Page 97 of The Redemption of the Shrew

“Yes, and I think he believed me, but he hardly says a word, and we’re being horribly polite with one another.” Gloriana dried her hands. “If something is bothering him, he should say so. I would much prefer a raging argument to this silent civility.” She sighed. “I have loved him for many years, but now I find I hardly know him at all.”

“I shall tell him not to be a fool,” Sophie said briskly, rising to her feet.

Gloriana put up a hand. “No, no, I’m not asking you to intervene. I just wish I understood him better. I wish I knew what to do.”

Sophie removed the basin of dirty water. “If it were Eric and me . . . we would overcome the silence in bed. I do not know if that will work with my brother.”

Gloriana shook her head. “I am afraid that if I try to lure him to bed, he will think I am playing him for a fool.”

Sophie nodded. “He does not trust easily. Perhaps you will just have to give him time.”

Or his freedom—if that was what he wished.

Chapter 20

For a moment, he couldn’t believe it, but there wasn’t the slightest doubt. The sketchbook, which Gloriana had left on the table by the door, had fallen to the floor, open at a drawing of Philippe himself. He was leaning in an open doorway, a sneer on his face. After a moment he recognized it as the entrance to her bedchamber in the Dower House, with an overturned chair in the background and a stain on the carpet.

He made his way to his sister’s drawing room, where he lit a branch of candles and lowered himself heavily to a chair. He still seethed with rage, despite spending a half hour rubbing down the gelding, trying to burn away the anger and leave only fatigue. He didn’t want to approach Gloriana in this state.

Had he really looked so unpleasant, so thoroughly disgusted, that day last summer? Shame suffused him. She had almost been violated by that cur, but his treatment of her was far worse, for he loved her. He had no excuse.

Nor did he have a good reason for his anger now. She was not to blame.

He leafed backward through the sketchbook. Interspersed with sketches of children playing in a London square, of Alice Stowe and Mr. Bridge eating an ice at Gunter’s, and of Elspeth mending a shirt, were many more drawings of Philippe himself.

A happier Philippe, concentrating on a hand of cards, toasting with a glass of wine, sitting pensive in a corner, expressing his opinions at a salon—he could almost see the movements of his hands, so vivid was the sketch—to an audience showing everything from interest through indifference to lascivious attention directed entirely elsewhere. He laughed at that one. He remembered many such evenings at Alice Stowe’s.

Gloriana had been sketching him for years.

~ ~ ~

Philippe trod softly down the corridor and opened his bedchamber door. The housekeeper had shooed him off to bed. The footman was readying himself to bring a message to Elspeth. Sophie had gone to sleep, after telling him sharply not to be a jealous fool, for she had seen enough of those.

Gloriana was sitting up in bed, and in the candlelight, she seemed to glow, just like her name. She didn’t notice him. She was clutching the little book that had ended their long estrangement. Her lips moved silently. Was she praying?

He watched her, unable to bring himself either to speak or to leave. After a minute, she looked up and saw him.

“Philippe.” Her voice trembled. “Thank you for my book.”

“Ce n’est rien,” he said.

“It’s not nothing to me.” She set the book aside. “Please come and talk to me.”

He shut the door, crossed the room, and sat on the edge of the bed. He set the sketchbook down. “You have made many sketches of me over the years.”

“You are my favorite subject.” She twisted her hands together. They did not know one another well, but he recognized this gesture of distress. “Philippe, if you are having second thoughts, it will be better if we don’t marry.”

He took her cold hands between his warm ones. “Better for whom? Not for me, ma belle. I will be desolate without you.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.” He leaned in to kiss her. “I am sorry for my bad temper. I have never been as afraid as I was tonight, but never doubt that I love you.”

“As long as you never doubt that I love you too,” she said.

He sighed. “I shall do my best.” But one doubt still ground at him, and for all he knew, there would be more in future.

“You don’t trust easily. I understand.”