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It was the family he’d wished for but never had.

This was so stupid.

“I’d like to lock up the anger,” he said and quickly and awkwardly made the gesture of scooping up something around his mouth and putting it into the basket.

He hated this so much. What good was it going to do?

He didn’t feel any less angry at all.

But these nice people didn’t have to know that.

“And now what are you grateful for?” asked Mrs. Rose.

And that he didn’t have to struggle with at all. His gaze fell on his beautiful wife—on her golden locks and her gorgeous face, so full of life. On her lush lips that begged to be kissed.

“Patience,” he said simply, and there it was again, that warm, light feeling in the middle of his chest. The one he decided was called happiness. “I’m grateful for Patience.”

17

Three days later, Patience waved goodbye to her family as she stood with Dorian in front of their home, a bittersweet tightening in her chest.

Having them here had lifted her spirits. Dorian seemed to enjoy their company, too, despite his grumpy and growly ways, and that brightened her mood further.

However, things had changed yesterday. Dorian had left for his usual gathering with six ducal friends and returned even more irritable. Last night, he hadn’t allowed her to sleep in his arms, leaving her restless and anxious. So she’d crawled into Anne’s bed. Although she fell asleep, it was not as restful as when she slept next to Dorian. Never in her life had she slept as well as she did in his arms.

This morning, he’d been scowling into his plate and his cup of coffee.

The Duke of Pryde must have informed Dorian of her inquiries.

But despite Dorian’s claim that he hadn’t known John at Oxford, she was sure something connected him to her brother. Otherwise, why would John have mentioned Dorian in his letters to Papa? What other reason would Dorian, Luhst, and Pryde have for speaking of an incident involving her brother? Why would Dorian have paid off her family’s debts and married her if not because of some connection with John?

Her life had been shadowed by the mystery of John’s death, her emotions—grief, fear, confusion—stifled and unacknowledged.

She didn’t understand why Dorian would be so furious about John. Perhaps her sisters would disagree—they’d been older when John died and could remember him better—but her few memories of her brother were fond ones. He had defended her from a group of older boys who were teasing her. He’d taught her how to skip stones across the pond near their home. He’d snuck her an extra slice of fruit cake on Christmas.

Dorian knew him, too, she was certain, despite his claim. But that didn’t explain why he was lashing out, avoiding talking about John, and flinching with some strange emotions she couldn’t decipher.

What mysterious incident was he reminded of every time he looked at her?

As Patience followed Dorian back inside the house, she stared at his broad, surly back. Even under layers of clothing and a tailored coat that accentuated his broad-shouldered silhouette, she could see his muscles subtly shifting with each movement.

After all, John had killed himself; Dorian had nothing to do with it.

But something had happened, and that something was big enough to haunt Dorian even twelve years afterward.

And she was living with this man, bound to him for the rest of her life. She didn’t want to have secrets between them. Whatever had happened with John was keeping Dorian from being able to let her in.

She had to know the truth if she wanted to get closer to her husband.

They entered the sitting room with its rich, deep green paneled walls, adorned with intricate gold leaf patterns that caught the light from the tall windows. Heavy velvet curtains in a complementary shade of emerald framed the windows, partially drawn to allow the warm afternoon sun to filter into the room. The floor was covered in a plush, intricately woven rug in hues of green, gold, and burgundy.

Dorian turned to her. “You asked Pryde,” he said accusingly.

She could already see the storm forming in his eyes, thunder clouds rolling across a tumultuous sea.

“Yes,” she said, her chin high. “I see your friend is bound to his word.”

Dorian chuckled and shook his head once. “You have no idea.”