“She’s asking about . . .” Cecily sucked in a breath, and her cheeks turned red. Percy frowned at the expression, realising for the first time that she had not come merely out of solicitude. To fortify himself, he took a larger bite, and considered the pound cake and muffins, wondering if he could stomach them.
“Asking about what?”
“She’s asking about children,” she said in a rush. “Our children, to be exact. And . . .”
Percy knew the answer as well as she did. There could be no chance of children from an empty bed. And although he had come dangerously close to sharing that bed with her last night, he had not succumbed, and their marriage remained unconsummated.
He nodded at the paper in her hands. “Is that the letter?”
“Yes.”
“May I see?”
Reluctantly, she handed it over, and he scanned the pages. As always, the viscountess wrote with an impertinent that infuriated him, demanding to know why there had been no issue from their marriage, and whether Cecily had the bad luck to be barren.
“How discourteous,” he said lightly, dropping the letter back onto the tray.
“Would you . . .” She glanced up at him hesitantly. “Would you help me form a reply?”
“Certainly. Phrasing or content?” A rare flash of anger passed through him. When he’d married her, one of his many reasons had been to separate her from the woman who’d always treated her with borderline cruelty. “Or better still, don’t reply at all.”
“You’d have me ignore my own mother?”
“She’s been little enough involved until she thought you might have a child she could get her claws into.” He knew his words were uncharitable, but he couldn’t quite hold them back. For years, he’d kept his opinions about her mother, even about William, to himself, but he found his self-control lacking in the face of his monstrous hangover.
This would be the last time he drank so heavily. He should have known better.
“I do not care to have my wife bullied,” he said, finally.
“I thought you had no wish for me to be your wife any longer.”
His laugh was short and a little bitter, but when he took her hand in his, long fingers enclosing around her smaller ones, she didn’t pull away. “Perhaps I’m tired of being denied,” he murmured. “And it is easier not to try. But no matter what we might wish, some things do not change.”
“Do you regret marrying me?” she blurted.
His fingers tightened, and his gaze dropped to them. “What a troublesome question. I have no easy answer for you.”
She looked almost disappointed, as though she’d been hoping for an answer in the negative—but how could he say he didn’t regret marrying her when she went out of her way to inspire that regret every day?Shecertainly regretted their union, and he was tired of pretending.
“People will start to talk if I continue to be without child.”
Was she suggesting what it sounded like she was suggesting? He dropped her hand. “Let them.”
“My mother will—”
“Your mother will not find herself welcome in my house if she comes to interfere.”
“You didn’t seem to mind her interference when you arranged with her to marry me.”
“And if I could have done so from your word alone, I would have, allow me to reassure you of that.” He searched her face, seeing only confusion there, and perhaps even hurt. This was not how he’d imagined this conversation going. “I never meant to hurt you, Cecily. If there had been another way—but that boy tried to ruin you. People saw you leave the ballroom together. What else could I have done?”
He saw the moment his words registered. Her eyes widened and she rose from her chair. “Perhaps you could have allowed him to marry me himself,” she said, her voice choked.
This delusion was insufferable. Percy replaced his cup on the saucer with more force than he intended. “Is that what you truly think?”
“He loved me!”
“He thought you were easy prey. And my goodness, Cecily, was he wrong?”
