Page 77 of An Affair with a Notorious Heiress
“I’m not besotted and it’s not just a piece of stone. It’s for my garden.”
“Jewelry would have been better.”
No, it wouldn’t have and he knew that. He’d accurately determined what would bring her joy. He didn’t find her little garden demeaning or a ridiculous waste of her time as Downie had. Rexton never belittled her, never made her feel that she didn’t measure up.
Tillie changed into her gardening clothes and took the sprite into her garden to make a space for it among her flowers. She wanted it positioned so it was clearly visible but also partially hidden behind the blossoms, as though shy, not meant to be seen.
Kneeling, she moved it a little to the right, a tad back, a smidgen forward, searching for that perfect placement—
“Mathilda.”
With a start, she glanced up at the man towering over her. He removed his hat, the sunlight hit him, and she gasped. “My God, Downie, what the devil happened to your face?”
She shoved herself to her feet, reached out, stopped herself just shy of touching his grossly misshaped nose and swollen eye. He’d never been one for offering or receiving comfort.
“Seems you have a champion,” he said quietly.
Rexton. She was at once thrilled and appalled by the notion that he’d inflicted this damage. Unlike the gent at the club, Downie hadn’t attacked her. “What did you do to deserve his wrath?”
“You think I deserved it?”
“I don’t believe he’s one to go about willy-nilly hitting fellows.”
He looked down at his shoes as though striving to determine if they needed to be polished. “I might have said something untoward regarding you.” He lifted his gaze. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him looking guilty or remorseful. He did so now. “Might we walk for a bit?”
They’d walked often before they were married. Not once during. Once the vows were exchanged, so much between them changed. “Yes, of course.”
He didn’t offer his arm. She hadn’t expected him to. So much of their relationship had been based on obligation rather than desire. She hadn’t realized it would be so until after she married him.
“I miss the gardens,” he said wistfully.
“They’re my favorite part of the residence,” she admitted.
“I never appreciated you laboring in them.”
“It’s not really laboring, Downie, when it brings me such peace and joy.” Digging in the earth calmed her, arranging her plants brought ease. They never judged, never found fault with her.
“Are you involved with him?”
Interesting that since his arrival he’d avoided calling Rexton by name. “That’s not really any of your concern.”
“He can’t offer you marriage you know. Those of our station do not weddivorcedwomen.”
He emphasized the word as though her condition were entirely her own doing. “Having been married to an Englishman, I assure you I have no interest in being married to another. It was a remarkably cold and lonely existence.”
He nodded. “I was wrong to marry you, but I needed the funds.”
“I’m well aware. Perhaps my dowry will allow you to marry for love next time.” Since apparently the state of divorce didn’t attach itself to men quite as unflatteringly.
With a long slow sigh, he shook his head. “The woman I love is married to another.”
She was taken aback by the knowledge that he actually loved someone other than himself. “Is she the one you met at the Nightingale or are you unfaithful to her as well?” He’d never provided any details on the woman. Only admitted to the affair when she confronted him.
He stopped and faced her. “It’s the only way she’ll come to me. She fears if we meet elsewhere, we will be spotted, she will be recognized. The Nightingale makes me feel as though what we have is... cheap. She has three children. I look at them and wonder if any of them might be mine.”
He averted his gaze, looked up into the trees. For the briefest of moments, she thought she saw a welling of tears in the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat.
“If you’re asking me to forgive you, I can’t,” she said softly. “I deserved better. I deserved your fidelity.”
