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“I agree with Mother. The three of us shall play whichever card game you select.”
Her vision nearly blurred, and her cheeks filled with heat. It wouldn’t do to throw her napkin on the table and sail out of the room, but that’s what she felt like doing. She remained silent and was saved by the arrival of the next course.
The awkwardness between husband and wife was palpable, though the Dowager Marchioness behaved charmingly, as if nothing was amiss. Behind her comportment was undoubtedly glee, Bea knew.
“How was Hyde Park this morning?” William asked quietly sometime later.
Remembering how Edmund had found a mound of leaves, one of the few remaining that the December wind had not blown away, she smiled. She recounted the story, including their son’s enthusiasm, and was warmed by her husband’s obvious enjoyment.He loves the children—and he loves you.
By dessert, conversation had dwindled, and Bea had to admit that she remained affected by what had felt like William’s betrayal.
“You do not look well,” the Dowager said, her lovely face twisting, as if with concern. She was younger than Harriet, and in truth, looked as if she were William’s older sister rather than his mother.“You’re not coming down with a megrim, are you, my dear?”
“Thank you for your concern, my lady. No.”
“Something has to account for that sallowness that’s overcome you. William, I fear she’s falling ill!”
“I amnot.” She dropped her gaze to cover the flare of anger that threatened to carry her away again.You cannot make it through even a single hand of cards with this woman tonight. That truth settled over her, and she realized she had to make her excuses. No good could come from an evening together. “I’m excessively tired. Forgive my poor company. In fact, I’m afraid I’m not able to linger tonight for cards. It’s best if I retire early.”
“Fatigued by all that mothering, undoubtedly. Of course, my dear, do go straight to bed!” The dowager urged.
William accompanied her to the stairway, searching her gaze guiltily when she stared up at him, wondering what had gone so wrong.
“Come visit me tonight,” she found herself saying.
He didn’t respond; his eyes only clouded with the same suffering she had seen earlier.
“Good night, then, Lord Candleton.”
She climbed the stairs calmly, or so it seemed, and didn’t turn to see if he watched, as the silence and lack of footsteps on the marble indicated. Gliding down the hall to her chamber, she made it to the door before the first tears shot down her face, and she managed to close the door behind her before the first sob choked her.
Embarrassment and betrayal flooded her. Not only had it been poor form to have placed William on the spot to correct his mother, it had been foolhardy. She had known,known, when she looked at him, that he had not simply forgotten about their plans. Something was going on, and whatever it was, he had not chosenher.
She was tired of being befuddled by his mixed messages. She had no doubt of his fondness, but she could no longer pretend they wanted the same thing in their marriage. Six years had passed since their wedding, and they shared a great deal—but not the degree of closeness Bea craved. How many more years would she spend longing for more?
Crying pitifully into her pillow, she released her sorrow and desperation. By the time her ladies’ maid found her, she was depleted of tears.
“Is it the Dowager Marchioness, my lady?” her maid asked quietly.
She nodded, and despite the chill in the air, acceded to her maid’s suggestion of a cool cloth for her swollen eyelids.
“Me mum would say, ‘don’t let `er keep ye down.’ Begging your pardon, but there’s a meanness in the Dowager.”
Bea blindly sought her maid’s hand, squeezing it in thanks. Even after the woman warmed her bedsheets with the copper warming pan filled with hot coals, then left, Bea found herself wide awake. She was angry with the Dowager, yes. Whatever role her mother-in-law had played in tonight’s disappointment, however, it was her husband who had made his own decision.
But why?
Was she wrong about William’s deepest desires for her? Perhaps she had erred in her beliefs about him. For years, she had hoped that one day, he would succumb to his own yearnings, so evident in his eyes. But what if she had only seen what she wished to see? Perhaps after all, William was content with what they had, and she was the only one straining for more.
I’m afflicted with madness, she thought. As if connected to William, she sensed him even at this moment. He was somewhere in the house, whether with his conniving mother or having escaped her company, alone with a snifter by the fire, and he was struggling against coming to her chamber.
No. He’s not visiting. He made that clear.The hope welling within her made her feel pitiful, but she couldn’t squash it. It grew, filling her. She cataloged all the signs that he did care for her beyond the perfunctory. He doted in his own ways. There was the smile he reserved only for her. His delight in how she met him in the foyer to welcome him home. His protection of her from his mother, at least before tonight. His sending away of that dreadful housekeeper early in their marriage. His appreciation for all she did for him and their children. He openly valued not only the performance of her domestic duties but her contributions to his career in Parliament. He entrusted her with sensitive information about other peers and the country, and he listened to her opinions.
But why has he pushed your hands away when you would touch him intimately?Humiliation pushed acid up from her stomach, burning her throat, as the memories flitted through her mind. After Bea had weaned Miriam, then Edmund, their conjugal union had once again felt so pleasurable that, combined with her new trust in her husband, she had dared to reach for him as he moved within her. Each time, however, he had rebuffed her, and any time she did anything but lay as still as possible, he either ignored or stopped her.
“We mustn’t,” he had said most recently. She had tried to lift her knees, wanting to wrap her legs around his waist. After pressing her legs back down to the mattress, his voice and expression had turned stern—and he had come quickly afterwards, then left her.
Their family life was warm, and the way William engaged their children as a father helped her forgive him almost anything. She was thankful they had at least achieved that shared goal—producing not just heirs, but a family.
