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This was another reason he and Marie did not suit. Charles had always received a great deal of value in the knowledge that he was needed, whether that was by Tristan when they were children in fistfights against larger, older boys, or when their friends had needed a laugh or a simple distraction to help calm them during their tour around Europe.

He’d seen Andrew Langford’s wife, Sophie, rely on her husband to keep her reputation safe. Mother depended on Father to keep her entertained and cared for. With no wife to aid in such a way, no wife to need him in such a way, what value could Charles ever provide to his own marriage?

His footsteps slowed, weighed down by his heavy thoughts as he passed by the lych gate of the local church. He glanced through the small, roofed archway, spotting the stone chapel a good distance from it and a bench that was occupied by a woman.

He looked away, only to return a moment later as he recognized Marie. She wore a light blue pelisse that matched the ribbons in her hair, and her straw bonnet rested on her lap. She sat turned away from Charles’s view until she straightened, and her tear-strewn cheeks glinted in the light.

Charles stiffened. He had never seen Marie exude any such emotion before. He might have even thought her incapable of crying. And yet, as she reached up with gloveless hands to dab at her tears with a wrinkled handkerchief, the evidence was undeniable. And he had no idea what to do about it.

Obviously, she had never revealed this side of her before because she did not trust Charles. How could she when all he’d done was complain about their marriage for three days? Was that why she’d become emotional? Or were these tears residual from the cruelty he’d shown her before?

He shifted his boots uncomfortably in the dirt, still unnoticed by Marie as he remained hidden behind the covered gate. Crying women always made him question himself. He never knew what to say or what to do. This was, in part, due to Mother, for her tears could always be turned on and off with the blink of an eye.

But Marie seemed genuinely upset. What could he do for her if she did not want his help? He would no doubt make matters worse whatever his efforts were.

And yet, as she swiped away another tear, his heart twisted. He had to help her. He yearned to help her. For not only was he her husband, he was also the cause of her tears.

Marie tried to stop, but her tears slipped down her cheeks with no inclination to cease. It was as if her body knew she was free to release years of pent-up emotion, for not only was she away from Father, but she was also away from Charles, who, she suspected, despised tears as much as Father did.

That was precisely why she’d walked to the church. With the cottage’s thin walls, she’d have no chance at privacy.

Still, she didn’t approve of the emotion either, and soon, instead of dabbing at her tears, she swiped the moisture away in frustration with her bare hands. She hated crying. It prevented her stoic front from protecting her vulnerable state. And yet, she could not help herself.

She’d been fine for two days now, but being alone once again, her thoughts shifted to sorrow as she realized that her loneliness was going to increase tenfold if her marriage with Charles continued or ended.

If it continued, they would remain in this manner their entire lives—him leaving, her staying. And if it ended, she would be without a husband forever.

Logically, she knew he would not annul the marriage if her reputation was at risk, but he seemed so determined, she feared he would stop at nothing to seize control of his future. Which would leave her with no future at all.

A fresh bout of tears streamed from her eyes, and once again, she aggressively swiped at them. Thank heavens Charles could not see her. If he did, he would⁠—

“Marie?”

She gasped, swinging around on the bench to find Charles himself approaching her with hesitant footsteps.

“Charles,” she said, clearing her throat and turning away for a brief moment to wipe whatever moisture remained on her face. The shock from his sudden appearance finally put a stopper on her tears. “Enjoying your walk?”

He stopped a few paces away from her. “I am. I was walking by the church when I...saw you.”

Blast. He’d seen her crying in all her state, then. She drew a settling breath. “Yes, I wished to enjoy a small walk.”

He was silent for a moment. “I thought you didn’t like being out of doors.”

“I never said that,” she stated. “I merely said I prefer to be indoors.”

Although, now that she thought about it, perhaps that was because Mother and Father preferred to be indoors—and she simply did not wish to be alone when she ventured outside. They always complained about the heat or the rain or the sunshine or the clouds, when in reality, Marie might not have minded being out of doors if she was with someone who enjoyed it. Like Charles.

“May I sit with you for a moment?” he asked, still standing a few steps away.

“If you wish.”

He sat down beside her, the wood creaking as he settled a foot’s length away. Silence fell when he removed his hat and circled the rim around his hands.

She had assumed he’d immediately pelt her with questions as to why she was walking alone or why she was crying, but as each moment ticked by in continued silence, her worries quieted.

He must not have wanted to speak as much as she didn’t want to.

They both stared across the small field that extended off the grounds of the church. Tall grass rippled in the gentle wind that brought with it the scent of the hyacinths growing in the nearby woods. Blue skies appeared between thick clouds, and all was quiet apart from the subtle bleating of distant sheep and the rustling of leaves from the oak tree they sat beneath.