What frustrated Margot the most was that this should have pleased her. She should have been glad that the duke spurned her so coldly and ruthlessly. Was that not what she wanted? Wasthis not the deal they had struck? It was, she knew, but then why did it hurt as badly as it did?
On the surface, the answer was clear. It was about attraction only, and being turned away from someone whom she admitted to being attracted to was no easy thing to bear. But deep down, in the pit of her writhing stomach, she knew there was more to it than that. For a brief instant, she had started to feel something for the duke that she could have never believed to be possible, opening her heart, letting those feelings grow… to know now that she had been right all along.
Margot gave her head a shake and turned from the mirror.
She wore a scowl, sneering as she pictured the duke in her head.If that is how he wants to behave, then so be it! Two can play at that game.
Today was a misstep, and one she would not be falling for again. As she had promised herself when this marriage first began, she wanted nothing to do with her husband, and that he wanted nothing to do with her would make that so much easier. A marriage of convenience only, that was what she would strive for.
Easy to say, harder to comprehend. And as Margot climbed into bed and tried to sleep, she tossed and turned, for still she could not help but imagine what it might have been like had this evening gone the other way. She certainly would not be sleeping alone. Just as she would not be dreading tomorrow as she now was.
This marriage was never going to be an easy thing, and now it looked to be next to impossible. But then again, as Margot’s life was concerned, what else was new?
Life at Eastmoor Estate began to unwind in a typically monotonous fashion. It was what Margot had expected, perhaps even hoped for, when she’d first agreed to this marriage. But with all that had happened, and all she had wanted to happen, it was bitter to the taste and hurt more than it should have.
Her days started with breaking her fast. And as became her current state of reality, it was done alone. Not once in the week that followed the garden party did Sebastian attempt to join her, and not once did she think that he would. Was he awake? Was he even home? She had no idea. And with the few servants working the household, it was not for the kitchen staff and the single butler who waited on her, she might have thought that she was the only soul left living in the manor.
From there, her day would go one of several ways.
Some mornings, she would go for a ride around the estate.
Other mornings, she would sit in the library or the gardens and read.
Occasionally, she would wander the manor and duck her head into the various rooms, which she had opened just theweek before. She often considered whether it might be worth doing what she had said she would and order their cleaning, redecorating them, bringing some life into the place! But whenever that thought came to mind, it would fade, for she could not see the point.This house does not want me, so why should I want it?
The afternoons were similar, often an extension of the morning. Once or twice, she visited London on her own. Another day, she travelled to her cousins’ estate and drank tea with them. But mostly, it was isolation and boredom and worst of all, loneliness.
As tragic as all that was, supper was by far the worst moment of every day.
Sebastian was sure to join her each evening, but she got the sense quite quickly that he was only doing so to further remind her of how little he wished to do with her. It was as if he feared that she had not gotten the message he had sent that night when he’d left her in the drawing room and was now at pains to hammer the point home.
“How was your day?” he would ask her each evening.
“Perfectly fine,” she would respond simply. “How was your day?”
“Serviceable,” he would say. Or “Fine. Nothing to report. What do you have on tomorrow?”
“I am not sure,” she would respond, glaring at him as he cut into his food and refused to look at her. “Time will tell.”
“Doesn’t it always?”A truth I have learned the hard way.
Was it so strange that she actually missed those first days of their marriage? That first evening, especially when he had toyed with her and flirted outrageously. When he had baited her, tempted her, lured her close as if trying to see her succumb to his charm. She had hated it that first evening, knowing the type of man he was and what he wanted. Only now, what she would not give for him to do something – anything! Just to show her that he cared or knew that she existed.
It did not help that she was still hopelessly attracted to him. Perhaps more now than ever.That he wants so little to do with me is as frustrating as it is tempting.
She sat staring at him as they ate. She looked at the sharp lines of his face. The dark waves of his hair. She would catch sight of his blue eyes, and she would notice his lips and remember how close they had come to being on her. And when these thoughts rushed her, her body would erupt with tingles and warmth.
Strange that she hated him with just as much passion.How can I loathe a man and want him just as much? It defies reason!All she could hope for was that with time, those feelings would fade. How much easier that would make things.
Many times, Margot would remind herself that she should have been glad for the way things had turned out. After all, Sebastianhad told her this would be the state of their marriage. So, why was she so upset?Because I saw the other option, that's why. I was given a taste of possibility, and now I cannot scrub that taste from my tongue.
That was what angered her the most. Time and time again, she would think back to that garden party and how much she’d enjoyed it. How Sebastian had treated her. How natural and right it had felt. She could not escape the feeling that this was his true self, and she knew he had enjoyed that brief moment as much as she had. So, why was he acting this way? What did he want?
Many times, she thought of asking him. To demand answers! And more than once, as they ate, the question formed on her tongue.
“Sebastian,” she would begin firmly, determined to get to the bottom of this. “Might I ask you something?”
“You just did,” he would say simply with a smirk, only to smother it and then force his eyes on her. His stare was always distant, devoid of passion and empathy. “Please, ask away,” he would say next.
