Chapter Twenty-Two
“And then she had the gall to tell me that she wanted to send Rosie away! After everything, after my sister finally started trusting her, she wants her gone! I don’t know her at all!”
Kit ran his hands through his hair then tugged at his already mangled cravat. He was so enraged, so beside himself, that he was surprised at his coherency. He’d hired a hack to take him to his club, and had been relieved to find Blackmoor already within. It had taken only a little prodding from his friend for all of his frustrations and irritation and confusion to come tumbling forth.
Blackmoor sat at the table, boots propped on a nearby chair, watching him with interest. He was still impeccably dressed, even as Kit’s appearance became more and more deranged.
“I thought finishing schools were fairly commonplace for young girls,” Blackmoor mused thoughtfully.
Kit gave him a wary look. “They are…”
“And you do want your sister to be finished, yes?”
Now Kit glared at his friend. “Of course, I do.”
Blackmoor wisely said nothing and only shrugged, looking down into his glass.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Blackmoor!” Kit moaned. “I want her, I don’t want her, I hate her, I very much don’t hate her… She drives me to distraction, from one end of my emotions to another.”
“Sounds painful.”
“She encourages attention, she finds offense at the most obscure things, and she seems to think that being married gives her some new means of independence.” He shook his head and gestured wildly at his friend. “Good heavens, look what she did to you! And she barely knows you!”
Blackmoor frowned and tilted his head. “What are you talking about?”
Kit rolled his eyes and paced around. “The ball! When she got worked up into a frenzy, no doubt over some gossip surrounding you, and then refusing you! Such a ridiculous, vain thing.”
Blackmoor’s eyes widened and slowly he dropped his legs to the floor. “Kit, she was defending me.”
Kit came to a very abrupt halt. “What?”
There came a slow nod and a pitying smile. “When I went out there? She was telling everyone that she was not going to play any games with me or let anyone else do so. I should be left alone to my own devices without consideration to anyone else. And she refused to dance with me because she knew I didn’t care for it, and hardly cared for her. Suffice it to say, we have agreed to dance at another time when we feel more inclined.”
Kit rather thought his heart was going to fly out of his chest and he had to press his hands into the table to keep from toppling over. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered painfully.
Blackmoor’s thick brows rose in surprise. “It hardly seemed appropriate. I thought you knew your wife.”
“So did I.” He paused, letting the revelation sink in. Then he looked at him carefully. “Did you see her today?”
“Yes. Coming from St. Ann’s, of all places.” He snorted softly and shook his head in disbelief. “I thought it best not to ask, but I could hardly let her walk about London unescorted, and she had no carriage, so I offered to take her home, only to be told she was going to Whitlock’s. I drove her myself, so if you hear of us having a mad affair, you’ll know why.”
Kit winced, sank into the nearest chair, and buried his face in his hands.
“Hmm,” Blackmoor mused, propping his feet back up. “Maybe I won’t get married again.”
“I don’t think all wives are like this,” Kit muttered from behind his hands. “Just mine.”
His friend barked a hard, mirthless laugh. “You should have met my first.”
“I did.”
“And that wasn’t enough to scare you off?”
“Shut up.” He dropped his hands and looked at him with a sigh. “What do I do?”
Blackmoor shrugged slowly, a secretive smile on his face. “I believe apologizing would be an excellent place to start.”
“I was afraid of that.” He heaved himself out of his chair and rubbed at his brow. “I still have to keep my distance. For my own sanity.”
Blackmoor gave him a disapproving look, but only said, “That does not mean you cannot apologize, you stupid dunce.” He grunted softly. “If you doubt her word, have Gent look into it. He loves gossip and intervention.”
Kit shifted a quick glare at him. “I don’t doubt her.
“No?”
“No…” Kit offered a very short sigh. “I think I doubt myself.”
“Well, then Gent won’t be much help at all, will he?” Blackmoor mused sardonically.
Kit nodded and then switched to shaking his head as he left, feeling like a heel of epic proportions. He’d overreacted. Again. And he had the suspicion that Blackmoor had meant his words far more than his careless attitude had portrayed. He couldn’t have the Gent keep a watch on his wife any more than was already there. He couldn’t ask that of his friend, and he couldn’t bear the thought of reducing himself to such actions.
He didn’t doubt his wife; he just didn’t know what to do.
His wife had him tangled up in knots, and no matter how many times he caught her stroking Ginny’s hair as the child fell asleep in her lap or wandering the gardens with a basket and clippings or reading herself in the library, it was easier to believe the creature had returned. It was easier to bear the old familiarity of hating her, resenting her, than it was to accept that he could have everything he’d ever dreamed and more.
She had changed. He knew that, had known it all along. And he hadn’t really needed Blackmoor’s confirmation on her location today. He just… couldn’t believe his own heart.
And now, when he’d gone so far beyond his boundaries in the opposite direction, he had to make amends. She didn’t deserve his resentment, nor his malice. He was better than that. Distance was all he needed. He could do that. He could maintain a safe distance without hurting her.
He nodded firmly and quickened his step as he hurried for home.
Marianne sat at her toilette brushing out her hair, lost in her thoughts. She’d sent Anna to bed ages ago, but she had remained here, scheming ways to win her husband back.
The first thing she needed to do was somehow force him to stop being angry with her. She would temper her finery, take more consideration with her words, and practice reserve in public. She really ought to have done so anyway, if she were being honest with herself.
After he could stand her again, it should be simple.
She’d written several notes tonight, none of which would be sent until morning, but she’d had to do something tonight. The first was to Miranda Ascott, asking if she might play at the musicale next week. She was terrified at the prospect, but surely Kit would approve, knowing her fears as he did. The second had been to Kate, Lady Whitlock, begging her to help her prepare something that wouldn’t let her be embarrassed.
The third had been to Lady Sprotmire accepting the offer to volunteer regularly at St. Ann’s. She’d felt something special in that place, and the desire to help had continue to build within her. She’d have the girls look through their things and see if there was anything they could spare for those poor children. It could be good for all of them to be exposed to those less fortunate than they. She touched the letters with a tight smile. This would help her, she knew it.
A soft knock sounded at her door and she turned in surprise. “Come in?” she called, unable to keep the curious question from her tone.
Her brows shot up when Kit entered, looking all too much like the man that had pressed her against the wall and kissed her wildly. Yet his expression was careful and composed, contrasting with his appearance starkly.
“I hoped you had not gone to bed yet,” he murmured, shutting the door and leaning against it, his eyes trained on her.
She offered a very tremulous smile. “Not yet. I’m not as tired as I should be. The opera, you know. It energizes me.”
He almost smiled, and she felt like wilting at the failure to draw one out. “I need to apologize, Marianne,” he murmured hoarsely. “For today… for recently… but especially for tonight.” He shook his head and she waited, hoping he would go on. He sighed and met her eyes. “That wasn’t fair, what I said to you before. I couldn’t let you think that I don’t hold you in some regard, or that I disliked you. The words were very poorly chosen, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. You know me well enough to know that I would never have married you if my feelings were so opposed to you as a wife.”
The air seemed thick between them and she took a careful moment to consider her response. “I hoped that was the case, though I was curious. We had hardly been on speaking terms for years.”
His brow furrowed a little. “But you should never have had cause to doubt… That is, I hoped you knew that I would come for you. With Colin and the rest. That I wouldn’t sit by and let that happen.”
“I didn’t know,” she admitted quietly, drawing her knees up beneath her chin. “I didn’t know what you thought of me or what you would do.”
That seemed to disappoint him. “I owe you an explanation. You asked me earlier why I married you if I was…”
She nodded and sat up straighter. “If you felt so against it. Yes.”
He nodded and gave a short sigh. “The truth is, ironically, what I said to you before. I couldn’t help myself.”
Now it was Marianne who frowned. “I don’t understand,” she told him apologetically.
He shrugged his shoulders, his mouth tightening in another almost smile. “Neither did I.” He sighed heavily. “The trouble between us has less to do with you and more to do with me. You see, something about you always has and probably always will test my resolve and control, and after what passed between us six years ago, I have learned, through much practice, how to exude comportment and control at all times.”
“When you went to your father.”
“Yes. But I never told you how I learned it, or what I did. Marianne, you unmanned me with everything that you were, and that was the most unsettling feeling of all. I couldn’t let myself be so unguarded again, especially with you. So I went to Loughton.”
Kit swallowed and shook his head. “He was not pleased to see me. He did not like being reminded of the life he’d left. But he let me stay, though he shared absolutely nothing with me. I learned by observation. My father chooses to go through life without feelings, without caring, drowning and ignoring any feeling except indifference in drink and women and gambling rather than be hurt again. And he became a monster. I spent months with him and never heard about his second wife or the girls. He didn’t even live with them. They didn’t matter enough to Loughton.” He shook his head firmly. “I wasn’t going to become that. So I left him, and spent time touring the Continent, filling my days with whatever I could, but nothing that would turn me into the wreck of the man I’d seen. I learned how to control my emotions, rein in impulses, find the power over my own will, and eventually, I was able to contain myself. Then, and only then, could I come back to England. And face you.”
Marianne could barely move, and didn’t even think of responding. Staring at her husband, seeing the depth of his emotions, knowing what it must have cost him to come to her and tell her… It moved her beyond belief.
Kit finally met her eyes once more. “I don’t know what it is between us, Marianne, or why it torments me and drives me to such distraction. It might not even have words. But know this… I will never regret that I married you. I will always be loyal to you. I’m your husband, for better or for worse, and you will always be my wife. I still belong to you.”
Marianne swallowed with some difficulty. “I’m sorry to torment you so.”
He managed a thin, but sincere smile. “No. It’s all right. I’ve grown accustomed to the sensation.”
She could not help but to return his smile with a small one of her own. “Thank you for telling me,” she murmured.
“I owed you at least that much,” he replied, straightening against the wall. “And an apology for my behavior about Rosie.”
She straightened up at once. “May I clarify what I said?”
He considered her carefully, then gave a short nod. “Of course.”
Encouraged, Marianne let her legs fall down to the floor and rested her hands in her lap. “I never meant that we get Rosie out of the house or that we send her away tomorrow. I meant in a few years, perhaps when she is twelve, and only if she agrees. She will soon outstrip what Mrs. Creighton can teach her, and she deserves better than what I had. And I was not wanting to send her far, just to Miss Masters in Kent.”
Kit seemed to relax a little and cocked his head, his eyes thoughtful. “What if she does not like it?” he asked.
“Then we pull her out and bring her home,” Marianne said with an easy shrug. “No matter. But Kit, she is always going to be overprotective of her sisters, and a governess would only heighten that for her. She needs more than that. So all I thought was if she could get away, go someplace with other girls and be free to be herself without having to worry about anyone else, she might blossom further still. And she could come home whenever she wished; Kent is not so far.”
Kit was nodding thoughtfully. “That sounds rather agreeable,” he finally murmured.
She exhaled a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
He nodded once and turned to the door, then paused. “I do see the change in you, Marianne. And I trust you. It’s just… London brings out the worst in me.”
Marianne smiled at him, warmly and genuinely. “We can leave. We can go tonight.”
He glanced back at her, smiling. “No, we can’t. But it means a great deal that you offered.”
Marianne sighed, drumming her fingers silently in her lap. “I miss Glendare,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said simply, his eyes meeting hers for a heated moment. Then he left her room and shut the door softly behind him.