“I never had a nursery growing up,” said Louisa with her mouth full, “and we certainly never took tea.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “We weren’t rich back then. I remember a little of what it was like to be poor—well, relatively poor. We struggled for years while praying the carpet mill turned a profit. Pappa was so busy and stressed. You remind me of him sometimes.”
“Really?” He seemed stunned by her comparison.
“There are moments when you look as though the weight of the world rested on your shoulders. You are too young to be so serious,” she said. “I used to want a better, brighter purpose in life, but maybe I’m meant to bring some light intoyourlife.” She smiled at him over her coffee cup. “You needn’t suffer alone, my lord.”
He dipped his head, embarrassed. Had nobody been kind to him? Had he never had anybody on his side, fighting in his corner? “Thank you, Louisa,” was all he replied.
“Tell me about English nurseries,” she asked, curious about his upbringing. “What was yours like? Have you any happy childhood memories?”
“I’ve no happy memories,” he said, grimly. “I was brought up by nannies and nursemaids, and eventually tutors until I was packed off to school. I was presented for inspection, drilled on the curriculum, and interrogated over whatever discipline I’d received.”
He brightened as he recalled, “I was allowed one playfellow though—a girl, curiously enough, whose family lived across the park from mine. We were put out into the garden each summer morning and promptly forgotten until teatime when she or I would lead the other upstairs to share our bread and butter.”
Louisa blinked at him. “You don’t consider those happy memories?”
“Without getting too personal, the recollection leaves me feeling somewhat bittersweet. Children grow up, don’t they, and become different people? A bosom pal who once meant everything might eventually prove a disappointment.”
She shouldn’t pry. “I am sorry you lost your friend, whatever the circumstances.”
“Oh, I didn’t lose her. I am just awfully cross with her right now, and I imagine she’s rather miffed at me.”
“So you had a falling out?”
His Lordship shrugged. “If you like.” He selected a piece of toast from the tray and began to butter it. “You needn’t pity me, Louisa. I’ve heaps of friends in London who I’m very much looking forward to seeing again. I’ve been away for six months, you know.”
They’d shared a short courtship and an even shorter engagement. They’d held off the wedding long enough for Mamma to order a proper trousseau, yet these friends of his hadn’t come over for the festivities—though they’d been generous with sending gifts and good wishes.
Maybe it was simply the British way, and Louisa must accept the distant, undemonstrative nature of her new home. She’d been so fortunate to have close friends and affectionate parents, and wondered if Lord Granborough would’ve been better served outside the steely trappings of the aristocracy.
Louisa refreshed his coffee before topping up her own. Every further glimpse into her husband’s history made her feel sorry for him. He’d not been loved by his parents. He’d been betrayed by his dearest friend and abandoned by many others. He’d been burdened by duty, responsibility, and financial obligations. No wonder His Lordship kept his distance from her, for he dared not trust her.
He’d been hurt too many times by those whom a young man needed most.
She had wondered why this handsome, titled gentleman sought a bride from across the Atlantic, yet had been discouraged from making inquiries by her parents and his Vanderheid relations.
That he wanted her million-dollar dowry was plain to everybody. Indeed, His Lordship never hid that fact. Why had he chosen her over all other belles, over better-bred Knickerbockers and serene young ladies whose temperaments and values more easily aligned with his own?
Louisa dared not assume his motives—or the fears and feelings of his heart that he so zealously guarded—but she vowed he would never regret his choice of wife. In twenty or forty years, Lord Granborough would glance across their cozy, electrified bedroom and know thattheirmarriage had been the best thing that ever happened to him.
She hoped that she would feel the same.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
He ought not to discuss his past, or his boyhood fumbling with the young Lady Venia, but there was an openness with Louisa that welcomed a confidence. Giles felt he could speak with her about almost anything. He was learning that he could share some vulnerable parts of himself.
What a revelation—he enjoyed conversing with his wife!
Instead of going their separate ways, as they typically did every morning, he took a risk and invited his wife to join him on the promenade deck.
“Would you care to take a walk with me?”
Giles wanted to spend time with her. He was learning to enjoy her company. The differences in their class and upbringing no longer seemed so daunting now that they shared a greater intimacy in the bedroom.
He had seen Louisa take her pleasure. He’d kissed her and held her in his arms as they’d both come undone. He had opened himself to her, yet she had welcomed him in. With Louisa, he felt…unconditional, and longed to explore this unreserved acceptance further.
