It was dangerous, he knew it. He was growing attached to her. It was exactly as Mrs. Greaves had said. He couldn’t have that. Hewouldn’thave that.
In a few months, she’d be gone. They’d be parted in every way but legally— just as they’d planned.
He had to remind himself that this was an arrangement they had both agreed to. Marianne didn’t want to be a wife. She wanted freedom. And he hadn’t wanted a wife either, after all.
And yet there was no denying it. His heart had skipped a beat as he stood with her in his arms. His thoughts wandered to her often, especially in the quiet hours. He closed his eyes and shook his head, and then forced himself to go to bed, even though he knew that sleep would not come. Her face would haunt him. His guilty conscience would haunt him. Yet he knew there was nothing he could do but surrender to whatever feelings and damage his body and mind deemed necessary to impress upon him.
The following morning, Marianne came down the stairs clad in a pale yellow gown with a white underdress that poked up from the top of her dress, drawing attention to her bosom without being overt. The sleeves were long with a white hem around the edges.
She smiled at him and then looked all around, eyes wide.
“He isn’t here, is he? Should I be on my guard? Must I protect this gown as well?” she said. Her tone was light, and relief flooded him almost immediately.
“No, he has gone out for a walk with his governess. Will you take breakfast with me?”
“I will,” she said, sitting beside him. She took a roll and sliced it open, and he watched her hands work through the dough. Her fingers were long and delicate. He hadn’t noticed that before.
“What?” she asked. “Is something amiss? Have I got something on my face?”
“No, not at all,” he said, shaking his head. He shouldn’t be staring.
“I was woolgathering, is all.”
“I see,” she replied. “You look as though there’s something on your mind. May I ask—yesterday, when Henry came to hug me with his dirty fingers, was that your doing?”
Lucien felt heat spread across his neck, jaw, and face, and was absolutely certain he was as red as a tomato.
“Yes,” he admitted. “I did not mean to upset you. It is just that I had told you that when one has a child in one’s life, even if only briefly, then there is a good chance that one will get dirty. I thought it was a good opportunity to demonstrate.”
“Well, demonstrate you did. Juliet will have to scrub that gown thoroughly to get the stains out.” The accusation in her tone was clear.
“I beg your pardon. I thought it was a good jest. He asked if he could, and I allowed him when I shouldn’t have. I meant amusement, not offense.”
Lucien waited warily for her response.
“I know it,” Marianne replied softly. “And I want you to know that I am not so difficult as to be unable to handle a few stains on my gowns. It is just that I did not want Juliet to have to be scrubbing my gowns as soon as she arrived here. I wish to give her a good impression of our society. She does not have one so far.”
“I can imagine. Having grown up in a convent, she likely would not. Although I hear it can be a real sanctuary for many. Mrs. Greaves always talks about a lady she worked for who went to a convent and much enjoyed it.” Rosy lips, which were, he noticed, free of any balm. They were simply that color by nature. “Please do not fret. I am not upset.”
“Good,” he said, “and perhaps you could let your maid know that you are not upset, for she certainly is rather angry at me. I believe she would have challenged me to pistols at dawn, were she permitted such liberties below stairs.”
“You are fortunate that she is not, then,” she replied with a smile, but there was something in her expression he did not like.
Not displeasure with him, but something equally as concerning. Melancholy. He had attributed it to his behavior, but perhaps that was not the case after all.
“There’s something bothering you, isn’t there?” he asked. “Something else?”
She shrugged. “I suppose. I had tea with my sisters yesterday, before we went riding, and something occurred to me. I have no passion.”
He blinked, looking at her. “What do you mean you do not have a passion?”
She slumped forward in her seat and clasped her hands in her lap. “I mean, Evelyn has so many causes she works with. So many things she puts her heart into besides being a mother and a wife. And Charlotte adores her school. She’s planning to open another. But I have no passion. Nothing, I think about day and night. I suppose in some ways I was always so busy craving my freedom and craving my quiet that I never knew what to do with it once I had it.”
Lucien leaned back and crossed his legs. “I don’t know if I understand. I suppose my entire life revolves around my son. He is my passion.”
“You see?” she said. “You have a passion. I haven’t. Evelyn asked me what I intend to do once our arrangement comes to an end.”
“You spoke of traveling, did you not?”
