“Yes.” Marcus lifted his glass to take another drink.
“Don’t forget to take your wife.”
Marcus nearly choked. He supposed Prescott had a point.
Choose Your Battles
Everyone’s plans were changing.
Sophia and Prescott were to return to London. Something to do with Carlisle and Rhoda. Sophia mentioned that Prescott wished to lend support to his cousin.
Cecily and Mr. Nottingham needed to return to Surry. Cecily’s husband oversaw his cousin, the Earl of Kensington’s, estates and needed to address urgent issues that had arisen there.
Emily and Marcus were to accompany them.
Apparently, the Duke of Waters’ estate sat conveniently nearby.
And Mr. Nottingham had received news in a letter that Marcus’ father ailed. She only learned the details when Sophia dropped in to see that she was comfortable.
Emily had yet to speak with her husband since the unfortunate turn of events earlier in their suite and Crandall had removed her husband’s possessions from the adjoining dressing room. Whether he’d loaded them into a carriage or simply moved them to another room, she didn’t know.
Would he come to her tonight? Since they’d exchanged rings, they’d made love every night. Emily hated the notion that they’d done so for the last time.
She shuddered inside upon recalling the animosity in his final glance. She’d been reminded of his demeanor in the Crabtrees’ library. Disgust. Distrust. And worst of all, apathy.
It hurt but it also scared her. She’d had something wonderful only to have it yanked away due to her own stupidity.
Reluctant to discuss this unfortunate turn of events with Sophia and Cecily, Emily begged off dinner. She wouldn’t talk about it with anybody. She wallowed in too much pity on her own. Not to mention shame.
She had no idea where Marcus was now. She’d been tempted to ask the maid who delivered her tray if Lord Blakely had been present at dinner, but she’d been too embarrassed.
She’d opened herself up to this. He’d been completely honest with her that he’d no desire for a wife. She should not have lulled herself into believing his touch meant more than his words.
For one amazing week, she’d felt like a complete woman. As though her bookish ways and mousy looks didn’t mean she must expect less from life.
She must be grateful for having experienced it.
She wondered again if he would come to her tonight. She knew already that Marcus didn’t require affection in order to perform the act.
How would she respond if he presented himself to her for relations?
The prospect alone sent heat swirling between her legs. Ah, her traitorous body craved the heady ministrations of her husband regardless of his demeanor.
An image of him hovering above her in anger stirred unsettling thoughts even further.
She changed into her night rail, again, one Marcus had purchased for her, and then located a horticulture book on tulips, hoping it would help her fall asleep.
Marcus did not come. She kept the candles burning in vain.
The room remained empty. Her hope diminished. And with each tick of the clock, reality set in. Emily Goodnight, now Emily Roberts, Lady Blakely, must never allow herself to hope.
Because for a person such as herself, hope led to disappointment. Best to expect the worse. At least that way, nothing ever surprised her.
Cecily and Emily rode in the carriage, along with Cecily’s son, Finn, not yet a year old but considerably bigger than Sophia’s baby.
Mr. Nottingham, Mr. Findlay, and Marcus rode outside upon mounts.
It felt oddly familiar to the ride she’d shared with Sophia less than two weeks ago.
