“But you have encouraged her to seek the boy’s company, have you not? I heard you did.”
“Because that is what is expected. What would the other servants say if they knew that this was a mere arrangement?”
“They would think what I think. That you are afraid to let love into your heart once more.”
“Love already is in my heart,” he said.
Her lips puckered, and then she shook her head. “Love for someone other than your son. It is easy to love that precious child. There is no danger in it. He will love you no matter what—you are his entire world. Loving somebody else, a young lady, for example, is much more difficult to do. For therein lies the possibility of disappointment once more, of heartbreak.”
“I was not heartbroken when Arabella died,” he said, and the woman closed her eyes before looking outside again.
“Perhaps not when she died, but you were heartbroken over everything that came before, were you not? And I know it is not my place to say it, but I did hear you weep more than once after she passed.”
“You are right,” he said, pulling his shoulders back. “It is not your place to say it. But if you did hear me weep, it was not over her. It was over our son, who would have to grow up without a mother.”
“But that is it, isn’t it? He doesn’t have to grow up without a mother. There is someone right here in this house who could fill that role.”
He turned to her. “It is not the role she wishes to fill, and not the role I asked her to fill. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a riding lesson to attend, and today I shall have two pupils.”
With that, he marched out of his study, down the stairs, and to the front door.
Mrs. Greaves clearly thought Marianne might make a good mother and wife – and she wasn’t going to give up.
He knew that on the surface, she was right. It would be better for the child to have a mother again. Perhaps it might even be good for him to have a wife again. But anyone who knew the true story of him and Arabella knew that love was not meant for him. He did not know what to do with it, how to maintain it. He only knew how to lose it.
Indeed, the only love he had ever truly been able to hold onto was that for his grandfather and for Henry.
He stepped outside, and Marianne looked at him, smiling. The sky was gray, but a ray of sunshine had crept through and enveloped her in a bright light. It was almost like a painting.
He glanced up at the heavens for a moment. Was the very universe itself trying to push him as well into seeing her as something other than his companion in this little charade?
If it was, he was determined to ignore it.
He had entered this marriage for one purpose only—to free himself of obligation. He had done so, and he was not going to let anybody, no matter how well-meaning, interfere with his plans.
CHAPTER 13
MARIANNE
Marianne sat on the horse, managing the reins tightly as they went around in circles.
“Holding them like that isn’t going to keep you in the saddle,” Lucien called from the middle of the paddock, where he was holding two ropes; one to lead her horse and one to lead Henry’s.
She had to admit, she sat in the saddle far less securely than her small stepson did. The horse seemed almost to wiggled as they rode in circles, Henry moving easily in the saddle, at one with his pony, while Marianne sat rigidly on her steed’s back, looking most absurd.
“Hold the reins the way I showed you,” Lucien said.
“I can’t,” she called back. “If I do, it feels like I should slide off this horse.”
“You will not. Hold yourself properly, use your posture, not your hands. It is what keeps you on.”
“Squeeze your knees,” Henry called from his horse, continuing to bounce up and down, his blond hair blowing all around his face.
“She is sitting side-saddle,” Lucien explained, but Henry was already focused on his own riding again.
Marianne did as he said, placing the reins between her fingers as he had originally shown her, then continuing to ride in circles. The more they rode, circle after circle, the more her confidence grew. This was not so very difficult. Her sisters had long since learned to ride properly, but she had always resisted, too timid to attempt it. Yet here she sat, bouncing up and down in the saddle without falling off once.
“Shall we try a trot?” Lucien called.
