Page 39 of Rescued from Betrayal
Lord Newhurst cast her a hesitant glance, his blue eyes asking a question her husband had not even taken into consideration.
She rose from the sofa. “I suppose I shall leave you both now.”
Sadness clouded Lord Newhurst’s face and he peered at his friend. The man was more perceptive than she had given him credit. Not wanting to see any more of his pity, she bid them a good day and left.
Melior entered the library. On her first visit to the room, she’d delighted in its tall, well-stocked shelves and elegant furnishings. The dark wood contrasted beautifully with the pink and cream furniture, creating a comfortable space she usually adored. But today it felt oppressive.
She found a copy of Robert Burns’ poems and took up her favorite spot on the pale pink settee. For twenty minutes she tried to decipher the Scottish words, the difficult task nearly wiping away the pain of the rejection she’d felt when herhusband dismissed her. But when the clock struck the new hour her mind wandered and her chest began to ache.
She rubbed the spot hoping to dismiss the very physical reaction, but it did not diminish the fact that she seemed to be unwanted by everyone.
Not having received any correspondence these last few weeks, she’d taken it upon herself to write Edith and Agatha, but there had been no response. And with each day that passed, she wondered if she’d actually receive one.
Even Eddie had not responded to her letters. She’d counted on him to be a regular correspondent—even if he had never been one before. He was the only person—other than Uncle Percy—who had not completely deserted her in all of this, and yet every morning she was met with an empty silver salver… and every night she was met with a solidly closed door.
She picked up a pillow and cuddled it to her chest. At first she’d been relieved Sir Nathaniel stayed in his own chamber, but as each night passed she began to wonder if there was something abhorrently wrong with her, and no doubt there was. The realization of who she’d become over the last five years still pricked at her.
Sir Nathaniel had been kind when company was over and cordial at dinner. But he’d given her no indication as to how he expected their marriage to proceed, leaving her to wonder if they would ever have anything more that stilted conversations between them.
For her own part, she wished for something more. She would even settle for a friendship. But other than those disastrous dinners, he never sought her out, never asked her questions—why, he hardly even looked at her.
Then again, she had not searched him out either. Once or twice she’d thought of making up a reason to visit him in hisstudy, but then dismissed it. He’d only told her where to find him as a social nicety, not because he wanted her there.
Only during the few instances he’d displayed a bit of possessiveness had she dared to hope that he had a little interest in her as a woman. Had she been wrong?
The gentlemen of London always waxed poetic about her beauty, but perhaps it had more to do with her connections than her features. Was she not as desirable as she’d previously assumed?
Was she so undesirable that he did not even want her to produce an heir? Perhaps, like her mother, he had hopes of her dying and leaving him to marry someone else.
She sucked in her breath. Was there someone else? She’d never even considered that he might be pining for another woman. Had she destroyed his chance at happiness with this mystery lady? That must be it.
Guilt settled in her stomach. She’d lamented only her own ruined life, never considering what she’d done to his. From her position he had only to gain a beautiful, well-connected wife, a large dowry, and the prestige of having married above his station. But what had Sir Nathaniel given up to save her from Mr. Fairchild?
Had he been hopelessly in love? Was there even now a young woman crying herself to sleep with grief?
Melior shook her head.
She’d been reading one too many romantic novels of late. If Sir Nathaniel had been so close to a happy marriage he would not have offered for her… would he?
The door opened and she dropped her feet to the floor, whisking her spectacles under an embroidered pillow.
A maid wheeled Lady Stanford into the room and Melior stood to greet her mother-in-law, covertly slipping the book of Burns under the pillow as well.
“Mama, are you feeling better today?” It was an inane question. Of course she was, as she’d not been out of bed since Melior had come to Havencrest, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances. No one had ever caught her in such an undignified state. Her own mother would have been appalled at the way she’d lazed about.
“I am. I hope you do not mind me joining you. The housekeeper informed me that you enjoyed spending your days in the library, and I thought we might take tea here.”
Melior beamed. “That would be lovely.”
“Good, because I have already ordered it.”
A footman entered behind the pair, a large tray in hand. Melior gawked at the amount of food. How much did Lady Stanford expect her to eat?
“This looks delicious.” She retook her seat.
“Yes, and you must eat as much as you like. You have grown far too thin these last two weeks.”
Melior wanted to squirm under her mother-in-law's scrutiny, but her mother had always detested extra movement. Perfectly proper young women were composed at all times. She shook her head, trying to dislodge her mother’s reprimand, and with it the influence she’d had on her life. Her gowns had become a little loose, but she’d not thought it noticeable. It was hard to eat when one had little appetite…and when it was hard to see one's meal.
