“I take my lead from him, of course, but try not to miss an opportunity to reciprocate his advances. If I do not assure him I am charmed by his devotion, he might fall prey to doubt. Doubt is the serpent in the marital garden, Eve. Self-doubt, doubt in one’s partner. You must protect your husband from such a torment. Even when he is a ninnyhammer and cannot bring himself to ask you simple questions, you must give Deene the simple answers.”
My, my, my. Being married was becoming marvelously complicated. “It shall be my pleasure to offer Deene all the reassurances he could possibly want.”
Anna fell silent for one moment while a breeze sprang up and brought the scent of the stables into the garden. “The simple answers too. You tell him you’re glad to be his wife. You tell him you desire him. You tell him you care for him. The actions suited to the words have more meaning when you give your husband both… And then…”
“Then?”
“One fine, fine day, you will find him giving you the words too—if he hasn’t already.”
He had not. This realization was troubling. Not troubling enough to constitute a serpent of doubt, exactly, but a small point to consider.
“Can you stay for tea, Anna?”
“I would not impose. You’ve been glancing toward the stables since I arrived. I hazard Deene will find an excuse to seek you out in the next ten minutes if I do not take my leave.”
Anna was as good as her word, tooling on her way after more smiles and hugs, leaving Eve to change into attire suitable for the stables and go in search of her husband. As she wandered through the garden, Eve took a minute to savor another darkly potent emotion coloring all her days.
She felt… vindicated. Fiercely, unendingly vindicated, for having held her peace for more than seven years, for having carried in her heart the true dimensions of her folly as a much younger woman. For having never told a single soul the exact extent of her heartache and loss.
Never again would the name of her malefactor be allowed to form even in her mind. She had, by virtue of relentless determination and a willingness to bear a load of sheer, nerve-wracking anxiety, been given a fresh start—in her marriage, in her life.
She fully intended to grab that fresh start with both hands, and to never let go.
If that meant she continued to bear alone the full measure of her regrets and losses, then she’d gladly bear that lonely burden. She was not foolish enough—innocent enough—to believe a gift the magnitude of her fresh start could be won without some private cost that must, must remain forever hers alone.
“My lord, we must continue to advise you against pursuing this course.”
Hooker appropriated not the royal “we,” not even the pontifical “we,” but a new pronoun, the legal “we.” Deene had been hearing it a lot in the past few weeks, and with each hearing, it grated all the more.
Hooker inhaled audibly, no doubt ready with another sermon about the follies of bringing suit against a father whom nobody could seriously criticize, despite—“albeit, granted, nevertheless, and notwithstanding”—Dolan’s deplorable antecedents and regrettable associations with trade.
“Stow it, Hooker.” Deene gathered up the papers that had at long last been drafted for submission to the courts. “I will read these in the next several days, make any needed corrections, and expect to have suit joined by this time next week.” Deene rose, rolling the bundle into a neat sheaf and holding it out to the thin clerk to be tied with a red ribbon.
“If it is your lordship’s wish, we shall proceed with all due, deliberate, and purposeful haste, however there is the small matter of the, um, fees, for the filing and so forth.”
In other words, unless Hooker’s bill was brought up to date, there would be some delay in the filing of the petition, then another delay involving some redrafting, then a delay to further research some specious detail, all of which would add substantially to the unpaid bill.
“Have you an accounting prepared, Hooker?”
“It so happens I do, your lordship.” He snapped his fingers at the clerk, who melted from the room. “Allow me the honor, your lordship, of congratulating you on your recent nuptials. I understand one must act with dispatch sometimes in arranging the ceremony, though might I inquire as to when the settlement negotiations will take place?”
This question, with its unflattering implications toward Deene and his bride, Hooker did not ask before his minion.
Deene tugged on a pair of riding gloves. “The negotiations are concluded. I’ve reached a private agreement between me and the Windham family, a copy of which is kept with my personal papers, and another given into the keeping of the lady’s brother, the Earl of Westhaven. The arrangements did not affect the business of the marquessate.”
“That is very unusual, my lord.”
“I want control of my situation, Hooker, just as I want control of my niece’s future. I should hope you are clear on that point, if no other.”
The clerk returned with another sheaf of papers bundled together, this time with a gold ribbon. Such wits, these lawyers.
“I’ll bid your lordship good day, then. Again, congratulations, my lord.”
Deene did not leave in any particular hurry, but the more time he spent among his solicitors, the more he dreaded the very scent of the place: old books, anxiety, and greed. That he would pollute the early days of his marriage with these trips to Town was a measure of how desperately he wanted to resolve Georgie’s situation.
He was unmercifully plagued with the knowledge that he had yet to fully explain the matter to Evie. He waited for a quiet moment when he might casually mention it, but the quiet moments were so precious with his new wife, and they invariably became, or immediately followed, passionate moments.
He sought for a pause in the activities in the stables when he might casually pass along some relevant asides, but how to frame such a problem as this?
“By the way, I’ll be plunging us into scandal and penury, attempting to gain custody of my niece.”
“Don’t take this amiss, but I’ll be wrecking the peace of our union by litigating a family issue in public.”
Almighty God in heaven, he had to tell her and soon, before some well-meaning gossip—or Windham family member—decided to see to the matter. If his marriage was to enjoy one-tenth of the potential he sensed it had, then he must find a way to make Eve understand Georgie’s situation, and soon.
Deene climbed into his coach, equally preoccupied with the thought of joining his wife for dinner and the notion that he ought to pay a call on Dolan and make one last offer to settle Georgie’s future like… civilized men.
“Gentleman” being too far a stretch for such a one as Deene’s brother-in-law.
“Was this meeting any more successful than its predecessors?”
Anthony lounged against the squabs, looking as if he’d had nothing better to do than catch a nap in the middle of the afternoon.
“You’ve taken to lurking in coaches, Cousin?” Deene settled beside him on the forward-facing seat.
“Discretion seemed the better part of valor, and no, I didn’t plan on this. Rather than loiter in the street, I appropriated a bit of privacy. I didn’t know you’d be in Town today.”
“I did not particularly want to be in Town, but the pleadings in Georgie’s case are finally drafted.”
Anthony smiled faintly. “So holy matrimony is agreeing with you?”
“Quite.”
His cousin’s smile became wolfish. “And your marchioness, is she similarly pleased with the institution?”
The question rankled. “It is my pleasure and duty to ensure she is.”
Anthony’s smile faltered. “Quaint, Deene. I give it two years or one healthy son, whichever shall first occur, and you’ll be living separately.”