“For what, Your Grace?”
“For... for...” But his throat thickened, making it impossible for him to get the words out. An entire decade’s worth of words bottled up under layers of resentment that he’d directed at those who deserved it least. He gazed at her helplessly, silently pleading for her to understand, and, of course, she did.
Agnes always had.
“There, there,” she said briskly, reaching out to give his hands a squeeze. “Nothing tae trouble yourself with. Nothing a’tall. Ye are here when ye need tae be, and I am the last tae place blame at your feet for staying away as long as ye did.” Her grip tightened. “But that’s not tae say there isn’t someone else ye owe an explanation to.”
“Mara,” he said, barely suppressing a wince. Agnes might have been heartily into her sixtieth year, but the Scottish woman had the strength of an ox. “In case you hadn’t heard, she wants nothing to do with me.”
“And for that Idoblame ye,” Agnes said sternly. “Marrying that sweet young girl and then leaving her here at this cold, unfeeling place tae fend for herself. With all due respect, Your Grace. What in the name of the bean-nighe were ye thinking?”
“I’m starting to believe that ‘with all due respect’ doesn’t mean what you and Humphrey think it means,” he said dryly, extricating his hands from Agnes’s death hold before she ground all the bones in his fingers to dust. “It is not uncommon for a husband and wife to live apart. In fact, it’smorecommon than naught.”
“For them, maybe,” Agnes said with a dismissive turn of her wrist. “But not for ye, and certainly not for her. Ye need tae fix it.”
Ambrose snorted. “A marriage isn’t a torn garment to be repaired.”
“Is it not? When a waistcoat is new, it’s easy tae care for. A bit of cleaning now and again. But when it starts tae fray, as all clothing inevitably does, and the buttons loosen, ye have two choices. Ye can toss it away and buy another, or ye can take the time and the dedication to fix what is worn. Tae fix what ye alreadyknowfits ye.” The housekeeper put her hands on her hips, and even though she was a good foot shorter than Ambrose’s solid six feet, somehow managed to look down her nose at him. “Don’t be afraid tae pick up a needle, Your Grace.”
Afraid, he thought scornfully as Agnes followed in Humphrey’s footsteps and quit the bedchamber. He wasn’tafraidof his marriage or of Mara, and he’d even go so far as to prove it. But later that evening, when he went downstairs, fully expecting the Duchess of Southwick to be waiting for him in the dining room as he’d requested, she was nowhere to be seen.
“Fine,” he said aloud, scowling at his soup. And then, to a footman standing in the corner, he growled, “Take the other place setting away. The duchess will not be joining me for dinner.”
If his dear, doting wife—who he wasnotafraid of—wanted to ignore a direct order and remain hidden away in her private quarters, then she could eat her supper cold. It didn’t bother him one way or another.Shedidn’t bother him one way or another. His earlier... reactions... were likely nothing more than a random sensitivity to dust.
Ambrose didn’t love his wife.
He had to sneeze.
And that was that.
Chapter Ten
If Ambrose genuinelybelieved that she was going to join him for dinner after the way he’d treated her in the solarium, Mara fumed whilst yanking a brush through her hair, then he hadn’t been paying close enough attention.
She wasn’t—she refused to be—the timid, shy, weak girl that he’d abandoned here all those months ago. If she was brave enough to solicit an affair, then she could be brave enough to stand up to her brute of a husband. And that was exactly what she meant to do. Ambrose could have the privilege of dining with her when he’dearnedit. Until then, he could do as she’d done since the last time she’d seen him.
Eat alone.
“Thank you, Agnes,” she told her lady’s maid after the older woman had finished fluffing her pillows and laying out a simple white nightdress adorned with lace at the scalloped neckline and sleeves. “That will be all for tonight.”
“Ye have hardly touched your food,” Agnes observed, frowning at the uneaten bowl of soup and bread that she’d carried up nearly an hour ago. “Ye have tae eat, Your Grace.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t much of an appetite tonight, but tomorrow I’ll make sure to eat a hearty breakfast,” Mara promised, touched—as always—by Agnes’s care. Without the Scotswoman to talk to, and walk with, and while away the hours with, she surely would have been driven mad by solitude. She owed Agnes a debt larger than she could repay and would sorely miss her when she traveled to London.
Agnes clucked her tongue as she lifted the platter of food and rested it against her belly. “See that ye do. Is there anything else that ye require, Your Grace? I’d be happy tae plait your hair, if ye would like.”
Mara raised a frizzled red curl and smiled wryly. “I think it’s beyond plaiting at this point, but hopefully a night of sleep will flatten it back out again.”
“As ye wish.” But Agnes still hesitated. “Are ye sure I canna help ye with—”
“Go,” she said firmly, making a shooing motion with her hand. “I don’t need to be coddled or watched after. I’ll be fine. Iamfine.” Thankfully, she was better at lying than she was tending to her own hair.
“But—”
“Go,” she insisted. “It’s getting late. Your husband is surely waiting for you.”
“If you’re sure there’s nothing else—”
