Page 50 of A Gentleman's Wife

Chapter Twenty-Two

Thomas had never been particularly close to his grandfather, despite having been brought up by him after his parents died. They’d shared a respectful and cordial relationship, but nothing deep or impactful. Nothing compared to the connection Thomas felt with Marianne. New as it was, it felt more significant than any other relationship in his life. Which would explain his relief upon hearing his grandfather would be departing the day following the ball. Thomas had never been emotional one way or another to leave the old man’s side, but he could admit there was a good amount of peace knowing his haven with Marianne would go back to being undisturbed.

“Are you certain you’d like to leave today?” Thomas asked as Grandfather neared the front door. It felt a safe enough question, knowing there would be no delaying him since he was already wearing his traveling clothes.

“Yes, yes, don’t trouble yourself. You know I prefer my own bed chambers, though I’m no stranger to this old house.” Grandfather waved his hand around as they stood in the foyer. “And I’d like to return to London before the sun goes down.”

Thomas reached out to shake his hand in departure. “You have the soul of a much younger man. I should be traveling to you, not the opposite.”

“Nonsense. You and your bride settle here, and you can bring her to London for the next season. Make a real show of things since you didn’t have time to before.”

The idea made Thomas want to laugh, but he pressed his lips together instead. He couldn’t imagine Marianne wanting to go to London, though he’d be more than willing to take her.

“There she is! Come to kiss me goodbye.”

Thomas whirled around, his heart ready to pound out of his chest. Marianne, out of bed?

And yet, there she stood, with Isabel on her arm. They had been walking through a connecting corridor until Grandfather had distracted them. A great resurgence of worry flooded through him, for she was still rather pale, but she bore squared shoulders and a lifted chin, and her smile did not quite meet her eyes.

“Are you off, Grandfather?” she asked, a gentle push in her quiet voice.

“Indeed, though I did not want to leave without wishing you well.” She held out one hand and he took it earnestly. “The ball was a smashing success, something the neighbors will be talking about for weeks to come. You have done our family proud.”

Thomas did not miss the skepticism in Marianne’s eyes, but her smile did not falter. “Thank you.”

Then Grandfather took a step closer. “I will admit, some of the night seems a little hazy to me, though I recall I may not have been as respectful as I perhaps should have been. Will you forgive an old man if I spoke out of turn?”

Marianne’s shoulders softened. “Of course.”

Grandfather kissed her gloved hand. “Then I shall leave in peace.”

Thomas stepped toward his wife and settled a gentle arm around her shoulder. “Safe travels, Grandfather.”

“Farewell, then.” He gave a bow, then waved behind them. “Until next time, Your Grace. Please give my regards to His Grace as well. Many thanks.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Thomas caught Isabel giving him a gracious bow, though she likely knew it was more than he deserved.

Thomas walked out onto the front steps with Marianne, waving at Grandfather’s carriage until it disappeared down the lane. Then he turned to his wife in his arms, letting his guard down in a way he did in only her presence.

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly.

“As I often do after an episode. I will be stiff for a day or so, then back to normal.”

He worried about her pale skin and tired eyes, but if she said this was not unusual, then he would trust her. If it were up to him, Thomas wanted to rush her back to the safety of her bedchambers, but then he remembered her words;not to be coddled.So he settled for gently rubbing a hand on her shoulder.

“And where are you off to with Isabel?”

“To take a walk in the gardens. It is a lovely day, and I should like to spend some time with her before they too take their leave.”

Again, Thomas had to fight his instinct. He wanted to tell her not to leave the grounds, even to be careful. But she did not want to be treated as a problem, and he was determined to honor that. She was his beautiful wife, and capable of so much.

“Then go and enjoy yourself.” Then he surprised himself by leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her cheek. He wanted to linger against her smooth skin, but when she gasped, he pulled back. Perhaps he’d pressed her too much. Perhaps she wouldn’t wish for such attentions at all. Her eyes were wide with wonder, a depth of color now filling her cheeks. She nodded, walking back to the corridor where the duchess waited, and he didn’t miss when she lifted a gloved hand to where he’d placed his lips.

The Barringtons and the Godwins returned to their respective homes, and the doctor also left, knowing that Marianne was in good hands. Primrose House attempted to return to normal. Thomas went about his duties, working with the tenants and the overabundance of rain during the harvest, and Marianne continued to run the estate, planning the menus and visiting the poor in the village. He went horseback riding with her when their schedules permitted, and she continued to take long walks with Eliza in the garden. They took their meals together and sat in the drawing room after supper, the pair of them perfectly content.

One particular day, Thomas received the post with a letter intended for Marianne directly. He didn’t recognize the penmanship, so he decided to deliver it himself. After asking Mrs. Bamber where his wife would be, he was directed to the music room. Though as he got closer, he heard the tinkling keys of the pianoforte. As he neared the double doors, he slowed his steps and listened. Marianne played the bass notes, a complementary tune to a familiar melody. He wanted to linger, to keep from interrupting, but instead, he sighed and opened the doors.

Her fingers tripped over the keys, and the music stopped as he entered. When she met his gaze over the pianoforte, her face burned.

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