Lucien sighed. Perhaps he ought. If he told her everything about how wretched his marriage had truly been, about the affair he had discovered, about the night Arabella fled—perhaps Marianne might determine that she didn’t want him. But that would be her decision. Perhaps she might look beyond the past. He doubted it, but Rhys spoke truly. He should grant her the opportunity. She deserved to know all before she made her decision about her future, and theirs.
CHAPTER 30
LUCIEN
Marianne saw Lucien enter from the corner of her eye, and her body instantly turned rigid. He looked handsome. She could not deny it. His pantaloons looked as though they had been soaked in water overnight; they clung to his figure most admirably. The violet waistcoat poked out underneath his evening coat, and he even wore a top hat. Beside him was Rhys. Rhys cut a fine figure as always, but she had already seen him when they left the house. The two of them walked together, Rhys’s hand on the back of Lucien’s shoulder, guiding him. Supporting him?
She could not deny that he looked unwell. Dark shadows circled his eyes. She saw that as he came closer. His face looked pale, and he looked as though slumber had proven as elusive to him as to her.
How ironic it was that the two of them should find themselves united in their futile quest for sleep? A tremor passed through her when he looked at her, and she averted her gaze.
“You ought to speak to him,” Charlotte said.
“I shall have to. But not tonight. I would like to keep my distance as much as possible,” she replied. “Then I will speak to him. I will tell him about my decision. I will ask him to let me see Henry, and that shall be that.”
“But he is here, and he looks as though he wishes to speak to you. I told you that Rhys would speak to him.”
“It seems as though everyone speaks much when there is so very little to say, for all has been decided. I do not wish to see him.” Marianne turned and walked past her sister and further into the house.
She found herself in the library and stepped to the window, looking out. Autumn leaves descended from the boughs now, and soon winter would be upon them again. How peculiar that she should be returning to the convent when her least favorite season was upon them. In the convent, it was cold, and she knew she would be shivering. To distract herself, she catalogued in her mind things she would have Juliet pack for them. Woolen shifts, flannel nightgowns, sleeping caps, stockings, and mittens. She would bring extra for the nuns, though they would most likely not use any of the things she brought. They were accustomed to the life, after all, but she could also bring things for the poor souls in their care.
Her thoughts drifted to the young girl who had joined them not long ago—not long before she left. What was her name again? She could not recall it now. Maria? Louisa? Whoever she hadbeen, by now she would’ve had her child. Her baby would’ve been taken from her and placed with a different family. She would most likely be alone, back with her parents, or maybe she would still be at the convent, having taken her vows herself.
What occupied the sisters at this hour? They would likely be preparing for Vespers and then the evening meal. Soon she would join them again.
She didn’t think she would stay at the convent. It was not what she wanted. Not truly. Not anymore, because her faith had not faltered. She knew now, more than ever, that she believed in God. Why else would she have been sent upon this torturous path?
But she didn’t think that she would find happiness at the convent, though she would find peace there once more. And once she had that, she could decide what she wanted to do. Her title afforded her choices. And should Lucien honor his word, she would be financially secure.
But she would have to speak to him about that, wouldn’t she? They would have to hasten their separation. They would have to decide how to manage it.
Perhaps she could write to him from the convent. Perhaps she didn’t have to talk to him at all. That might be better for all of them. Mostly for her, because she couldn’t imagine speaking to him again and feeling all that pain and unrequited love once more.
“Marianne.” His voice drifted into her thoughts, and she closed her eyes, willing him away. However, his footfalls increased and came closer. She took a deep breath and turned.
“My lord,” she said.
He flinched at her formal use of his title.
“Marianne, I wondered if we could speak?”
“I do not know that there’s anything for us to speak about right now. I have said what I wanted to say in my letter.”
“Yes, that is why I’m here—to speak to you about the letter; about everything you said, everything that happened between us. You were right to leave.”
“I know,” she replied simply. “I know I was right.”
“I was unkind to you. I acted unreasonably. I can see how you would perceive my being warm and cold at changing intervals as difficult.”
“It no longer matters,” she said with a shrug. “It is resolved now.”
“Nothing is resolved,” Lucien objected. “I?—”
“You made it clear that you regret it. The kisses. Our time together. You made it very clear how you felt. And I have understood. You attempted to tell me I was wrong; that I should not have allowed myself to become as close to your son as I did, although I only did it because you encouraged it. In any case, I understand now that there was nothing between us. That there will never be anything between us. In fact, it is almost as if nothing ever happened.”
“But it did. We kissed. We held one another,” he said.
“Did we?” she replied, tipping her head to one side. “As I said, it is almost as if nothing ever happened, so I cannot remember any of what you speak of.”
