Clio had spent years on the Continent, which was rather more liberal about matters of lovemaking and romance than England, but Phoebe tended to make her feel downright prudish.
Phoebe grinned at her teasingly. Then, her expression grew more thoughtful.
“Have the two of you at least discussed the parameters of your marriage?” she asked. “There are plenty of married couples who don’t go to bed with one another, and not only because of the usual aristocratic reasons.”
“By which you mean they hate one another?” Clio supplied.
Phoebe gave her a dry look. “Quite. But, when I went to the theaters, I used to know two married couples who had wed because, in truth, the ladies preferred each other’s company, as did the gentlemen. They had wed because it gave them all excuses to avoid talk, but there was nothing romantic between them.”
Clio knew such relationships existed, but she still felt rather startled to hear Phoebe say as much out loud.
“Oh,” she said. “Um. That is … not the issue. For us.”
“Goodness, I know that,” Phoebe said impatiently. “One need only look at the two of you to realize that you find each other appealing. But that isn’t always enough. And if it isn’t enough for the two of you—well, my point is that, if you communicate properly, not sharing a bed with one another need not be a source of misery.”
Clio’s instincts told her to reject this out of hand. But she forced herself to stop and think. There was still an ache at the idea that Hector planned to leave her behind, burning a hole in her chest.
Still, she tried to be fair about it.
“He did make it clear that I would be permitted … my freedoms,” she allowed. “And he plans to return to the North.”
A horrifying idea struck her. What if he had his own sweetheart that he couldn’t marry because she was a shepherdess—Clio didn’t know if these were real or if that was just something from idyllic poems, but it hardly mattered—and he was a duke?
“And do you want your freedoms?” Phoebe asked, pulling Clio back to the present before she could picture Hector in the arms of a buxom Northern lass while sheep frolicked nearby.
“I—” Clio had to pause again. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment. “I don’t think I should like to be entirely alone—in—in that way,” she clarified. “Not for the whole of my life. And if he intends to leave …”
It still hurt to think about that, but maybe that was a sign in and of itself.
“Maybe it’s good that we haven’t been … physically close,” she allowed, fighting the urge to rub at her chest at the words. “If he plans to leave—and he did say that he plans to leave—then I ought not get attached.”
Phoebe looked as though she was struggling to keep her own counsel, and given all the things that her sister by marriageusuallydidsay aloud, Clio decided that, whatever it was, she didn’t want to hear it.
“Maybe,” Phoebe said eventually. “It isn’t a choice I—or anyone—can make for you. But just know that I will always be here if you need me. As will your brother. And I do know plenty of people from my sordid days that would happily play paramour to a beauty like you—but, oh, God, don’t tell your brother I said that,” she added hastily, grimacing expressively.
This made Clio laugh for the first time in a week, and it felt so good that she grew nearly dizzy with the sensation.
She and Phoebe talked about lighter things after that. They had been reading the same periodical story in the paper, and were eager for the next installment. They debated the merits of lace in this Season’s fashions. It was easy and lovely.
And yet, in the back of her mind, Clio found her mind returning to Hector, his plans to return to his real home, and this promise of freedom.
She had sworn to herself that she would not be pathetic on his behalf, but wasn’t that precisely what she’d been? She’d beenhiding, for goodness’ sake. Lurking in her own room like a prisoner, waiting for him to finally deign to give her his attention.
Well. No more of that.
By the time she bid Phoebe farewell, full of happy chatter and gossip and tea, Clio had come to a decision.
She was going to exercise that freedom. For once,shewas going to be the one to decide her fate.
CHAPTER 18
“I’m going to the country.”
Hector blinked at the ghost his wife had become—only now she was made flesh once more, standing in the doorway to his study with her hands on her hips and a determined expression on her face.
He hadn’t seen her in agoddamned week.
He’d heard her on the other side of the wall that joined their bedchambers. He’d smelled her floral soap when steam from her bath floated through the crack beneath the door to his own bathing room. And, always, he’d been achingly aware of her presence.
