Unfortunately, the damned fool is correct.
Victor moved toward one of the refreshment tables positioned beneath the trees at the edge of the lawn. Crystal bowls filled with chilled punch gleamed in the sunlight beside silver platters of cakes and sugared fruits. He poured himself another drink slowly while trying very hard not to replay Morgan’s words in his head. Yet the more he considered them, the more irritated he became.
Victor stared into his glass thoughtfully as the sounds of the party carried around him. He had changed. Somewhere between fake engagements, scandalous library kisses, wedding vows, and Charlotte smiling at him over breakfast, he had become a completely different man than the one he had once sworn to remain. He had not visited the pleasure gardens. He had not even thought about Diana Reed or any of his former amusements in weeks.
The thought of pursuing another woman now felt exhausting to him.
Worse, it feels entirely unappealing.
Victor frowned darkly at that realization. Once upon a time, he had sought distraction constantly. Women, drink, gambling, long nights that blurred into mornings, all of it had helped silence the thoughts in his head. Yet now the only thing he seemed to desire was to return home to his wife. He wanted Charlotte beside him at dinner. He wanted her laughter echoing through the manor. He wanted her soft blush whenever he whispered scandalous things in her ear.
Good God. I have lost myself.
Victor took a long swallow of punch.
Marriage was supposed to be convenient. Predictable. Controlled. He had married Charlotte to preserve her reputation and secure her family’s future. That had been the arrangement. Nothing more. Yet lately he found himself thinking about whether she had smiled that day or whether she had slept well or whether some gentleman had looked at her too long.
His grip tightened around the glass.
Jealousy was a particularly ugly emotion. Victor disliked discovering that he was capable of it.
Across the gardens, he spotted Charlotte laughing beside her sisters beneath one of the rose-covered arches. Her cheeks were pink from the heat while sunlight glimmered against her brown curls. Joan was speaking animatedly with her hands while Penelope nearly spilled tea, laughing at something Irene hadwhispered. Charlotte’s smile softened as she watched them, and Victor felt something strange...
Contentment.
The sight of her happy affected him far more than it should have.
“She is quite lovely, you know.”
Victor glanced sideways to find Morgan suddenly beside him again, holding two cakes.
“Have you considered becoming less irritating?” Victor asked dryly.
Morgan offered him one of the cakes. “No,” he answered honestly. “It seems terribly dull.”
Victor declined the cake.
Morgan took a bite himself instead. “You’re madly in love with her,” he said around the mouthful.
Victor immediately stiffened. “Do not be absurd.”
“Oh, I am rarely absurd,” Morgan replied cheerfully. “Reckless, certainly. Occasionally drunk. But never absurd.” He swallowed before grinning knowingly. “You look at your duchess like a starving man looks at supper.”
Victor stared ahead at the gardens. “Desire is not love.”
“Perhaps not,” Morgan agreed lightly. “But preferring her company to all others certainly is.” Victor remained silent. Morgan studied him for a long moment before his teasing expression softened slightly. “You seem frightened by it.”
I am not frightened. I simply know better than to trust happiness.
Morgan sighed dramatically when Victor refused to answer. “There you are again,” he said. “That dreadful brooding silence you always retreat into whenever someone comes too close to the truth.”
Victor shot him a flat look. “And yet you continue attempting conversation.”
Morgan grinned. “Because unlike most men, I enjoy irritating you.”
Victor almost smiled despite himself.
Almost.
