Doing her best to ignore the tightness in her stomach and the worry that gnawed at her chest, Thalia led Lydia to the drawing room and, with Lady Rivenhall’s help, finalized the guest list. All the while, she thought about Maxwell and his sudden coldness.
Something had happened to change their dynamic. What could she have done, and if it wasn’t her, then what else could have caused him to retreat into himself like that?
She recalled her father and his neglect, the way he had abandoned her mother to stay at home. The way, after her mother had died, he had rebuked any attempt she made to connect with him.
Was she about to suffer the same fate as her husband now? Had he married her purely because he wanted a wife, and now she had provided him with what he needed, would he follow along the same tracks as her father?
She wanted to believe he wouldn’t. Wanted, with all her heart and soul, to believe that Maxwell was better than that; that he would never hurt her in such a way.
She even went to Elliot’s studio to sculpt, but despite her freedom, she had trouble concentrating, the negative thoughts taking over.
At dinner that night, he barely met her gaze and said only three words together, disappearing to the study immediately after for more work.
And the niggling feeling inside her began to feel a lot like fear—that she had made a terrible mistake in marrying him.
One she would never be able to escape.
CHAPTER 20
Thalia sat in bed with her hands cupping the hot cocoa her maid had brought her. Jane bustled about the room, opening curtains and pouring hot water from a jug so Thalia could wash.
The bed beside her was cold. Once again, for the sixth time this week, Maxwell had not slept with her. He had not approached her, kissed her, or said anything other than the bare necessities to her. It was as though he was doing his best to pretend she did not exist.
For the past week, she had been feeling hurt and sad, as though Maxwell’s behavior were her fault. But if it was, he ought to have done something to tell her, so she might rectify things.
No, the time for being sad was over. Now it was time to be angry.
“I’m ready to dress,” she informed Jane. “The gold one, if you please.”
“The silk?”
“Yes.”
Jane frowned, saying nothing more but fetching the gown in question. It was not a morning gown, not one ordinarily meant for being around the house and receiving callers, but Thalia had had enough of pretending nothing was going on.
She was going to speak to Maxwell, and she was going to do so while looking her best. If he were going to ignore her, he would ignore all of her.
She took more time over her appearance than normal, getting Jane to curl her hair and thread pearls through the curls as though she were attending a ball. For good luck, she wore the diamond Maxwell had gifted her on their return to London—the one she had worn to their first outing together—and the golden band on her wedding ring sat on her third finger. She held it up to the light for a moment, thinking, then nodded and rose.
“Where is His Grace?” she asked.
“I expect he is still in the breakfast room,” Jane said. “Would you like me to see for you?”
“No, it’s quite all right.” Thalia crossed the room in a swirl of skirts and perfume, knowing she looked her best and every inch the duchess she now was. “I will find him myself.”
She descended the stairs and spied him heading into his study. “Maxwell,” she called, her voice demanding. He stopped, freezing as though he had been caught in the act of doing something nefarious. When he turned, shock crossed his face at the sight of her.
Good.
“Thalia.” He eyed her with the uncertainty that told him he knew not to trust whatever mood she was in. “What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is we’re going to have a little talk.” She took his arm, leading him to his beloved study. What better place for them to have their confrontation? Her pretty diamond earrings swung against her jaw.
As soon as the door closed behind them, she twisted to face him, bracing her hands against his desk. “Explain,” she said shortly.
Maxwell folded his arms. “Explain what?”
“If you don’t know what, then you ought to.” She raised her chin, looking him in the eye. “If you regret this match, then tell me now so we can do something about it. If I have done something to offend you, then you may as well let me know, so I might address matters. If not, then explain to me why you think it is suddenly appropriate to behave in this way. And I will explain to you why it’s unacceptable.”
