“He believed her?” she asked.
“She was sweet and without guile,” he said. “Or so we both thought. And perhaps her motive was understandable. She was more or less l-locked into a marriage plan in which she had had no say. But what she did was... cruel. He would have set her free if she had but asked.”
Her arms came about his waist from behind, and her cheek came to rest against his back.
“Did youexplain?” she asked.
“I d-did,” he said. “I told him everything, as I have told it to you. I t-told him I did not w-want to marry her. Andhetoldmethat I would have little choice, given the determination of our families to bring about the match. And she would surely see to it that she got her w-way. I b-begged him to purchase a commission for me, and he agreed, even though I was his heir and ought not to have put myself at risk as a soldier. Worse, my going away to war for an indefinite time made it l-likely that we would never see each other again.”
“You did not love her, then?” Agnes asked.
“I waseighteen,” he said. “I had barely tested my wings.”
“Did she love you?”
“I cannot answer for her,” he said. “She was always ambitious, though. She always talked quite openly about the time when she would be aviscountessand half the world would have to curtsy and bow to her and obey her every bidding. Her father is a baronet, but he is not particularly well off. She m-might not have done so well on the marriage mart. Though, as it happened, she married an earl.”
“Your friend?”
“Len,” he said. “Hazeltine. Yes.”
He must have fallen in love with her, though, he thought, when he was home on leave the year David died, must he not? He had left his brother on his deathbed in order to dash off to London to celebrate at the lavish betrothal ball the Fromes gave in their honor. Unless...
It frightened him to realize that there might still be great holes in his memory in places he did not even suspect. And he was beginning to wonder about those weeks of his leave. He was quite aware of the fact that he could not remember the whys of his behavior.
He turned to Agnes and wrapped his arms about her and rested one cheek against the top of her head.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I am s-sure the last thing any new wife needs to hear in the middle of the night is the story of her husband’s dealings with another woman.”
“Partof the story,” she said softly. She tipped back her head and looked into his face, her own dimly lit by the light from the window. “This is not the whole of it, is it? You do not remember the whole?”
His stomach churned slightly.
“The trouble is,” he said, flashing her a grin, “that I cannot always remember what I cannot remember—orthatI cannot remember. Perhaps there are still all sorts of gaps in my mind. I am a m-mess, Agnes. You have married a mess.”
“We arealla mess.” He could see the flash of her teeth in the darkness, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “I think it must be part of being human.”
“But not many of us are walking around free and unfettered with heads like those cheeses with g-great holes in them,” he said. “You have married a man with cheese for a head.”
She was laughing now. So, astonishingly, was he.
“What an adventure,” she said.
“Speak for yourself.” He lowered his head and brushed his nose across hers. Briefly, he thought about warning her of what had been buzzing about Lady Merton’s party the night before last. But there had been enough drama for one night. “Cold nose.”
“Warm heart,” she retorted.
“Iamsorry,” he said. “I am so sorry.”
“I am not,” she told him. “Come back to bed and pull up the blankets. It is chilly.”
“I have something better to offer than b-blankets,” he said.
“Braggart.”
“If I cannot w-warm you more effectively than blankets,” he told her, “I will need to find a mouse hole somewhere and curl up inside it for the r-rest of my life.”
“Come and warm me, then,” she said, her voice a soft caress.
