Chapter Fifteen
The next few days were quite different at Glendare Court. Kit felt no different than he had any other day of his marriage, except now he did not find Marianne quite so vexing. It could have been that she actually had not been quite so vexing, but he was more inclined to look at her with concern than with criticism. She conversed politely, smiled more, and seemed to lose that part of her that was so inclined to airs and superiority. Oh, she had not lost her nature, by any stretch, but she was warmer somehow. Softer.
She still refused to dress for breakfast, but that did not seem to bother him as much. It was becoming amusing, actually. Aside from how distracted he grew by the all-too appealing picture she presented.
They continued their separate duties, for the most part, though he did not take any pains to avoid her. He could see the progress she made in the few rooms she had decided to redo, and her comfort with the servants and the housekeeper made him smile. She certainly had a way with people, no matter what she might have tried to portray. She was no more heartless than he was unfeeling. How that would surprise people if they knew.
He made it a point to seek her out at some point during the day now, and she never once seemed to mind. Once he had been certain she truly was not going to fall ill, he’d taken her out for that tour of the estate he’d sworn off before, both of them on horseback, and despite what he’d thought about her taste for the outdoors, she had been observant and fascinated, taking in every aspect with a sense of appreciation. She’d asked thoughtful questions about the estate and the tenants, and ridden with a surprising amount of grace, if not skill.
The marble statues still remained in the great hall, much to his disgruntlement, and he made a mental note to bring that up at a convenient time.
He smiled as he shook his head, wondering what she planned to do with them. He looked down at the book in his lap, forgetting that it was there, not quite sure what he’d been reading. The library at Glendare was fairly respectable, and he had decided to take advantage of his unoccupied hours there, but it seemed his thoughts were going to take him elsewhere.
The door to the library opened and he looked up, not surprised at all to see Marianne enter the room. She saw him at once and smiled a little, sending stray sparks and jolts in various directions throughout his body.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked, waiting in the doorway.
He smiled and shook his head. “Not at all. Please.”
Her smile grew and she came to sit on the sofa opposite from the chair in which he sat. He thought she would have sat as prim and properly as every English miss, and the way he’d seen her do time after time. But to his surprise, she drew her legs up under her and lounged comfortably, laying her book in her lap. She propped herself up on the edge of the sofa with her elbow and laid her head on her hand, completely oblivious to his observations of her.
The country had done wonderful things for her appearance. While she had never been anything less than beautiful, she had begun to look almost forced and unnatural amidst London’s fashion-addled society and the demand for thinner, more made-up females. She’d not looked any different from any other girl with her same nature and situation, painting her eyes and rouging her cheeks, even powdering her complexion to seem paler. He’d never liked that sort of look, no matter how popular it was.
Now, however, she was completely devoid of such things, her complexion healthy and rosy of its own accord. Her figure, which he’d never fully appreciated until certain events, was too perfect and needed no corset or accessory. Her eyes seemed to carry all the richness of every shade of blue within them, and dazzled more brilliantly for the lack of paint.
His wife was a stunning woman just as she was.
He had always known that, but now that the resentment surrounding her had faded, now that he was seeing her clearly, he felt the unmistakable draw that she’d always had over him yet again.
Marianne suddenly frowned, the smooth skin between her brows drawing together in a delicate furrow.
Forgetting that he was not supposed to be gawking at her, he tilted his head and asked, “What?”
She looked up at him, not seeming surprised at all by the query, but she did not say anything, her lips forming a thin line.
“Something wrong with your book?” he asked, prodding a little.
She shook her head, her bottom lip pulling as if she were chewing the inside. Again, she shook her head and returned to her book.
Kit frowned at that, but he could not exactly force her to tell him. He shrugged inwardly and turned his attention to his own book.
For a few moments, they did nothing but read in companionable silence, the only sound that of the pages turning.
“Kit?” Marianne suddenly asked in a timid voice.
“Hmm?” he replied absently, engrossed in his book for the first time that day.
There was the barest hint of hesitation, but it was enough to force him to look at her. She considered him with a curious, innocent look. “Where did you go after…?” She bit her lip and tried again. “That is, you were gone for a very long time after…”
He stilled as he realized what she was asking. She wanted to know what he had done those two years he had stayed away from England after his proposal. He’d never told anyone about that, not even Colin. Yet here she was, asking without any sort of demand or conceit.
He gave her a searching look. “Do you really want to know?” he asked her in return, reluctant to share that part of his past.
She nodded slowly, releasing a soft exhale. “Yes. I… I missed you. And I didn’t understand then.” She tilted her head a little and regarded him with another apology in her eyes. “And you were so altered when you returned.”
Kit watched her for another long moment, then sighed and looked away.
“I went to find my father,” he said in a low voice, ignoring her shocked gasp. “As ridiculous and idiotic as that seems, given Loughton’s reputation, but I was desperate. I remembered that he had really loved my mother, and when we were children they’d had a relationship unlike anything I had ever seen. After she’d died, Loughton changed. He became hard and calloused. Nothing ever touched him. I did not know how someone could go from feeling so much to feeling nothing, and I wanted to understand. I wanted to do that.”
“No,” Marianne whispered, completely still.
Kit shook his head. “They were dark days, and I learned a great deal, hoping that my time apart from you would lessen what I felt. But Loughton… chooses another way to live his life than I ever would, and I learned very quickly that I was on my own. Eventually, I found ways to close myself off, and started to find the control I sought.”
“Did it work?”
“Yes. And at the same time, no.” He smiled humorlessly at nothing, lost in memories. “The first time I saw you again, I knew it hadn’t worked entirely, but it was different. I was different. And that seemed to work, for a time at least.”
For a long moment, there was no sound. Then he heard Marianne sniffle and looked over at her. She was trying, unsuccessfully, to wipe at her eyes without him seeing.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, grinding the heels of her hands into her eyes.
He sighed a little and sat forward, resting his arms on his knees. He shook his head and gave her a hard look. “Don’t,” he said roughly. “It was my choice.”
She sniffed again and dropped her hands, looking at him with tear-filled eyes. “But my fault.”
“It was a long time ago,” he reminded her softly.
She shook her head, looking very young and very small. “Not for me.”
Kit moved to the sofa and pulled her into a warm embrace. “That’s enough,” he soothed as she rested her head against his shoulder. “We need to move past it. We can’t keep doing this forever.”
She nodded against him. “I know, and I won’t. But right now, I need to. Will you just hold me for a while?”
He smiled and tightened his hold. “Of course.”
He didn’t know how long they sat like that, but he would have done so for much longer. Only when Marianne drew away did he remove his arms, and even then he gave her thorough look. “Better?”
She nodded and offered him a faint smile. “Thank you for humoring me. I can’t imagine it’s pleasant for you.”
“Reliving my past or holding you?” he asked, forcing himself not to smile, though his tone had turned playful on its own.
Her smile spread and she looked inordinately pleased with him. “Both, I should think.”
He shrugged and took her hand in his, rubbing it gently. “The first is not pleasant, I will admit, but you were well within your rights to ask, and I don’t mind sharing with you. And as for the second…” He let the suggestion hang in the air long enough for Marianne to blush a little. Then he grinned wickedly. “I doubt I shall ever mind that.”
Marianne laughed and tried to pull her hand away, but he held it fast. “And just when I can’t be more embarrassed, I remember you’re the only man alive to see me in my altogether,” she muttered, her cheeks coloring further.
He chuckled and released her hand finally. “Best not to mention your being in your altogether, my dear. The servants may get the most shocking ideas.” He winked and returned to his chair, picking up his book once more.
Before his eyes had settled on the page, there was a knock at the door. “Come,” he and Marianne called at the same time, sharing an amused look.
Reynolds entered, bowing with the faintest expression of surprise at seeing them in the room together. “Sir,” he said to Kit, then turned his attention to Marianne. “Madam, the men have finished in the music room. Would you come and see?”
Marianne let out a delighted little shriek that was entirely inappropriate for a woman of her station. “Yes!” she squealed, leaping to her feet. She looked at Kit at once. “Come with me. Come see what I’ve done.”
He gave her a bemused look. “I’ve seen the music room.”
She sets her hands on her hips and huffed a little. “You’ve not seen it since I’ve had it redone. Now, come and see!”
He heaved a rather long-suffering sigh and looked at Reynolds. “You would think she’d torn down a wing of the house without my knowledge.”
Reynolds’s saggy cheek twitched but he only nodded in acknowledgement.
Kit got to his feet once more with much protesting and let Marianne link their arms and parade him from the room. She said nothing, but her expression said plenty. She was absolutely giddy and could hardly contain it, and it was surprisingly contagious.
The workers all stood within the music room, waiting for her verdict, and even when she was doing a fairly in-depth amount of inspection, she could not stop smiling.
“It looks much improved,” she said with an approving nod. “The wallpaper is much better. Thank you for recommending the powder blue, Mr. Fields. I think the cream would have been too light for the wood.” She ran a hand over the newly upholstered furniture, nodding slowly and smiling. She raised her eyes to the men and nodded more firmly. “Excellent work. If you will follow Mr. Reynolds there, he will take you to the kitchens where you might find something warm to eat.”
The men bowed in an awkward unison and left them. Kit folded his arms and watched as his wife worked her magic on more unsuspecting men, shaking his head.
She turned to him, hands clasped before her. “What do you think?” she asked, eyes bright.
He smiled and took a moment to look around, and truthfully, it was a great improvement from the drab prospect it was before. Not that he had spent a great deal of time in the music room, but he could see himself rather enjoying this. “It’s lovely,” he said as he returned his gaze to hers. He glanced in the corner where the currently covered pianoforte sat, and gave Marianne a half-grin. “Have you played in here yet?”
She smiled and wandered over to the instrument. “A little here and there. I was distracted by the abysmal artwork, but now I think I could play with great pleasure.” She tugged the sheet off of the pianoforte and rubbed the gleaming surface lovingly. “I was quite pleased to find such a fine instrument in the house, Kit. And it is remarkably in tune, considering you don’t play.”
He smirked a little and followed her. “How do you know I don’t play?”
She scoffed and sat down on the bench as if she would play, but her hands remained in her lap. “Well, I would know if you did…” she started, then took in his expression and her eyes widened. “Wait, you play?”
He smiled and shrugged one shoulder. “Not often, but I can.”
“You’re musical?” she gasped.
He grinned at her aghast face and chuckled. “That would be a stretch.”
She shifted on the bench and turned more towards him. “But you can play. Can you sing?”
“Yes.”
“Kit!” she screeched, smiling broadly. “Why don’t you?”
He cocked his head, his smile fading just a little. “Why don’t you?”
She sobered at once and looked down at the piano, her fingers brushing the keys noiselessly.
Part of Kit wanted to brush off his impertinent question and talk about something else, distract her, make her smile again, but the larger part told him to wait a moment longer, just to see if she might share a bit of herself with him. If they had come that far.
“I am…” she said slowly, her voice low and rough, “remarkably insecure. Far more so than anyone would ever think.”
“I don’t believe that,” he murmured, hooking a nearby chair with his leg and bringing it forward to sit before her.
She glanced at him briefly. “Don’t you remember that day when I came to you after my first Season? I told you I had no accomplishments and nobody wanted anything to do with a girl with no accomplishments.”
He nodded carefully, but did not see how that related. “You are quite accomplished musically.”
She snorted and shook her head. “I am capable musically, and that is all that can be said for me. I can play, yes, as you said, and I can sing a little, but one could hardly call what I do accomplishment. I possess desire and ability, but lack the technique and the grace that define accomplishment in music. I will never be an accomplished musician; it is simply not in me. I never had the patience to put in hours of practice as other girls did. At anything. I wasn’t a vain child, but I couldn’t manage to excel at any particular accomplishment, and that unsettled me. I have always only been considered good enough, and I wanted more than that, but I was impatient and impulsive, and never put forth the necessary effort. I never wanted anything badly enough to work for it. Why couldn’t it come easily for me as it did for so many others?”
Kit watched her, mesmerized by the words from her perfect lips, by the soft turn of her throat as she spoke, by the subtle, barely perceptive quiver in her fingers as they noiselessly stroked the keys. He had never imagined Marianne would feel anything like this.
“My first Season, when I was so disappointed, I realized that I had put myself in that position. Sweet girls with no talents get nothing. And with everyone in the world telling me how much I looked like my mother, knowing what a fine creature she was… Why, she was the envy of all in Europe.” She broke off for a smile. “Well, at least Scotland and England, but in my mind it might as well have been everyone. I could not bear to be Eleanor Bray’s daughter and embarrass my family and myself by completely lacking in everything. I had to live up to her, you see, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do anything well. And if I could not do something perfectly, I wouldn’t do it at all. So instead of letting myself be judged and criticized for my lack of accomplishment, I celebrated the fact that I had none. No one can judge what they cannot prove. I spend a great deal of time pretending, and am now very good at it. Most people simply think I am being modest, or some such, though modesty has never been a virtue I have displayed, for surely I could not be so unaccomplished as I declared.” Her smile turned sad and she shook her head. “It was probably the truest thing I have ever let the world know of myself.”
“You played at Tibby’s musicale year the autumn before last,” he reminded her gently.
She gave him a wan look of amusement. “And I was so distressed beforehand, Duncan nearly called for a physician. I managed well enough, as it was a small setting with people I was comfortable with, but my nerves and my fears nearly swayed me from it. That was the first time I have ever performed for anyone outside of my family, and even then, I never played on display. They had only heard me practicing.” She cleared her throat and looked down at the keys once more. “I can play well enough for myself, and for those I trust, but if you put me out on display with the Lady Whitlocks and Lily Ardens and Mary Harrises and Mariah Ketterings and Phoebe Rouschs of the world… My fingers freeze and tingle at the thought, my stomach clenches, my head swims, and I can barely breathe. I would be a laughingstock by comparison.”
“Hardly,” he murmured.
The look she tossed in his direction let him know what a stupid thing that was to say. “You know Society, Kit. And I know Society. Comparisons are all they live by. I should not care what everybody thinks, but I do. I have little enough opinion of myself to supplant them, so I thrive on the good opinions of others. The less I can give them to find fault with, the safer I shall be. What if I did something wrong? What if I could not play as well as I practiced? What if my voice should crack when I sing? What if…?”
He moved closer and rested a hand on the bench near her, afraid she would recoil if he touched her. “What if you do splendidly?”
She sighed and closed her eyes, then rested her hand on top of his. “I don’t think I could. With nothing to steady me, I have only my own abilities to depend on, and those abilities are sadly lacking.”
He could barely breathe for the revelation she had heaped upon him. The shy, retreating girl of their youth had been cowering behind her insecurities and pretending to be this grand creature that was so admired.
He should have seen that.
“Marianne,” he said gently, giving her a disbelieving smile, “you don’t need anybody else’s opinion. I know you love music, you always have. You should play for others, share that gift you have, even if someone else’s fingers might fly a little faster.”
“A lot faster,” she muttered with a snort, but she smiled all the same.
“And anything else you want to do, you should do it,” he continued, feeling rather bold at the moment. “Don’t be ruled by fear anymore, Marianne. You’re too strong for that.”
She gave him an amused, slightly bewildered look. “Well,” she said on a heavy sigh, still smiling, “perhaps one day I will.” She looked at the pianoforte for a long moment, assessing it carefully. “Lily gave me some new songs when I left; I should look through those and see what I can manage.”
Pleased beyond words, he nodded and sat back in his chair. “That sounds like a prudent beginning.”
She looked at him once more, took in his comfortable position, and shook her head. “No, you have to go.”
“What?” he cried with a laugh. “You just said…”
“I said one day,” she interrupted, still shaking her head, “but I cannot play something new with you looking at me. Go away, if you please.”
He chuckled and rose, putting his hands on his hips. “I will be able to hear you from the hallway, you know.”
She nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Yes, but you won’t be looking at me. That is what makes the difference.”
He smiled fully and shook his head at her. “Very well, I will see you when I am next permitted to do so.” He bowed and turned to exit the room, as she requested.
“Kit?”
He turned on his heel and tilted his head in response.
Her expression was fraught with inquiry. “Why don’t you play or sing?”
He chewed the inside of his lip for a moment, and exhaled slowly. “I suppose we share something in common after all, Marianne. Insecurity is a tricky business, and my reserved nature does not lend itself to much by way of frivolity. I may be an enthusiastic admirer of music, but never a participant.” He shrugged one shoulder as if that explained everything. It was hardly a good excuse, but it was all he had.
“I understand,” his wife murmured, and in her eyes, he could see that she did. She straightened a little, her smile turning shy. “Will you take me to the opera when we go back to London, Mr. Gerrard?”
He fought a grin, and lost. Giving her another, far more dignified bow, he inclined his head. “It would be an honor, Mrs. Gerrard.”