Page 36 of An Arranged Betrothal with a Contrite Duke
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That evening, Michael did join them for dinner. Lydia was briefly blown away by how handsome he looked, with his long hair pulled back neatly and his rich green evening suit looking crisp and fresh. She gave the introductions, and Michael proved to be every bit the charming host she had hoped he would be. With them all sitting around the dining table, conversation flowed effortlessly among the intelligent women. Their lively discussion eventually drew Michael out of his silent reverie, and he joined in with enthusiasm. Lydia watched him, marveling at the apparent duality of her husband. There were two Michaels, it seemed: one she knew a little, and the other a complete mystery.
As the evening wore on, Lydia couldn't help but yearn for her husband's touch, a closeness that had been absent since their wedding day. She told herself to be patient, that perhaps he was merely adjusting to their new life together. And so, she waited, her heart heavy with unspoken desire.
Chapter Twenty
The next morning, Lark came to Michael’s chambers early to help him dress for the day. He was wondering if he had made the wrong decision by agreeing to accompany his wife and her guests to the old hall of Strawbridge Manor. He could have allowed them to go on their own. After all, they were the ones who would know whether it was suitable for the school for which it was earmarked. And if there were any problems with the building, Lydia would surely notify him so that he could hire the appropriate workers to fix them.
And yet deep down, he knew why he had agreed to join his wife. With each night that he avoided going to her, the guilt he felt the day after their wedding amplified. Her excitement about the school had lasted for days, as he had hoped. But he knew that, perhaps, with the exception of the previous night, she must have had plenty of time at night to think about it. Thus, he felt that he needed to go to the building with her in the hopes of buying him some more time before he had to face Lydia.
Lark noticed him brooding, pausing with a brown suit and white cravat in hand.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
Michael sighed and shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he said.
Lark began helping him into his suit, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Are things not going well with your new bride?” he asked.
Michael scoffed.
“Hardly,” he muttered.
Lark studied him carefully before falling silent to work on helping Michael dress. Michael was grateful for the companionship of his valet. But he didn’t know how much he wanted to tell Lark.
“Might I offer a bit of advice?” he asked Michael at last.
Michael averted his gaze, but he nodded silently.
Lark gave a nod.
“Nothing is as bad as you make it out to be,” he said. “Unless you make it out to be.”
Michael stared at his valet, trying to make sense of what the man had said.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “What does that mean?”
Lark gave him a kind smile.
“It means that almost everything can be fixed, unless you let it become bigger than it should be,” he said.
Michael stared dumbly as Lark finished dressing him. His guilt screamed at him that the valet must know everything he had been hiding from Lydia. Perhaps, he did know. Servants were great ones for gossip, after all. If he did know, however, there was no judgment in his eyes. Just concern and a willingness to help.
“I do not think that applies to every situation,” he said, thinking about how he had traded his wife for a clay piece of art.
Lark gave him a casual shrug.
“You will never know unless you try,” he said.
Michael’s mouth fell open. He wanted to argue, because he genuinely felt that there was no solution for the mistakes he had made. But he couldn’t simply reject the valet’s words. He knew that there was some validity to what Lark had said. And he knew that because, once upon a time, he hadn’t wanted to marry Lydia. But after meeting her, after trying to get to know her, he had been thrilled for the honor. Had he never even tried to meet her, he would have never known how much he wanted her in his life. If only he hadn’t been so deceptive with her. The lies hung over his head like a dark storm cloud, threatening to unleash terrible rain.
When he was dressed, Michael went downstairs, joining the women in the drawing room. They were just finishing tea, and Lydia smiled at him.
“Good day, Michael,” she said. “The ladies and I were just about to go to the old hall.”
