Page 64 of The New Earl’s Convenient Wife

Chapter Nineteen

In the evening three weeks later, Rafe sat in the library with Hart, where they’d repaired at the conclusion of a Parliamentary meeting to continue the discussion about the latest matter under study in the Lords.

‘…don’t think Singletary has enough votes to carry the matter,’ Hart was saying, while Rafe sipped his brandy, his attention wandering.

‘I believe, after all, he might win women the right to vote.’ When Rafe gave no response to that outrageous comment, Hart shook his head in exasperation. ‘You’re not even listening to me! Where have you been all evening? You barely spoke a word at the meetings and since we’ve returned here, you’ve been as grumpy as a bear with a thorn in its paw.’

Rafe turned to his friend apologetically. ‘Sorry, I know I’ve been…distant.’

‘You’re missing your wife, I expect. It’s amazing how quickly a sweet lady can inveigle her way into your heart and home, so that you wonder how you ever managed without her! I hate it when Claire and I must be separated.’

With his friend so besotted with his own wife, Rafe felt he could admit, ‘I do miss her rather dreadfully.’

‘Well, why not go to Cornwall and fetch her? She’s had several weeks to roam about, sketching all the beguiling wildlife she’s seen. She may be ready to leave. Or in any case, you can stand to miss the last few weeks of Parliament, if it comes to that. I think we’re agreed that the Opposition hasn’t enough votes in the House to risk bringing any of their measures to a vote this session. So your absence shouldn’t be missed.’

After an initial flare of excitement at the prospect, Rafe sighed. ‘But if I go, she’ll feel obligated to entertain me or perhaps cut short her exploration there. I did faithfully promise to support her work and give her as much time as she needs. You’ve seen her sketches, you understand how talented she is.’

‘Then go and support her! You’re not doing much good, moping about here.’

He sighed again, tempted but trying to resist it. ‘I’ll consider it.’

‘Please do,’ Hart said, setting down his glass. ‘Now, not to rub it in, but I shall go home to my own delightful wife. Who can entertain me in ways you cannot compete with.’

Rafe smiled ruefully. ‘I can well imagine. Lucky dog.’

Hart shrugged. ‘You have a perfectly lovely wife of your own whose charms you might avail yourself of. If you want to enough. Even a wife with whom you only share “friendship” and “affection.” That is all you still want to share with her, isn’t it?’

Rafe looked up quickly but couldn’t read his friend’s expression. ‘Still—always—a good basis for marriage,’ he floundered.

Rising to walk out, Hart clapped him on the arm. ‘Just remember, it isn’t the only one. Don’t let an unfortunate experience from years ago prevent you from enjoying the full richness a life together can offer. Love doesn’t have to mean excessive emotion and agony. It can be profound but quiet joy. I’m gone!’ he concluded, holding up a hand before Rafe could ask him to cease.

‘Thanks for the unsolicited advice,’ Rafe said acidly as his friend exited the library.

‘No extra charge,’ Hart threw back with a grin.

After his friend walked out, Rafe poured himself another glass and sank back into his chair.

There was no denying that he missed Juliana far more acutely than he’d anticipated.

There was the unfulfilled physical hunger, of course. She’d spoiled him so thoroughly with her sensual, responsive nature that he’d foolishly come to take daily lovemaking for granted. The sudden loss of it had been more unpleasant than he’d anticipated, making him wonder how he’d survived all those celibate years with the army.

His dissatisfaction stemmed from much more than just a lack of passionate fulfillment, though. He missed her voice, the charm of her laughter, the surprise of her unusual insights, her calm and quiet presence. She made all the difficulties he faced easier, at Thornthwaite and in London, smoothing his way, never asking for thanks or demanding special attention. Never cajoling for treats or favours, sweetly grateful for a simple sketchbook, a pair of entry tickets to the Royal Academy exhibition or a set of etchings by Turner.

Closing his eyes, he could imagine the feel of her skin under his fingers as she lay on his shoulder in the aftermath of loving. Her faint lavender scent. The sound of her light step in the hallway approaching the library, which always made his heart lift.

His heart. His friend had hinted rather broadly that he’d been letting the long-ago affair with Thalia stop him from fully enjoying the relationship with the wife he now knew suited him much better than his former love ever would have.

Was he—had he been from the first—letting that long-ago pain blind him to the life he might lead now with Juliana?

His initial strong reaction to seeing Thalia again, he was slowly realizing, had been the result of being transported in those first few moments back to the time when he’d been heartbroken and despairing over a future that didn’t include her. For, though he’d been briefly tempted by her suggestion that they renew their relationship—certainly her offer had assuaged his bruised pride—he’d never truly considered accepting it. Indeed, repulsed by the idea of replacing what had been a pure, stainless emotion with a furtive illicit affair, he’d been able to dismiss the possibility with no regret.

Would he be able to dismiss Juliana from his life so easily?

The intensity of his rejection of the mere possibility brought him up short. Had he fallen in love with his wife and been too burdened by the pain of the past to realize it?

Love doesn’t have to mean excessive emotion and agony. It can be profound but quiet joy.

He’d thought his brother had cheated Juliana by offering her a marriage devoid of passion. Was he not cheating her just as much by denying her a marriage based on a full measure of love?