protective little ball on the opposite seat, and went to sleep.
At least she pretended to sleep. He had his doubts. She was probably faking it to avoid talking to him.
In truth, he could use a nap as well. He’d spent the previous night pacing in his suite of rooms, wondering if he’d made the right decision. Could he ever earn Natalia’s forgiveness?
How could he bear it if she kept him at arm’s length forever? Perhaps her reticence would not hurt so much if he’d never gotten to know her. But they’d had that one magical evening together, and he feared he’d spend the rest of his life trying to recreate it.
Would she even allow him to consummate their vows? God, what would he do if she turned him away? Would he be forced to eventually turn to another woman?
His heart rebelled at the very thought. He didn’t want to take a mistress. He wanted his wife.
He sighed, and then shifted in his seat in an attempt to wake her, but she didn’t move a muscle. In the end, her utter stillness gave her away. If she truly slept, her body would sway in rhythm with the coach.
He stared out the window for a while, but his frustration grew with each passing mile. He couldn’t stand her silence. He had to do something.
“I think there are a few things we need to talk about.” He spoke casually, as though they’d been in the middle of a conversation. She flinched, and he grinned with satisfaction. “I know you’re not sleeping,” he continued. “And I wish you’d stop pretending you were.”
For a long moment, she didn’t move. He had to restrain himself from reaching across the coach and shaking her. At last, she sat up, brushed a few wayward strands of hair out of her remarkable green eyes, and met his gaze. “You’re right. I didn’t mean to be so rude.”
Mollified, he searched for the right words. “I’d like to work this out, Natalia. Just tell me what you want me to do.”
“You don’t need to do anything. I realize this fiasco isn’t entirely your fault.” She sounded bitter and resigned. So unlike the vibrant happy girl he’d met just a few short weeks ago.
“It is my fault. All of it.” He hated this feeling of helplessness. He had no idea what to do or say that could make things right.
She shook her head. “It was my own choices, my own decisions that brought me to this. I was such a fool.” She blinked rapidly, as though trying to hold back tears. “I’m afraid to trust myself.”
It slew him to know she felt that way. He didn’t want her to feel foolish about herself. He wanted her to regain her wonderful impetuous spark. He wanted her to trust herself again. He wanted her to trusthim.
