Page 55 of The Lady Confesses
Honoria waved away the sarcastic rejoinder. “You are lovely, as always. But I am worried for you. This cannot be good for you or for your baby.”
“I am fine. And so is my child,” Hettie snapped. It was a reflexive action, to be so defensive, mostly because she had been worrying about that matter herself. But giving it voice made those fears far too real for her.
“Perhaps I can have the housekeeper prepare a sleeping draught for you?”
“If I feel I need one, I will ask for it myself. I am with child, Honoria. That does not mean I am one!”
Honoria grew quiet then. That quiet was almost worse than her helpful suggestions because her silence allowed Hettie to stew in her own guilt for lashing out at her sister for simply caring about her well being.
“I apologize. I fear my temper is quite short and... well, I do have a great deal pressing on my mind. But that is no excuse for being short with you,” she admitted somewhat grudgingly.
“I know. I know you’re worried about what happens when Joss joins you here. I know you’re worried about your child. About your marriage. About all the things that could possibly go right and possibly go wrong. But you are not alone. I am here for you. Always. Whatever may occur.”
“I appreciate your support, but it is my dearest hope that it will not be needed. But I have no notion what is on his mind. His correspondence has been limited and perfunctory at best.”
Honoria seated herself beside Hettie and took her hand. “If it is any great consolation, Vincent’s letters have indicated that your husband is quite surly and put out.”
“Why would that be a consolation? The last thing I wish to deal with is a surly man!”
Honoria shook her head. “Have you considered that perhaps he is surly only because he is absent from you?”
No. She had not considered it. In truth, she couldn’t imagine that to be the case. Surely if it were, his letters would have indicated some degree of emotion—that he missed her, that he wished to see her. The salutation was always direct, the body of the letter was short and succinct, and they were signed, very simply, J. Ettinger. They might have been business associates for all that the letters indicated any sort of relationship between them.
“He writes to you every day?” Hettie asked the question with a pang of envy. While Vincent and Joss had been in London taking care of the threat to Vincent’s empire—in ways she had no wish to know of—Honoria had still been ever present in Vincent’s mind. That much was clear from what he wrote to her. A pang of jealousy swept through her, followed by a wave of guilt.
O, what a bitter thing it is to look into happiness through another man’s eyes.The quotation wasn’t quite right for the situation as her sister was the one whose happiness highlighted her own dismal state, but the sentiment of it certainly was. No one had a greater understanding of the follies and feats of man than William Shakespeare. And Hettie was honest enough with herself to admit that she envied her sister. She did not begrudge her the happiness she had found with Vincent Carrow, but there was a part of her that desperately longed for such happiness herself.
“He does... Joss has written you. Surely that indicates something of his feelings.”
Hettie nodded. “He has written... briefly, almost to the point of curtness, and has done so with such infrequency that it indicates I am little more than an afterthought.”
“I had thought your sleeplessness and worry were simply out of fear for his safety. Now, I wonder if it isn’t something else altogether. Are you happy, Hettie? Truly happy?” Honoria asked, her concern evident in the gentleness of her tone.
Hettie considered the question carefully, sipping her tea to bide her time until she could answer both honestly and reassuringly. “I am not unhappy. My expectations have been carefully managed. Content is, I suppose, a more accurate description.”
Honoria’s eyebrows lifted, her eyes wide with incredulity. “Content? Hettie, contentment is a feeling for fat puppies with full bellies and old men dandling grandchildren on their knee. It is not how a woman ought to describe her life when she is newly married to a man...” Honoria trailed off.
“To a man that she loves?” Hettie suggested.
“You haven’t said so. I have assumed,” Honoria admitted.
A sigh escaped her. “Not everyone is destined for a great love story. Sadly, as we both know, not every marriage is built on a grand romance or even romance at all.”
“Do you deny that you are in love with him?”
She wanted to. But lying to her sister was not something she had ever done with any real degree of success. “No. I am not denying it. I am merely saying that I have made peace with the fact that he does not love me. He is kind to me—unfailingly. Considerate, mostly, if somewhat distant, and, by every measure that one could count, a good husband. Our relationship is passionate.”But not loving.
“Clearly passion is not lacking. Otherwise you would not need to have married one another at all!” Honoria said, quite miffed at the whole thing. “Hettie, can you really live with him this way? Loving him when you feel he does not return the sentiment?”
“I may not have what you do,” Hettie said softly. “But very few people do. We both know that there are far worse fates than to have a marriage that is... simply satisfactory.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
The roads hadbeen better than anticipated, and they had arrived, despite the carriage’s seeming slowness, sooner than expected. Joss had been far more eager to return to his bride than he wished to admit, which was why he’d sought her out first rather than going upstairs to clean the road dirt off himself first. But as he stood outside the drawing room door listening to the conversation taking place within, that eagerness was tinged with... with what? Regret? Sadness? Anger? If it was anger, it was directed solely at himself.
Satisfactory.The word reverberated in his mind. It was his own fault for eavesdropping on a conversation that was not meant for his ears. But the hushed voices from within had piqued his curiosity. And even when he’d realized the conversation was not one he should be privy to, that same curiosity had rooted him to the spot.
A marriage that is satisfactory.Was it satisfactory when she said so with such obvious disappointment?
