“That’s the problem,” she whispered. “I just can’t accept a life with a man who will never love me. Even if he cares for me, even if he’s prepared to be selfless for my sake, it isn’t enough. Could you do it, Anna?”
Anna glanced at Simon, her expression contemplative, and Thalia read the answer there. No, Anna would never have consented to marry Simon if they had not fallen in love.
“The question is,” Anna said gently, “whether you love him.”
“Is a loveless marriage easier to bear if both parties do not love the other?”
“I think it might be,” Anna said. “At least it would be equal.”
There was nothing equal about Thalia’s marriage. And the problem was, she had started to fall for him long before they had ever gotten to this point. Really, she ought to have known that falling in love with him was unavoidable. And she ought, equally, to have known that he would not love her back.
He had never, at any stage, spoken to her about the prospect of love. Or children, even. She had assumed, given the way they had behaved after their marriage, that children were a certainty, but now she started to doubt it.
If he didn’t want her, did he want the children she would bear?
Logically, she supposed yes, but he had been all too eager to allow her access to the schoolroom at Marrowhurst Hall. Things were now at a point where she didn’t trust anything.
She no longer trustedhim.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “How to be.Whereto be. The house—it’s as though any time I leave my room, I may encounter him, and then I’m reminded of everything I can’t have, and?—”
“Stay here,” Anna said, her hand still firm on Thalia’s. “As long as you need, you have a place here.”
Thalia’s nose stung. “Thank you. Truly. I know I ought to face the reality of my life, but… Not yet.”
“Not yet,” Anna agreed. “There may yet be a solution. You had a purpose before you married; you never even intended to marry before Marrowhurst came and asked you. So, can you return to that purpose? Your sculpting?”
Thalia put her head in her hands. “I can’t,” she said, her voice muffled by her fingers. “I wish I could, but I can’t. It’s like that part of my brain has just… quit. There’s nothing in me that wants to create. I just feel…”
Tired. And empty. Every day felt like going through the motions; instead of living, she was surviving, and there was no room for art there.
She had no desire to sit in her studio and sculpt. No desire to dip her hands in water and shape clay, or carve wood, or find release in any of the other mediums that had ruled her life for years.
All she wanted was Maxwell’s arms around her, reassuring her, telling her that he would be by her side forevermore, and they could overcome this.
But he wouldn’t say that because he didn’t love her. And he had vowed never to.
She ground the heels of her palms into her eyes until she saw stars.
“That’s all right,” Anna said gently, and Thalia could imagine her widening her eyes at Simon. There was a click as the door closed behind him. “You don’t have to sculpt, not yet. Artists sometimes put down their pen during periods of grief. This is the same.”
“I don’t understand why this has hit me so hard.” She curled into a ball on the sofa. “Why must love feel like this?”
“Oh, dearest.” Anna sank to the floor by Thalia’s side and wrapped her arms around her. “Love can be wonderful, I promise.”
“Then why can’t I have that? I was happy with my life before Maxwell came along.”
“Were you?” Anna asked softly, and Thalia couldn’t bring herself to answer.
Maxwell had taught her what happiness felt like.
And he had also taught her how much heartache could hurt.
CHAPTER 23
“Argh!”
The punch rocked Maxwell’s head back. Pain shattered through his jaw. Nothing was broken yet, but it would not be long until it was. He breathed through his teeth, raising his hands in a parody of his usual pose.
