Henry... He thought of his son and hoped that he would not be too confused by the arrival of a new woman in their lives. He certainly did not want him to call her mother. But she had made it clear she did not wish to be known as such.
“Where is Henry?”
“Outside in the garden with Miss Harvey,” she said. He nodded and made his way outside, where his son was playing with wooden blocks, building a tower while his governess sat beside him on a blanket and smiled.
“My lord,” she said, and rose, curtsying deeply. “Do you wish for time alone with your son?”
“I would be grateful for it,” he said.
The governess left then, and Henry got up. “Papa, look at the blocks! Look how high they go.” He clapped his hands together and jumped up, although as he did, his knee brushed against the tower of blocks he had made, and it came crumbling to the ground. Immediately, his eyes grew wide, and his chin wobbled, tears spilling from his eyes. “I broke it,” he said. “Broke it!”
“It is all right,” Lucien said, lifting the little boy up into his arms. “We can rebuild it together. No need for taking on so.”
“But I wanted to show you. I wanted to show you I could do it on my own.”
“Very well. How about I sit down here next to you, and you rebuild it, while I watch? That way, you can show me that you can not only do it on your own, but you can show me how.”
The boy ran his sleeve over his tear-stained cheeks and nodded. Before he could turn back to his work, Lucien pulled out a handkerchief, pushed it against his son’s nose, and helped him blow.
“There we are,” he said. “Now show me.” Henry started building his block tower again, and Lucien refrained from advising him to put more blocks behind to give it a little more stability, because he wanted his son to truly feel as though he could do it on his own. As he did, he lay on his side, his head propped up on his hand as his son worked.
“Do you know, Henry, there is something I have to tell you. There is a young lady who will come to live with us soon.”
Henry did not reply immediately, focused on the work in front of him. “Yes? A new housemaid?”
“No,” Lucien corrected. “She is a woman who is a friend of mine, and she will come and live with us here in the house. People will call her my wife.”
This got the boy’s attention. “Your wife? Like my mama?”
“No,” Lucien said and pushed himself up so he could sit cross-legged. “She will not be your mama. She will be my friend who lives with us.”
“Will she play with me?” he asked.
“Perhaps,” Lucien said. “I am uncertain. I shall speak to her about it. She is a very kind young woman, and you will like her, and I am certain she will wish to play with you every now and again. But you must understand that I am your father, but she is not your mother. She is merely a friend who lives with us.”
“But why do you marry her?”
Lucien scratched his temple. He did not really know how to explain this to his son. Why was he going to marry her? “Well, you see, sometimes grown-ups have to do certain things that are difficult to explain. It is good for her, and it is good for me, and good for you.”
“I see,” Henry said. He turned his attention back to his blocks. “As long as she likes blocks,” he said.
Lucien chuckled. Sometimes he longed for the simple days of childhood, when one still lacked understanding of the real world. But as it was, he was grateful Henry was taking the news as easily as he was. He spent the rest of the afternoon playing with him in the garden. Once the block tower had been rebuilt, the two walked down to the lake to feed the ducks. Then they surprised the cook downstairs in the kitchen with their desire to help prepare the evening meal, and then the two of them ate in the sunroom overlooking the park.
Come evening, he returned to his chamber and stood at the window. Soon, it would not just be the two of them anymore. Someone else would be here. How would Marianne fit into the family? He knew that it would only be a temporary arrangement, but he still had to wonder what the future might look like. He knew that she was not interested in Henry, and he had prepared the boy to see the woman as only a friend, but she would live in their home. Dine with them. Go on outings with them. Sooner or later, she would interact with Henry, and he only wished that the decision he had made for the good of his personal freedom would not negatively affect his little boy.
“Lucien? You are going to marry Lucien?” Charlotte said, her mouth falling open as though she had just declared herself Queen of France. “Upon my word, have you run mad?”
“Yes, I shall marry him. And no. I have not gone mad. He proposed to me, and I said yes.”
“But you do not know him in the ordinary way,” Evelyn said, as perplexed as Charlotte was. “You have lost your senses entirely.”
“I know that he is being set upon by society to marry again, even though he does not wish to. I know that he understands that I do not want to be married and to be forced into this role society has designed for me, either. Together, we will escape it all. We have come to an understanding.”
“How?” Charlotte said. “You are going to get married and pretend to be married for a time and then part ways?”
“Yes,” Marianne said. “I am going to return to the convent, or perhaps I will do something else—go someplace else. I may yet find other ways to enjoy my freedom. But I do know that I will not return to London. I will not return to society. I will not go to any more dances or dinners after this arrangement with him is over.”
“But until then, he will—?” Evelyn asked.
