Page 80 of The Unwilling Bride
“I’m sure you never encouraged Henry,” Beatrice said, coming beside the table. “He’s the sort that would expect all women to be attracted to him, and can’t conceive that they aren’t. It’s better that he’s gone.”
Constance stopped tidying to stare at her cousin, appalled anyone—even Beatrice—would think she was upset about Henry. “Whatever difficulties I may be having with my husband, they have nothing to do with his friend.”
“Is it Annice?”
Constance started for the door. “I don’t wish to discuss this.”
Beatrice ran around her and blocked her way. “I was at the hall moot, Constance,” she said, her voice trembling, her eyes filling with tears. “I saw what happened. I’m not surprised you quarreled with Merrick about it. I’ve lost hours and hours of sleep trying to figure out why Merrick did what he did. I even went to Annice to try to get an answer, but she wouldn’t even talk to me. Still I’m sure—sure!—Merrick’s done nothing dishonorable. He loves you.”
“Whether he loves me or not,” she said coolly, “I never claimed he was unfaithful to me. I happen to know he had another, very good reason for refusing to allow Annice and Eric to marry.”
“What was it?” Beatrice implored.
“Please don’t ask me anything more about that,” Constance replied. She was sorry she’d said as much as she had. She couldn’t explain Merrick’s decision without revealing Annice’s secret, and he’d given his word. It was bad enough he’d broken it to tell her; she wouldn’t betray Annice’s confidence further. “Let it be enough that I’m quite certain he has no lascivious interest in Annice, or any other woman in Tregellas.”
“What about in London?”
“He says he has no mistress anywhere, and I believe him.”
“Then why can’t things be as they were?”
Exasperated with her cousin’s questions, Constance lost her patience. “Because they can’t,” she snapped.
Beatrice stared at her, shocked, then she started to cry. “I only want to help.”
Constance immediately regretted her harsh response and spoke more gently. “I appreciate your concern, Beatrice, truly I do. But if there are…difficulties…between Merrick and me, we must work them out. Marriages are transactions, in a way, so you can’t expect to be blissfully happy all the time.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. “If you can be happy in your marriage at all, you should thank God.”
“Is there nothing I can do?” Beatrice asked plaintively.
Constance wiped away her cousin’s tears with the edge of her cuff. “No, and perhaps for you, it will be different.”
“I think it would be better not to marry at all,” Beatrice said, weeping softly. “I’d rather live and die celibate than suffer as you’re suffering now.”
Constance hugged her cousin. And made no reply.
“I ASSUME OUR GUEST HAS retired?” Constance inquired that night when Merrick came to their bedchamber. In spite of her attempts to feel nothing when she was with him in order to lessen her anguish, her heartbeat quickened as he began to disrobe and fold his clothes with deliberate care.
“Yes, he has.”
“Have you ever met him before?”
“No.”
She should have known it was useless to seek a conversation with her husband. Yet even so, there were some things she needed to know. “When do you leave for Tintagel?”
He tossed his shirt onto the chest nearby, leaving him half-naked. “We depart in two days.”
She had no desire to be dragged all over Cornwall however he wished. Chattel or not, she would assert some degree of independence. “I can’t. I can’t leave Beatrice.”
Sitting on their bed, Merrick started to remove his boots. “Is she seriously ill?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Since she had no desire to go to Tintagel with him, she decided not to tell him that shethought Beatrice’s trouble was more a product of her anxious mind than a physical ailment. “Yet while she may not be in any great danger, she should stay here until she’s feeling better, and it would be improper for her to remain in Tregellas if I’m away. Normally I would ask her father to come, but since he’s probably been summoned to Tintagel, too, we have no choice.”
“I want you with me in Tintagel,” Merrick said as if he hadn’t heard her. He rose and started to untie the drawstring of his breeches.
She turned away and resumed combing her hair. “And I told you, my lord, why I cannot go.”
“I’ll send a message to Lord Carrell. His daughter is his responsibility, not ours. He can send someone to fetch her home.”
