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Marianne squeezed Juliet’s hand. It was true that love could be a curse. But she had found that love among friends could be the purest form of affection.

CHAPTER 29

MARIANNE

“Iam most happy that you are here with me. I have missed you so,” Charlotte said three days later as the two of them were preparing for the ball together. “But what do you intend to do? Do you intend to stay here with me forever? You are welcome, of course, but you are Countess of Wexford.”

“I know who I am,” Marianne replied. “I am well aware of my title. Do not fret—I shall not impose on you much longer.”

“You are not imposing. I simply do not understand. When I saw the two of you dancing at the ball just days ago, you looked truly happy. As though you were man and wife in truth. As though there was nothing the matter between the two of you. I thought this was all but a charade.”

“It was,” Marianne said, swirling around to face her sister. She was wearing a gown in Pomona green. Not her choice, but she had not brought many of her gowns with her, and Charlotte’swould not fit her. The gown crinkled as she moved, as gowns of the last decade often did.

“I thought things were changing between us, that he genuinely was beginning to love me. But I was wrong. The moment his son called me Mama, it was as though I was standing on one side of a drawbridge and he on the other. And the bridge was being drawn up, parting us forever.”

“Have you attempted to speak with him?”

“Of course I have,” Marianne said, throwing her hands up in the air. “I would not simply leave him without at least trying to do so. I spoke to him, and he made it very clear that we are nothing but what we agreed upon in the beginning. Two people married for mutual benefit—so that he would not have to contend with ladies and their mothers setting their cap at him, and I so that our aunt would not continue to try to marry me off as Father would have done, though to a gentleman of somewhat better character, one hopes. We both have our freedom now. That is what he wanted. That is what I wanted. And now we must begin the process of separating.”

“But I did not think itwaswhat you wanted,” Charlotte said gently.

“It isn’t. It is whathewants, and so it shall be. He wishes to pretend nothing happened between us.”

Charlotte sat down on one of the seats nearby and crossed her legs at the ankles. “But you kissed. You told me so.”

“We did, but he behaves as though it never happened.” She paused for a moment. “What do you know of the late Lady Wexford? What has Rhys said?”

Charlotte shrugged. “He told me that their marriage was most unhappy and that her death caused him great distress.”

“He shows no sign of grief,” Marianne said.

“I asked Rhys for more information, especially after I found out that you and he were to be wed, but he told me that this was something shared in confidence between him and his friend, and he could not tell me more. He only set my mind at ease and told me that Lucien would prove a worthy husband.”

Marianne scoffed. “Some husband he has turned out to be. He does not care for me. He never has.”

“That is not true,” Charlotte said. “I could tell by the way he looked at you that he cares. I dare say he perhaps even loves you.”

A bitter laugh escaped Marianne’s lips. “He has a strange manner of showing affection, if that is so. In any case, I will not spend my life being shackled to a man who loves me one moment, holds me in contempt the next. I have reached a decision.” She turned to her sister. “I am returning to the convent for a season.”

“You are going to take your vows?” Charlotte gasped.

“No, I will not, but I sent a letter to Sister Bernadette and the Mother Superior to let them know that I wish to return. I wish to remain for a few months. This time, nobody will be able to take me away by force because I am a countess. I am a lady of the first circle. Nobody can come and take me away.”

“Your husband could,” Charlotte said.

“But he would not. I had planned originally to come here for a few days to gain some space from him and then return, but these last two days have given me some peace of mind that I haven’t had during my time at my supposed home. And I do not see why we need to wait months longer to separate when that is our ultimate purpose anyhow.”

“When will you inform him?”

Marianne shrugged. “I do not know. I must choose the proper moment. I must return home and sit with him and discuss how best to proceed. And I must explain it to Henry. I cannot leave him wondering where I have gone. He has already lost one mother, though I doubt he remembers her even. He was but an infant when she passed, after all.”

Charlotte looked at her, and she could tell from the expression in her sister’s eyes that there was much more she wanted to say. Perhaps she even wanted to convince her otherwise. But Charlotte knew her well enough not to even try. Instead, she simply nodded. “If that is what you wish.”

It was not what she wished. She wished that Lucien would finally tell her what was preventing him from stopping the pattern he followed of growing hot and cold, but she knew it wasn’t going to happen, and she had to consider her own welfare.

She couldn’t continue like this. As much as she loved him and as much as she had grown to love Henry, this was her life, and she could not squander it on someone who seemed unable to determine his own mind.

Lucien stepped out of the carriage, his black pantaloons chafing against his skin. He tugged at his cravat, which felt too tight, as though it wanted to suffocate him. He strode forward towards the grand house where music already drifted forth. She would be inside. He knew it.