“We cannot… You areengaged…” Fletcher buried his head in his hands.
“Fletcher,” she said softly, but he could not bear to look at her.
* * *
Now Fletcher was going through some kind of crisis.
Kissing him had felt amazing. Nothing like kissing Rotherfeld. Kissing Fletcher had made Louisa feel warm and tingly, and she had enjoyed it immensely, and she wanted to do it again, but now Fletcher stood before her, hiding his face.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” she said.
“You’re engaged. And not to me.”
“What just happened… Rotherfeld will never know.”
“That’s not…” He dropped his hands and eyed her. “I do not behave this way. I do not kiss virginal young women who are engaged to other men.”
“Right. You keep your indiscretions to incorruptible women.” She said it flatly. She was stating a fact.
“You mock me, but I’m really trying to do right by you. And what we just did, that should not have happened.”
She nodded. Fletcher was right, she was putting him in a difficult position. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have done that, but at least I know now what kissingcanbe like.”
“Maybe it was a…maybe the timing was wrong. You should try again. With Rotherfeld.”
“Yes. Absolutely.” Although she doubted the timing could have been wrong on every kiss attempt, and frankly, she was surprised Rotherfeld didn’t recognize how bad their kisses were.
But this was all extremely confusing. Suddenly feeling lightheaded, Louisa sat on the settee and took a fortifying sip of tea. The tea warmed her, at least; it was the same vaguely spicy blend the Greystone house had been serving for years, and it tasted like Louisa’s childhood. She’d spend many afternoons in this sitting room, in fact, struggling to sit still while her mother visited with Fletcher’s, or chasing Fletcher around the furniture,or defeating Fletcher at chess as they sat upon the floor in front of the fireplace.
Fletcher had been a joyful and open child, endlessly curious, often mischievous, but he had always looked out for Louisa. He’d indulge Louisa’s whims until they became dangerous or unless he saw them playing out in a way that would make her unhappy. He was older, yes, and like a big brother, he took care of her, but there was something else here, too, now that they were adults. Fletcher had become more guarded, especially since Louisa’s engagement had been announced.
Fletcher resumed his seat across from her and looked at her warily.
“So what will you do now?” Fletcher asked.
“I don’t know. I suppose I owe it to my fiancé to give him another chance.”
He frowned. “Yes. But say…say heisdull. You find no common ground. Say he can’t kiss you the way you want him to. Will you still marry him?”
“I don’t know. Am I dooming myself to a dull life if I do?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“I don’t think good looks are enough to hang a marriage on. People tell me all the time that he and I make an attractive couple, but if we have nothing to talk about… But then I think, maybe it doesn’t matter, if my only task is to produce his heirs.”
“That should not be your only task.”
“No?”
“No. I may not know much about marriage, but I do know that I have friends in happy ones, and they treat their wives as friends and companions. Hugh still struggles a bit with that headinjury, so Adele helps him. When he has memory lapses, she helps him fill in the blanks. And Grace practically runs Owen’s estate in Wales, and she still makes art on the side.”
Louisa nodded. That sounded more like the marriage Louisa wanted for herself. Not to settle for dullness with Rotherfeld. But if not Rotherfeld, then who?
“I say all this to point out,” Fletcher said, “your marriage need not be one where you just put up with a husband who you like to look at. That would be dull and unsatisfying. And maybe I exaggerate Rotherfeld’s faults. Maybe he does have interests that are worth discussing. Maybe you’ll help him manage his property or take up some interesting hobbies, or…I don’t know. But what Idoknow, my dearest Louisa, is that you are one of the best people I know, and you deserve to have a marriage to someone you adore and who adores you, with happiness and good health and, well, physical relations and all of it. Because I know how curious and passionate you are, and you would not do well with a dull husband. I fear it would be a prison for you. But I don’t know Rotherfeld well.”
In other words, Fletcher did not care for Rotherfeld. And if Louisa’s closest friend did not like her husband, that could be a problem.
Louisa regarded him now. Fletcher was in his typical daytime uniform of a neatly tailored blue coat and close-fitting gray trousers. Not the height of fashion, exactly, although the trousers were more modern than the breeches he often wore with more formal outfits. His black shoes were shined enough for Louisa to see her reflection in them. His hair was combed away from his face, and he was clean-shaven, but Louisa suddenly found herself curious. Did he have hair on his chest? Men did, didn’t they? Did he have the sort of muscular figurethe Greek statues did? Was his body softer? She didn’t think so, based on the cut of his coat, but it was difficult to tell.
