Page 49 of The Gentleman Was Right
As he finished, a hack slowly rolled to a stop behind the cart. Basil spoke to the driver, and then his mother appeared. He handed her and her companion into the carriage and then climbed in after them. Not once did he look back at the house, nor did he give any indication that he was hesitant to leave. He simply climbed in and disappeared from view.
It was satisfying to witness his departure. The relief she’d been waiting for charged through her like a stampede as the hack trundled down the street. She wasn’t prepared for the unexpected wave of sadness that accompanied it.
But maybe she should have been.
So many things had changed over the last year, and her life was not at all as she’d expected when her father brought her and Isabelle to London.
Edward cleared his throat, and she realized she was still staring out the window even though the carriage was gone. She shook her head slightly and picked up her tea. It was time to let go of her past and focus on the future.
ChapterFifteen
Once Basil was gone, the stiffness in Violet’s posture vanished, and without her corset and dress to keep her upright, Edward very much thought she would have sprawled backward onto the lush cushions of the settee with a satisfied smile on her face. As it was, she remained sitting but did allow a smile to sneak across her face as she selected a biscuit and took a sip of her tea.
Even though it was absurd, he felt an acute sense of accomplishment himself. It didn’t matter that she’d insisted on confronting her former betrothed on her own and offered Edward very little opportunity to provide help, because it was their marriage that had given her the power she required.
“I probably should have mentioned it sooner, but you look quite fetching today,” he told her, as he broke off a piece of biscuit and popped it into his mouth. “Lavender is the perfect complement to your fair skin and your remarkable red hair. When I spotted you in the church this morning, I couldn’t help thinking how lucky I am that you agreed to be my wife.”
It was often hard for him to read her, but this time, it was impossible to misinterpret her grimace or the way her tension abruptly returned.
The biscuit in her hand crumbled to pieces.
“What’s wrong?” he asked gently.
“I do not trust compliments,” she replied stiffly.
His lips quirked as he tried to joke. “You prefer insults?”
“Very funny.” She didn’t laugh. “I prefer honesty. I’ve told you this already. Multiple times.”
“Compliments cannot be honest?”
“Hmm.” She paused, her eyebrows drawing together. “I suppose it’s possible. However, in our situation, it would be best if you refrained from complimenting me.”
He frowned at her serious tone. It seemed she was being sincere—she truly did not want him to tell her she was lovely.
The prospect of being unable to say something flattering did not appeal. She was his wife, and as such, she ought to be on the receiving end of so many compliments that she became a bit conceited. Furthermore, he had never been particularly good at tempering his words. Not that he was volatile like his mother or Belinda, he simply wanted to be able to express his feelings—joy, sadness, excitement, pleasure,passion.
“I’m not confident I can refrain,” he admitted.
Finding her lovely and expressing his appreciation ought to bring them closer together, not further apart, but she huffed, a wrinkle appearing between her eyes. “Of course you can refrain. Whenever you have the urge to comment on myremarkable red hairor myfetching lavender gown, close your mouth and keep the words to yourself.”
“No,” he said with a wince.
Refusing her request was not ideal, especially on such a monumental day. It wasn’t as if he wanted to cause her upset, but what kind of future could they have if he couldn’t tell her that she looked lovely? “I appreciate that you are suspicious of the validity of my compliments, but in good conscience, I cannot simply avoid them altogether. It is my hope that over time you will come to believe me.”
“I shall not. I refuse to assign meaning to foolish words.” Her eyes blazed with conviction, and something else. Fear, maybe. Or annoyance. It was hard to tell. She cradled her tea in her hand, focusing on it instead of on him. “Nevertheless, I do recognize that, in a typical marriage, a normal woman might enjoy a bit of praise now and then. I will attempt to endure the words you cannot refrain from speaking.”
Endure.Endure implied suffering.
He didn’t want her to suffer.
Not that it appeared as if she was.
She was startlingly adept at retreating into herself. Her emotions seemed to be locked away in a place where he could no longer witness them. He hated it, but he admired it, too, because if hardening her heart was how she had survived since her father’s death, he could not fault her. Coping required its own kind of strength.
“I’m sorry that your relationship with Basil made you feel as if you need toendurekindness. Everything I say to you, every action I take, is genuine. I will not lie to you. I will not withhold parts of myself. I understand why you chose to marry me. I understand your affections are not engaged. We hardly know each other, and yet there is a connection between us. I felt it when I kissed you that first night, and I feel it every time we are together.”
Even when they weren’t touching he felt something he’d never felt before.
