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Chapter Eleven
William stared at his half-eaten breakfast, feeling as cold and useless as the cut of meat he had abandoned on his plate.
“You’ll debate the corruption bill today?” Bea asked pleasantly.
Since their row earlier in the month, his marchioness had persisted in her most basic duties to him outside of the bedchamber, at least until evening came around. She had ceased dining with him or sharing quiet time together before bed. Initially, he had understood; not only were they both smarting from their conflict, Beatrice had needed the rest after the difficulties with Benjamin.
Their son had returned to good cheer and a more predictable routine, yet she had not rejoined him in the evenings, unless they were hosting others. She did, however, break her fast with him daily, as she had since their wedding. Whenever they were together, her politeness toward him was unfailing.
He loved and hated it. At first, he had taken her efforts as an olive branch, hoping she would come around once she was better rested. Her skin glowed once more with good health and her eyes were bright again, but her interactions with him, while not frosty, lacked the depth he had enjoyed and taken for granted before.
Pushing his plate away, he forced himself to look at her, aching as he took her in, lovely in her lilac-colored wrapper. “Yes, my lady. We’ll see what we can do about undue influence in elections. Better than nothing, but I fear those who seek to evade justice bring more craft to their ignoble efforts than we, as law makers, bring to our bills.”
“Will the bill pass in time for the general election next month?”
“It’s late in the session, but I believe it shall. For all the good it will do. I’m certain in some constituencies, the bribes are at the ready regardless.”
He sighed, thinking of the state of British politics. A small fraction of the population—only men who owned or rented property above a certain value—was eligible to vote. With such a limited electorate, each vote carried significant weight, and margins of victory were often slight. There was no secrecy as votes were cast, with each publicly recorded, and it was common for the vote to be watched by landlords or bailiffs, who would evict or punish anyone who didn’t vote as expected. In other cases, voters no sooner finished marking their ballots before they extended their hands to collect their bribes.
After setting her tea cup silently onto its saucer, Bea dipped her head. “Nonetheless, my lord, I commend you for your work to improve the situation. Your amendments have been so well received!”
Once upon a time, his wife’s support had warmed him to the core. He had not only felt understood by her, but her encouragement and their open exchange of ideas made him feel as though his career wastheirs. That she was contributing to the good of the country, just as together they were cultivating the family life they valued so much.
He still appreciated her words today—he even believed she meant them. But the distance between them remained immense, and he hated the emptiness of the gulf that separated them. Yes, he could play an important role in this bill that would be debated today by his noble friends in the House. He could surprise Bea with books he thought she would enjoy, as he had yesterday. They could even share in delight or frustration over their children. But none of that eased the growing sense that Bea was lost to him. That their marriage was a shell of what it had been in years past.
“I should like to dine with you this evening,” he found himself saying. “I shall report on what happened with the bill.”
His words met with silence as his wife took a sip of tea. Finally, her eyes found his, and with a most pleasant expression and even tone, she agreed, “As you see fit, my lord.”
The battle was won, perhaps; we shall see about the war, he thought without relish. Much as he feared, while he had all but compelled her presence, he could not command her enthusiasm. When they met for supper that evening, she participated in their conversation, posing thoughtful questions about parliamentary business and sharing anecdotes about the children.
But the light in her eyes was dimmed. Her delight in him was absent.
He tried one of their favorite topics. “Miriam’s French is coming along. She read to me this afternoon.”
Bea smiled warmly. “She was so looking forward to that. We had Sally fetch those French pastries especially. Miriam practiced sayingmille-feuilleall morning!”
He chuckled. “Speaking of practice, Edmund’s taking better to our new style of fencing lessons.” The boy had initially been indignant when his ‘foil’ had been set aside to focus on posture and footwork.
She shook her head, but her eyes sparkled. “He no longer challenges us to duels, though I have overheard him lecturing Ben on proper forms of attack and parry.”
Seeing her vivacity, he wondered ifhewould ever provoke such a reaction from her again outside of his efforts at parenting or in Parliament. Though she held his arm as he escorted her out of the dining room, she did not look at him.
“May I read to you after you finish with Ben?” he offered with a smile.God, I miss you.
“I thank you, my lord, but I’m retiring early this evening. Congratulations again on the Corrupt Practices Act. Good night.”
He tried to be a gentleman despite the rejection, but when it came time to relinquish her at the base of the stairway, he could not. When his hold on her arm tightened, she looked up. Behind her, the tapers in the eight-foot-tall gilt candelabra burned, bringing to life the glints of auburn in her elaborately coiffed hair.
Her brown eyes, however, regarded him with nothing more than neutrality, awaiting some sign of what he had to say or would decide.
“God, Bea. If only we could go back in time and be as we were. How I wish for that!”
His hopes of a reconciliation, or even a shared wish, were dashed. “That would suityou, indeed, my lord.”
Her quiet, matter-of-fact characterization gutted him as no angrily hurled insult could have. After their argument, he had been left in no doubt about his inadequacy. Bea was not only closing him out of her heart and bedchamber, now her memories of what they had shared in the past were tainted. Just as he thought his anger would explode inside of him, it fizzled as her words came back to him.
“Have you heard any of what I’ve said? I was talking aboutmyself, notyou!”
