She didn’t like this dreary person she’d become. Tomorrow, she’d try harder tomorrow.
Weariness set in. Had it only been last night that she’d stumbled on her husband whispering to another woman in his arms?
Stupid tears threatened. She needed to dwell upon something else.
Her future.
She did not wish to remain here at Candlewood Park. Marcus had told her he had his own estate nearby. She hoped to find it bright and sunny. Smaller.
Warmer.
“I’ll forgo the port, for now, Quim.” Marcus’ voice broke into her thoughts. Lord Quimbly’s face flushed the color of an eggplant each time Marcus called him that name. Of course, her husband had been doing it intentionally.
She’d stopped noticing the courses set before her, barely managing more than a bite or two of each. She felt numb.
“Emily.”
She glanced down the table. Marcus had addressed her. “Yes, my lord.” Was that really her voice? So timid and weak?
“I’d present you to Waters before the hour grows late.”
She nodded, folded her napkin carefully, and rose from her chair.
At least she would not have to meet him in front of the duchess and Lady Hartley.
And Marcus would be with her.
Whatever else he was, she believed him to be her friend. She rubbed at the smooth metal on her finger. The ring he’d had made from her spectacles.
“Nervous?” His voice drew her from her thoughts as they walked along the empty corridor. He sounded confiding, almost encouraging.
“Terrified,” she admitted.
“He ought to be the one terrified.” He winked. Such charm worked like poison. She drank it willingly, not caring about the damage it inflicted. “Trust me, I know.”
But then he turned serious. “You needn’t say a word. If he turns vile, simply imagine you’re reading one of your books. Don’t allow his words to hurt you.”
He spoke the words with too much knowing.
His relationship with his father had not been a loving one.
The valet opened the door and, with a disapproving glance, allowed them to enter.
Emily stepped toward the bed. The man lying in it appeared a ghost of the one she’d eavesdropped on earlier this spring.
He’d lost a great deal of hair. Sallow complexion. And so very thin.
A tray brought up from the kitchen sat on a nearby table, untouched.
“Your grace.” She would have this meeting over with.
The man’s eyes fluttered open, and he let out a breath. Even from a distance, the stench of illness assaulted her.
She held his gaze steadily.
“Have you brought up one of the chambermaids for me to meet, Blakely?”
Marcus took hold of her arm, as though to drag her away, but she stiffened and stepped closer. She’d come this far. She might as well finish what she had started.
