Page 65 of The Marquess Wins a Wife
He snorted, scrubbed one hand over his face.
“You’re who you used to be,” she corrected softly. “Before…” Her hand fluttered up, gesturing to the floor-length portrait there upon the wall. The one he’d been staring at for the last hour or so. “Before Celia.”
The name settled between them like a gauntlet thrown.
“Don’t cast her up before me,” Luke growled, his throat going tight.
“Oh, Lucas. You do that well enough on your own.” As if the temperature of the room had lowered significantly in the wake of his cold comment, she folded her arms over her chest. “I wonder if you will ever see past her. Lizzie isn’t like her, you know.”
A rough sound scraped out of his mouth. “And you can say that, can you, on only a week’s acquaintance?”
“Can’t you, on more? She is trying to find her footing, Lucas, but she needs more than my support. She needs yours. I told her she ought to ask you—”
“She did.” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “I declined. You know I have no interest in society events.”
“And Lizzie will not have a place for herself until youdo,” Susan said. “Do you know what is being bandied about, right in front of her? The whole of theTonthinks you’re ashamed of her. That youhadto wed her, and now you’ve washed your hands of her. Lady Glendale takes every opportunity that presents itself to make suggestions that you’re back in her bed, and I’m not altogether certain that Lizzie doesn’tbelieveher. She’s at the mercy of a succession of your discarded lovers, and the gossip grows worse with each event she attends without you. For God’s sake, Lucas, she’s your wife!”
“I’m aware.” Luke eyed the bottle of liquor speculatively. It was justthere. He could reach for it at any time. Probably it would make this whole tedious conversation significantly more palatable. Probably it would even ease the inconvenient sting of guilt for having left Lizzie to the dubious mercies of Lady Glendale—the beautiful, if vicious, widow with whom he had engaged in a short-livedaffaire. Instead he cast his head back against the chair and covered his eyes. “I’ll attend a damned ball, if it will make you happy.”
“It might make your wife a bit less miserable,” Susan said. “Have you ever considered that it could makeyouhappy?Onedinner, Lucas, and evenIcould see it. Why can you not?” She rose to her feet at last, and she touched his shoulder in that way that had never ceased to remind him that she was his elder, and that she expected him to listen to whatever great wisdom she imagined herself to be imparting at that particular moment. “If only you could stop seeing Celia,” she said, with a tiny inclination of her head toward the portrait on the wall, “perhaps you would be able to see your wife clearly at last. She is never going tobeCelia, Lucas. But if you cannot make yourself believe it, you might very well turn her intoyou.”
∞∞∞
“It’s just eight weeks,” Lizzie said the following morning, straightening the lapels of Georgie’s smart new coat as they stood beside the carriage that would convey him to his place at school. “Just eight weeks until the end of the Michaelmas term, and then you’ll be home for Christmas—”
“I know,” he said, and he looked sogrown upin the moment that she was afraid she might cry. But his eyes darted, and he shifted uncomfortably, and she knew he was waiting on Luke, who had yet to put in an appearance.
She wasn’t certain whether or not he intended to, whether she even ought to acknowledge his absence. She had secured his presence at dinner last evening only by humbling herself enough to plead. And now—now she regretted that she had not begged just this one more indulgence. There were some things, she thought, a boy needed a father for. And they had had such a pitiful excuse for one, it was really no wonder the children had grown attached to Luke in their short acquaintance.
He had, after all, been a man of his word. Even if he had all but abandoned them since they had arrived in London. But then, they were accustomed enough to that, too.
“We’ll write you,” she said, smoothing Georgie’s freshly-shorn bangs that wanted to pop up above his forehead. “And send you packages, and sweets—”
“Peppermint sticks?” Georgie inquired hopefully.
“Of course, peppermint sticks.” He had developed quite a taste for them just recently. “And you must write as well. I know you won’t be so very far away, but—” But it was the farthest he had been from her side since his birth. She’d been more mother to him than sister, and it broke her heart to have to let him go. Even if it was just off to school. “And if you want to come home, you need only say.”
“If youdo,” Jo said, fisting her hands on her hips, “then let me have your place at Eton, won’t you? I can stuff my hair under a cap and dress in trousers.” She performed a swift, swaggering walk; a terrible parody of a man’s, but at least it provoked a laugh from Georgie. “Iwillmiss you,” Jo said, casting her arms around his neck. “Do send me your textbooks once you’ve finished with them.”
“I’ll send them to youbeforeI’ve finished with them if you like,” he said, puffing her hair out of his face. “So long as you do all my sums and send them back to me.”
“You’re going to miss my wedding,” Imogen said, ruffling the hair that Lizzie had onlyjustsmoothed out. “But I imagine you’re not too put out over that, are you?” She laughed when he wrinkled his nose at her. “I thought as much.”
“Mind yer manners,” Willie said. “And if any ‘o the older boys give you trouble, you give ‘em what for.” He made a fist of his hand and pantomimed a punch.
“Willie!” Lizzie gasped, horrified by the suggestion. “Nofisticuffs,” she said fiercely to Georgie. “Absolutelynoviolence of any kind. I won’t have you sent down from school for such uncouth behavior.”
“Oh, andyou’vecertainly set a fine example inthatregard.” Luke’s voice shivered over her ears, warm and amused, and she turned, shocked, as he came striding toward them from the street. “Pardon me. I didn’t intend to be quite so late.”
“Sir!” Georgie exclaimed, and there was just the briefest flicker of relief upon his face.Hishopes, at least, had not been disappointed, and for that Lizzie could be grateful.
Luke fished in his pocket and retrieved a small box. “A gift,” he said. “One every man ought to get before he goes off to school, I feel. I wouldn’t have been so late, except that my carriage had been commandeered”—this, with a gesture at the carriage which was stuffed with all of Georgie’s things—“and I had to go on foot to pick it up.”
Carefully, reverently, Georgie lifted the lid from the box, revealing a small silver pocket watch. It was quite possibly the most precious gift he had ever received, and he pulled it carefully from the bed of burgundy velvet upon which it rested to examine it closer. “For George,” he read, squinting at the inscription upon the back. “From Luke?”
“If you don’t want to be George just yet,” Luke said, “I’m certain you’ll grow into it. And I think, since I’m your brother by marriage now, we might dispense withsir, hm?Oof,” he grunted, as Georgie barreled straight into him, linking his small arms around Luke’s back in an overzealous hug.
Surreptitiously, Lizzie swiped at her eyes, which had grown alarmingly damp.
