Page 64 of The Marquess Wins a Wife
Wycombe had professed that he had not worried over Luke’s absence, because such a thing had become commonplace—and in retrospect, Luke had to admit that he was correct. His attention had flitted from one amusement to the next, never lingering for long. Once one diversion had ceased to entertain, he had simply abandoned it, and gone on to the next. Probably he had ducked out of a dozen or more such house parties for lack of interest.
It had gone past seven already. He’d been here, at this table, for hours. Despite what he had implied to Lizzie with his abrupt exit from his townhouse hours earlier, there had been noreasonto leave it, no pressing concern to which he had been obliged to attend.
It was only that he could not bear to witness the devastation upon her face which had caused such an uncomfortable skirl of guilt in the pit of his stomach. He could notseeit and hold fast to his convictions. He could not see itandcontend with the fact that he had absolutely no intention ofeasingit.
They could have agoodmarriage. Acivilizedone. What was so very wrong with that? Lizzie would have her interests, and he would have his own, and there would be no unpleasantness, no conflict betwixt them. She could be forgiven for her naïveté, given that she had never been married before. Buthehad, and shouldn’t she bow to the wisdom he had gained from past experience?
She only needed time to settle into her new role, and then—thenthere would be peace between them.
Agoodmarriage. Acivilmarriage.
His fingers tapped out a harried rhythm upon the glass, the amber liquid within taunting him. He didn’t evenwantto drink it. Not after that first, wretched morning back in London.
Christ. What thehellhad they done to him?
Half past. Dinner would commence shortly. He had promised to be home for it, more fool him. The Talbots kept country hours and dined together as a family—an anomaly in London, where children were largely confined to the nursery. They hadn’t even the vaguest inkling of how dinners were meant to proceed, and seemed to revel in the comfortable chaos they created, what with Imogen’s sprightly chatter, Willie’s good-natured grumbling, and the twins’ tendency to surreptitiously flick unwanted vegetables at one another.
Hehad reveled in it, in Hatfield at least. They had made him a part of it, somehow, whether it was to needle Imogen, or to chide the children for their behavior whilst taking part in it himself whenever Lizzie’s back was turned. One could gain a taste for a particular sort of bedlam, it seemed.
And surrender the taste for an excess of spirits in the doing.
He had meant to have acomfortablelife—but there was nothing of comfort in this madness. Whatever feeling he had managed to blunt over the last years was coming back with a vengeance. His coat was cut too closely. His scalp itched. Even his damnedbootswere too tight.
They would have a place set for him. He hadpromised.
Muttering a curse beneath his breath, Luke shoved the glass away and rose to his feet. It was just one damned dinner. It wasn’t as if he’d bargained away his soul.
Thathad been lost to him years ago.
∞∞∞
“You laughed.”
A muscle in Luke’s neck wrenched as he jerked his head round to see Susan framed in the doorway of the drawing room, clad in her gown of royal blue silk—which had been just abittoo formal for the sort of dinners to which the Talbots were accustomed. Though it had ended up flecked with bits of potato, which Joanna hadmeantto lob athishead, she had managed to brush off the incident with aplomb, as if she had taken no notice of the greasy splotches marring the delicate fabric.
“I beg your pardon?” he inquired, readjusting himself on the couch, as his inelegant sprawl made for quite an awkward angle.
“You laughed,” she reiterated. “At dinner. When that little imp—”
“Joanna,” he supplied.
“Idoknow her name,” Susan said. “She’s animp, nevertheless. But you laughed when she flung that bit of potato at me.”
“I believe she meant to fling it at me,” he said. “She just had poor aim.”
“But youlaughed.” Susan’s skirts swept across the floor, and she settled into a high-backed chair, casting a subtle glance at the bottle of liquor that he’d placed upon the table. Unopened. For now.
“Why is that remarkable?” he asked. “Ilaugh.”
“You don’t,” she said. “Not really, Lucas. Not in such a long time.” She heaved a sigh, catching her chin in her palm. “I don’t think I expected you this evening.”
“I suppose it’s fitting, as I hadn’t expected you either.”
“Why should you not have? I’ve spent more time in your wife’s company than you have just lately.” And before he could open his mouth to respond, she snapped, “And Idon’tmean in bed, Lucas. Don’t be vulgar; it doesn’t suit you any longer.”
Any longer. As if he had gone through some monumental alteration that had fundamentally changed him. “Susan, I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re going on about,” he said.
She smoothed at the folds of her skirts, arranging them over her knees. “I mean to say that you have got awifenow. A family. You’re more yourself when you are with them—”
