“Even so, an effort must be made. One day, the House of Lords may surprise us. We will persist until such a day comes.”
Lord Bradfordharrumphed. “I had hoped, with Jillian away, you might show more measured thought. But I see her influence remains.”
Lewis heaved a deep sigh. “Father, I have thought as I do for much longer than even my first acquaintance with my wife. It is a sorry reflection on your and my relationship that you have managed to remain unaware of this. Perhaps it did not matter before because Philip always did as you wished and I was occupied in the courts, not Parliament. But this is who I am. This is how I would have thought and acted even if I had not married her.”
The baron tapped an impatient finger on his desk. “Someone like Miss Sangford would have set you straight. She would have guided you to the right social circles. She would have coaxed you to make better decisions, as all wives do when they have their husbands’ wellbeing in mind.”
“I am sorry you feel that way.” Lewis shrugged. “I happen to think Jillian has done exactly what you wish a wife to do. She has reminded me to consider others and not take myself too seriously.”
“And yet you do not appear to be happy.”
Lewis grew quiet. He lowered his gaze. “That is my own fault.”
“Is it?”
Lewis stared into the palms of his hands. They were empty of answers. How many times hadn’t he had these discussions with his parents? They could not,wouldnot understand. He had allowed himself to be drawn into their world. The very world he had rejected so bitterly until six months ago. He had let their reasoning sour his own. And he had let it sour his relationship with Jillian.
Once again, he was spending his energy in a debate that would have the same outcome as every single one they’d ever had before. He should have been using his time to mend his marriage.
Lewis stood up abruptly. “I’m going for a walk.”
“You’re only running away from the truth,” his father called after him as he marched toward the door.
Lewis ignored him. Or, at least, he tried to. But his father’s words stuck in his mind. Lewis pulled the door of the study open and resisted the urge to slam it shut in frustration. He stalked past a footman, a maid, another maid, and, finally, the butler, disregarding their polite acknowledgements and seeing himself out despite the footman’s race to reach the door before him.
If Jilly had been here, she would have stopped and talked to every single one of them. She would have known about any illness in the family, a sudden hardship, a recent baby. And he would have rolled his eyes impatiently because it Just. Wasn’t.Done. When had he become so much like Philip? Why had he lost sight of the marvel that his wife cared so deeply?
Out in the street, he took a deep breath. The persistent smog drew into his lungs and he coughed it out, only to breathe it in again. It was exactly like the rules that governed his life: insidious, treacherous, and almost impossible to free himself from. Jilly had been his fresh, country air—an uncorrupted, life-affirming force for good.
If he could rather obey his instincts, he would step into the next hired carriage and take himself off to Ermenbrough. He would take Jillian in his arms and renew his vows to her. They would not leave the pastoral peace of that borough until they were whole again and knew the way forward.
Alas, he was bound to London until the end of the season. Corn Laws and riots would demand his attention. His parents would sigh and protest at anything for which Jillian would have admired him.
But.The minute he was done here, he would fly from this prison he had made for himself.
Until next season…
Argh! It was never going to end, was it? Not unless he resigned. But when he became baron, he would be serving in the House of Lords instead. Would he have to leave his wife for half of each year to spare her the misery of London? Or, if he served by proxy only, would he be able to make a real difference, being absent from all debates?
There were so many obstacles to happiness. Where to start in removing them?
As if symbolizing his answer, Lewis began to put one foot in front of the other. He did not know where he was going, only that each step took him further from the household where he had never been happy. He felt the tug of it, pulling him back. But he fought it. He leaned forward, as though against a wind, lifting hisfoot and placing it down a few inches farther ahead. It was like moving through treacle.
Lewis stopped. He turned toward the center of the road, raised a hand, and hailed a passing hackney.
“Where to, sir?” asked the driver.
“Out of the city,” said Lewis, his foot upon the step as he hauled himself up.
“Anywhere in particular?”
“I’ll know it when I see it.”
“Right you are.”
The horse snorted. Quite possibly, it did not like the smog any more than its human companions did.
The rhythmic rumble of wheels on cobbles was both soothing to Lewis’s battered thoughts and bruising to his thighs. It was a long ride to escape the busy thoroughfares that crisscrossed London. It took a good half hour of avoiding shouting pedestrians and near-accidents between reckless vehicles that demanded right of way before the stone and brick of the city made way for open fields. They passed several farms and clopped over a bridge before Lewis found what he had been looking for.
