“I admit to initially being unnecessarily dubious about Rossi’s quality,” he said, turning the small figurine around in his hands. “But this is excellent, Lydia. I hope you will treasure it.”
“I will!” Lydia jumped to her feet, her face alive with excitement. “Come with me, Thalia, and help me decide on a place to put it.”
Thalia could not have resisted even if she had wanted to. Accepting Lydia’s hand, she allowed the younger girl to pull her from the room.
Maxwell could not quite suppress his smile. There was a warmth in his chest he was beginning to become familiar with, that he had started feeling when he had first taken Thalia back to his home in the country. Seeing the way she had accepted and loved Lydia as a member of her family made him feel oddly hopeful.
Buoyed, even.
Joyce adjusted her skirts. “She seems so at home here. So natural. Do you not think?”
“Hmm?” Maxwell barely spared her a glance. With his time so taken up with Thalia and Lydia, he had little enough time for her now, especially when she always seemed to view things with such cynicism.
He understood—that was how he often viewed them himself. But it made him weary.
“Your new wife. She has settled in as though she is one of the family. I had never expected you to become so invested in a wife, but she has won you over.”
“Won me over?” His brows drew together, and he frowned over at her. “In what manner?”
“You always held yourself apart from all ladies; I assumed that was your preferred way of being. But she has changed you.” Joyce gave an elegant, calculated shrug. “I confess, it has surprised me, but if you are happy with her, who am I to complain?”
He opened his mouth to say that Thalia had not changed him, but then he recalled the warmth in his chest when he watched her. The affection that always overcame him whenever he thought about her.
This was not mere fancy, a lust that she could fulfill, as he had expected it to be when they had first come together. She had become more than that, and when he thought over every interaction, he realized how far he had begun to fall for her.
If he were not careful, he would end up deeply in love with her.
Every iota of his being rebelled against the idea. He was not a man at liberty to let his heart rule him; if he did that, he risked repeating his father’s and brother’s mistakes.
His father loved his mother, and that had been the ruin of them both.
No. This would not happen.
“What’s wrong?” Joyce lifted her tea to her mouth and took a delicate sip. “Is not felicity the very purpose of marriage? If you had merely wanted heirs, you could have married someone entirely less spirited, and she would have made for a placid, amicable wife. Instead, you married someone to set thetonaflutter, and who will most definitely argue with you if she perceives you to be in the wrong. That is not a marriage made out of duty alone.”
With every word, she seemed unaware that she was striking the axe down harder and harder.
Maxwell inhaled slowly. “We both know I offered for her out of a sense of obligation. Her situation was such that?—”
“It is quite all right, Maxwell. You can be honest with me.” Joyce smiled, but all Maxwell could see was the way Thalia’s face lit up at Lydia’s joy.
All the memories they had shared.
His own blindness.
This could not happen. For her sake and his, he could not love her. Would not. One way or another, he would find a way of preventing himself from ruining them both.
“What’s wrong?” Joyce asked, sipping more tea. “I thought you would be pleased to hear me call her a member of the family.”
“Enough.” He bit off the words. “You have said more than enough.”
Joyce raised her brows but settled back onto the sofa. “I do hope so,” she murmured. “It’s about time you saw things for what they are.”
“She is a duchess, and you will continue to respect her,” he said, his voice sounding oddly distant. “Do you understand me?”
Joyce smiled. “Oh,” she purred. “I understand you perfectly. You have nothing to fear from me, Your Grace.”
Perhaps not, but he had everything to fear for himself.
