And yet, despite the harmony, the bliss of becoming a wife in truth, the euphoria of having Fox’s time and attention . . . cracks remained. Fissures that threatened to undermine this newly-found happiness.
Though her nights were a love story she eagerly anticipated, her husband’s ardor did not extend into the daylight hours. She felt as if Fox were almost two separate people—the passionate lover who held her in the darkness and the polite, distant man who shared her days.
Their marriage held none of the easy affection—the sneaked kisses behind an open door, the flirtatious glances over a servant’s head—that Leah witnessed firsthand between other couples, like Malcolm and Aileen.
Moreover, Fox continued to hold his secrets close.
Letters continued to arrive. Thick packets of foolscap from solicitors Brown & Drummond of London. Slimmer correspondence, stained and tattered, that bore postage from India. And even one more letter with the unmistakable coat of arms of the Archbishop of Canterbury.
What was this matter that so consumed Fox’s attention and, yet, he could not speak of? It had to relate to Madeline and Susan. To the mysterious events surrounding Fox’s injuries at Coorg, to his sister’s involvement with a powerful man, to Susan’s subsequent delivery of a child and descent into madness.
Leah attempted to ask Fox about the issue, truly she did. But it seemed every time she mentioned Susan or India or anything more about his past, she found herself distracted and seduced into bed.
As an avoidance tactic, it was absurdly effective.
And though Leah thoroughly enjoyed her husband’s seductions, his continual refusal to discuss other matters with her weighed heavily.
Finally unable to stem her curiosity, she shamefully returned to the neglected letters in the chest in the south wing. Susan’s loving words held no sting, now that Leah knew they were not addressed to Fox. And as they were not her husband’s own words, reading them did not feel like such an invasion of his privacy.
But the letters yielded few clues. Frustratingly, Susan’s lover never affixed his name, only ‘your captain’ or ‘your beloved’—the signature of a man too cowardly to write a salutation that would reveal his identity to others.
There was little information to be gleaned, aside from an insight into Susan’s personality. She was a cheerful correspondent, given to witty comments and clever thoughts.
And she had gone mad after birth.
How terrible that a woman could alter so quickly. Her letters were all that was lovely and bright and . . . sane.
Though one letter toward the bottom of the stack proved interesting.
My condition has become more obvious. My brother commented on it this evening, glancing at my stomach and saying that it appeared we needed to move up the wedding. How he sussed out the truth, I do not know. He appeared more resigned than angry and merely said he wished us every happiness. I am sure he will speak to you about it, my darling. For my part, I cannot wait to call you husband.
So Susan and her betrothed had anticipated their wedding vows, and Susan found herself with child. Had they truly married in the end? Leah remembered Fox’s assertion that Madeline was legitimate and yet not. How was that possible?
What a muddle.
And what of Honoria, Fox’s betrothed? Susan mentioned her twice in the letters. Her comments made it appear that the women were friends.
Yet, Honoria had betrayed Fox, breaking their betrothal. Or, rather, Leah assumed that to be the case. But was it?HadFox and Honoria married?
And how could Leah not know the answer to such a simple question about her husband’s past?
It all merely underscored how little she truly knew Fox. She had his attention, his name, and his body.
But those things were external. Physical displays of attachment.
And as Leah was rapidly coming to understand, proximity to someone physically was not at all the same as knowing their inward heart, as being privy to their innermost thoughts and desires.
A true marriage required both parties to give equally of themselves. To trust the other with everything in their heart.
But in that, she and Fox were lopsided.
Leahhadgiven him everything. Every breath. Every effort. Every truth.
She tethered Fox to her sphere. She was the fulcrum, holding him there.
And Fox . . . accepted her devotion as his due. He was grateful for it even.
But . . . if she retreated, Leah feared Fox would not come after her. Would he fight to keep her tethered to him? Or would he simply respect the distance she put between them?
