Page 26 of The Earl Takes All
Slowly he shook his head. “No.”
“I find it rather sad that he died without ever having been in love.”
“I didn’t say he’d never been in love.”
Her eyes widened. “Who?”
“Someone he couldn’t have.”
“She was married, then.”
“She could have been a servant.”
“No, had she been a servant he would have married her simply to shock all of London.”
He grinned. “You knew Edward better than I thought you did.”
“I would not have put it past him to marry a woman of ill-repute or at the very least a woman of scandal.” She was smiling as though she rather enjoyed the notion of him doing it.
“I didn’t realize you gave him that much thought.”
She blushed. “I didn’t. Just something that occurred to me at some point. He never much cared what people thought.”
I cared what you thought.And fearing she’d think the worse, he’d behaved in a manner that ensured she did. “I suppose he did enjoy doing things he ought not.”
“Therefore, I can draw the conclusion that the woman he loved was married. Otherwise he’d have wed her.”
“Love is a rather strong word.”
“You’re the one who used it first.”
“I misspoke. More like, infatuated. Besides, a good wife is not supposed to question her husband.”
“We long ago established that I’m not always a good wife.” She swirled her wine, inhaled again, set the glass aside. If he had to guess, he’d say she missed wine, but he had to admire her strength in not indulging. Her gaze came back to him and he felt it like a punch. “You didn’t marry me simply to gain an heir. You love me.”
Was that doubt in her voice? He didn’t love her, but he wasn’t going to lie to her either. “Every Earl of Greyling married for love.”
Her brow furrowed. “How do you know that?”
“Marsden told us.”
“How did it even come up?” Skepticism laced her voice.
“When our parents died, we lost a good bit of our history. That’s something one doesn’t really consider, how much one learns through stories shared. It bothered Edward, the things we didn’t know. How did our parents meet? What was Father like as a student? Every night before we went to bed, Edward would insist that we share something our parents had told us and he would write it into a journal. When we ran out of stories, he began to ask Marsden to share what he knew. I think that’s why Edward enjoyed weaving elaborate tales. He didn’t like the idea of history not being passed on. He probably would have made a passable minstrel.”
“What became of the journal?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it in years.”
“Maybe you’ll find it when you begin going through Edward’s things.”
Not likely. He’d given it to Albert for safekeeping, to be passed on to his heir. Maybe when he went through Albert’s things. “Perhaps.”
“Speaking of Edward’s things... I would be happy—no, happy is not the correct word. I wish it didn’t have to be done, but I could sort through Edward’s belongings, spare you the sadness of it.”
It was an odd thing to realize how involved she was, how conscientious she was of lightening his burden. Her husband’s burden. He couldn’t forget who she was truly assisting or thought she was. Still, of all the women Edward had been with over the years, not one had ever seemed to care about any burden he might carry. They were only interested in what being with him might gain them. Even if circumstances were different, he wouldn’t have known how to accept her generous offer, but he did know it wasn’t Edward’s possessions that needed going through. He also knew that eventually she would be the one to go through things. Perhaps they would go through them together.
If she didn’t hate him with every breath she took.
