She scoffed. “I admit, I do not know you nearly as well as I might, but even I can see how differently you behave when you are in public.”
“Do I?” He was starting to sweat.
“You do,” she said rightly. “When you are here, you are serious and stern and.” She laughed. “Well, you are pretty much what I expected before marrying you. But last evening, you were fun. You were laughing and making jokes and actually smiling. Truly, I did not know that you knew how to do such a thing until I saw it for myself.”
“What is your point?”
“Which one is the real you?” She put down her quill and folded her arms, and still, he did not look up. “If either one is. You obviously behave a certain way in public and then in private, so I can’t help but wonder.”
“I think you are thinking too much into it.”
‘I don’t think that I am. And I want to know why. Why do you do it?”
Christopher’s jaw clenched, sweat now forming on his brow and the small of his back. “The only thing I am doing is trying to work. Which you should be too. If not, I will ask you to leave.”
She said nothing at first. But she did not pick her quill back up, and she did not pretend to focus on work. She continued to watch him, eyes narrowed, lips pushed together.
“Do you know what I think?” she said finally. “I don’t think either one is the real you. I think there is a third option, one that I have seen glimpses of here and there, but only ever in fragments. That, in my opinion, is the true Duke of Thornwall.”
“Is that right?” he scoffed.
“It is,” she said. “And what is more, I would very much like to meet him.”
Christopher’s heart was racing. His legs were shaking. And his mind was whirring as he tried to think up a response that would deter this mode of questioning and hopefully convince Rose to drop the topic altogether.
She was right, of course, about Christopher’s many personalities. That he acted certain ways in front of certain people, always carefully orchestrated so as not to offend or upset or cause alarm. He did so for a good reason, one that he could not, under any circumstances, tell Rose.
What would she even say? Would she understand? Would she forgive me? Or would she demand that we divorce somehow, lest she announce my secret to the entire world?
Slowly, Christopher looked up from his work to find Rose watching him; arms still folded, eyebrow still cocked derisively. He held a flat expression, almost bored, needing her to believe that she was imagining these things and to give it any credence was to waste time.
“I behaved the way I did at the Ball because, despite what you might think of me, I am capable of enjoying myself at times.”
“That is not what I –”
“And I behave the way I do at home because, as shocking as this might sound to you, I don’t see the need to laugh and make jokes at every turn. When I am working, I am one way. When I am with friends, I am another. There is no mystery. There is no hidden side to my personality. It is just the simple fact that you do not know me nearly as well as you think that you do.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
“Well then,” Her eyes flashed again, and a smile crept up her lips. “Perhaps we should change that.”
“Change what?”
“How little I know you.”
Christopher’s eyes almost widened, but he managed to keep his expression neutral. That was despite the panic that raced through him, because this was the last thing we wanted.
Christopher was not necessarily a private person, but there were certain parts of his life that he kept hidden for very specific reasons. And if Rose was to learn of them…
I don’t even know what will happen. I don’t even want to imagine it.
“I don’t think so.” He looked at her flatly and then went back to his work.
“What is your favorite flavor of tea?” she asked.
Christopher started at the randomness of the question, and despite his best efforts, he looked up again. “Tea?”
