Page 55 of The Marquess Wins a Wife
“I’m certain I’m not the kind of woman you would have wished your brother to marry.”
Susan waved that away as inconsequential. “I’m not such a snob,” she said. “Itistrue that Ashworth owes his title an heir. He did have to marry—but Iamsorry that he selected you. He is rather notorious in London, if you must know. Any of the girls he accused me of tossing at his head—they would all have known his history, known that he has nothing to offer them beyond his title and his fortune. And they would have been comfortable with that. Content, or possibly even the happier for it. It is often the way of such things, you see.”
“I know that as well,” Lizzie said. “I am under no illusions, my lady. He made the terms of our marriage perfectly clear. Love was never an expectation.” By the doubtful cast of Susan’s expression, Lizzie knew that she had not been much believed.
“Of course, you may call me Susan. We are sisters now, after all,” Susan said. “I do hope you are correct. He’s not a bad man, mind you, but he doesn’t have it in him to love anyone any longer. If there is even the tiniest sliver of hope anywhere inside you that he will come to love you, it would be safest to rid yourself of it now. There is nothing quite so ruinous to the soul as disappointed hopes.”
“I know that well enough already,” Lizzie said, and shivered to realize it was her second such warning in the same day.
But in truth, her hopes had been disappointed already. She’d married a man in her father’s image—a man so wrecked by his wife’s death that he might as well have cast himself into the coffin after her.
∞∞∞
Luke was going to have that damned portrait burned. It was justlikeCelia to steal away whatever small, pitiful portion of peace which he had managed to achieve, her hold persisting even in death.
He cast himself back upon the couch within the library he’d commandeered some hours ago, feeling for the decanter he’d abandoned somewhere upon the floor. It was likely only early afternoon—not at all the appropriate time to descend into a slovenly sort of drunkenness—but between Susan and Celia, his day, which had promised once to be perfectly pleasant, was now entirely ruined.
But at least there wasbrandy.He’d missed it in Hatfield, though the craving for it had lessened somewhat. It had been a thing simple enough to avoid, if only for its absence, and after a time he hadn’t wanted it quite so fiercely. But now it washereand freely available to him, and he saw no particular reason to deny himself the simple pleasure of it.
He hadn’t seen Lizzie in a few hours, though hehadheard her moving about the house long after Susan had finally taken her leave. Probably Lizzie had at least made a token effort at locating him before she’d been forced to introduce herself to the servants—a responsibility that should have fallen to him. Luckily, Luke was far too drunk to experience much guilt over it.
That would come later.
Scrubbing at his eyes, Luke pulled the stopper from the decanter and took another long drink. It had been foolish to think that his past wouldstayin the past, that perhaps Lizzie would remain blessedly ignorant of it somehow. But to not have evenone goddamned day—
“Have I married a drunk, then?”
Luke coughed, swiping his sleeve over his mouth. Blast it, how the devil had she managed to sneak up upon him? He’d spent the whole of the afternoon listening for her bloody footsteps! “When it suits me, I suppose.”
“It doesn’t,” Lizzie said flatly, folding her arms over her chest and giving a magnificent toss of those silky dark locks.
“Doesn’t what?”
“Suit you.” Anger had drawn her shoulders high and tight, and she looked like a woman about to deliver a blistering set-down. And yet, somehow she managed to restrain herself. “I’ve introduced myself to the staff,” she said. “I’m certain a good number of them were wondering at my presence in your home.”
“No, they weren’t. I wrote ahead.” Really, his presence had not beenrequired. It was only a formality, meant to welcome a new bride to her new home, to establish a sort of order between employees and employers.
“Still, you might’ve spared the time. I’ve probably made quite a hash of it, considering I’ve never had to do it before.” Her fingers tapped a steady rhythm upon her arm; a testament to her upset. “I don’t recall you drinking so much in Hatfield.”
Luke threw up one hand in a flippant gesture. “Because all that could be had was an ancient bottle of gin.” He’d never been called to given an explanation for his behavior before, and he did not intend to set that expectation now. But it made for perhaps the most awkward conversation they had ever had together; stilted sentences full of petty jabs, as if they lobbed sticks in the form of pointed words. There had been more familiarity between them when she’dshothim.
A soft, restrained sound. “Imogen and the children will no doubt be arriving soon. If you might clean yourself up before dinner—”
He snorted. “Unlikely. Besides, I won’t be home for dinner.”
“What? But why not?”
“Generally, I take dinner at my club. You’ll get used to doing without me, I’m certain.” Andthere. That was normalcy restored, then. Exactly the sort of second marriage he’d envisioned. Like the majority of his peers, they would live separate lives. Her station had been elevated far above what it had once been. Her security—and that of her family—was assured.
She could ask no more of him than that. And if she did, well, then she would soon become accustomed to disappointment.
“I see,” she said, and her chin dipped for just a moment, her shoulders settling from their pinched position to a more resigned slope. “Well, then. I wish you a good afternoon.”
Yes. That was what he wanted. To be left alone. With his brandy, and his own company. Wasn’t it?
And still, as she turned and began to walk toward the library door, he heard himself saying, “Wait. What did Susan tell you?”
Lizzie managed a half-hearted shrug. “Does it matter?” she asked. And then she was gone, her footsteps retreating—probably as far away from him as she could get.
