Chapter 10
That could have been much worse. I suspect disaster was averted just now.
Tension gripped every muscle in Henry’s body as he remained just inside the doorway of the drawing room, his gaze wandering over the figure of his wife as she sat back down on the settee.
He had not expected there to be an intrusion of this sort so soon, but he supposed he should have known to be more cautious. Thalia was a popular woman, at least among her carefully curated group of friends. Naturally, they would see no harm or discourtesy in simply dropping by unannounced.
I should not have left the manor.
Still, there was some relief in knowing it had only been his cousin, Frances. Of all the people who might have visited, she was one of the ones who could be trusted to keep her mouth shut if Thalia had revealed the truth of her amnesia.
“How much did you tell her?” Henry asked abruptly, just to be sure.
Thalia leaned forward to retrieve her cup of tea and took a pointed sip before answering. “I told her I was unwell. Why? Am I not allowed to tell people what happened to me?” Her tone was laced with accusation. “Should that not be my decision?”
“I would urge you to be wary,” he replied in what he hoped was an even voice.
“If word reaches society, there are some who will try to use it to their advantage. You are wealthy, Thalia. There are crooked people in the world who would see the combination of amnesia and a grand fortune as a rare opportunity.”
Her brow furrowed, creating the little line between her eyebrows and the slight crinkle on the bridge of her nose that he had often admired. From afar, of course, and always when she was not looking.
“Such as… debts?” she asked.
“Anyone can say that you owe them, and you would not know any different,” he conceded, though that was the least of his concerns.
Still, he would keep his true fears from her; she did not need to fret about greater dangers while she was recovering.
A deeper frown creased Thalia’s brow, as it had done just a few moments ago when Frances had spoken of society’s gossipmongers. It had troubled Henry, more than he would have admitted, to hear that his wife was being spoken about in such a way.
And this is why I abhor society…
“Do you see your cousin often?” Thalia asked a moment later, clearly determined to change the subject. “She seemed surprised to see you.”
“I see James on occasion—her brother—but I do not see Frances often, no,” Henry replied.
Thalia sat back, cradling her teacup. “Then, how is it that she and I are such good friends?”
“She made it so,” Henry explained, as he came to sit on the other end of the settee. “At our wedding, she decided that you would be one of her closest friends, and… I suppose that is what happened.”
“You suppose?”
He leaned back against the armrest. “Remember, wife, that I do not involve myself much in… what occurs in this manor.”
He had been about to say ‘in your life,’ but stopped himself, the words sounding too callous even to his famously sharp tongue.
“I do not know much about your friendship at all,” he continued, “but I have heard from the staff that you are as close as sisters. It is not unusual for Frances to call upon you without warning; I should have considered that. Anyway, it seems she has won your favor all over again… or, you have recalled something?”
Thalia’s throat bobbed, her striking green eyes shining with a sudden sadness. “No, I did not remember her.” She turned to look at him. “Tell me of her. Please.”
Henry had known how to contend with her anger, but he was not quite sure how to deal with this softer, sadder version of her.
It made him uncomfortable, shifting in his seat as his limbs twitched and his nerves strained.
Part of him wanted to make an excuse to leave, but the moment he took in her beautiful face, imploring him, he knew he would not.
Even now, she remained the most exquisite woman he had ever seen, as perfect in this moment as she had been on their wedding day: silken, dark blonde hair, the color of honey; rosy cheeks and a complexion that celebrated her love of the outdoors, the dusting of freckles across her nose marking the long walks that he had heard she favored; full lips that, apparently, were quick to smile though not for him.
But their separation had never been about her beauty, nor the character that he had taken no time to get to know.
“She was married,” he began. “Her husband died in an… unseemly fashion that we do not speak of. She was saddened by the loss, of course, but she was utterly heartbroken by the response of her husband’s family.
They evicted her just a fortnight after her husband’s death, and she returned to her brother’s house, where she has been Frances Brooks again, ever since. ”
Thalia gasped. “Oh… the poor thing! I wish I had known. I wish I had… No, I suppose I could not have offered my sympathies or she would have known I am not myself.” She shook her head. “But she is so cheerful. How can she be, after such cruelty?”
“She is a hardier creature than she appears to be,” Henry explained. “She always has been. When we were much younger, she would insist on being permitted to join us boys in our every endeavor and, to her credit, she never complained and never retreated from a challenge.”
“I think I like her very much,” Thalia said with a quiet laugh, as afternoon sunlight streamed in through the windows and gilded her already beautiful face, adding an ethereal quality.
He nodded. “You do. As I mentioned, the two of you are as close as sisters. She is constantly here, the pair of you as thick as thieves. Indeed, when she spoke of you facing the ton alone, I was surprised, for I assumed she was perpetually at your side.”
Rather than an expression of delight at being told about Frances, Thalia’s head tilted to one side, those green eyes burning with something like suspicion.
“How do you know so much about this friendship if we have been living apart?” she asked, her tone just as distrustful as her pretty eyes.
Henry had said too much. He knew he had, but he could not very well stuff the words back into his mouth.
He hesitated for a moment. “You have not been living in isolation.”
“What does that mean?” she remarked coolly.
“It means that, while I may not live here, you do not live here alone,” he replied. “And just because I am not involved in what you do, that does not mean I am entirely oblivious.”
He thought of Baxter, without whom the past four years would not have been such smooth sailing. The butler was worth his weight in gold for all he had done for Henry, but Henry would not reveal his informant so easily.
Did you think that because I was not here, I was not keeping an eye on you? Just because I am not here often, it does not mean I am indifferent to your existence as my wife.
He kept that part to himself as he watched her with his own eyes; she was growing redder by the second, but whether she would explode or not remained to be seen.
Thalia’s grip tightened around her teacup, if only to hide the fact that her hands were trembling.
He has been watching me! This beast has been watching me!
She leveled a cold gaze at him, but, inside, her feelings were harder to disentangle. She knew she should be apoplectically furious with him for invading her privacy in such a way, yet there was the most peculiar rush of… reassurance that no amount of silent cursing could sweep away.
Oh, this woman truly is mad, she scolded herself. The wife. The duchess. The woman she both was and was not. She has been hoodwinked by a handsome face and the illusion of freedom! Silly dolt!
“You have spies?” she accused sourly. “What is the point of that? Why not just reside in this manor and spy on me yourself? Why not be like every other husband of convenience and cast judgment from the other side of the room, tossing in a few tart remarks every now and then to remind me of what I have married?”
He laughed quietly, enraging her further. “I simply needed to know that you were not causing any trouble; there is nothing nefarious about it.” He got up. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have things to attend to.”
“No!” Thalia jumped to her feet as he passed by. “You cannot tell me you have been spying on me and then think I will just accept your departure. It is… it is… unseemly! It is a wretched thing to do! Do I know you have been spying on me?”
He paused in his exit, turning back to face her. “You shall have to tell me, when you remember.”
“And if I do not remember?”
“Then, we shall never know,” he said in a voice so nonchalant that she wanted to grasp him by his lapels and shake him.
Although, she doubted she could make him budge even if she were to throw herself bodily at him. He stood at well over six-feet, towering above her, and even in his finely tailored clothing, she could see the strain and bulge of muscles she could not begin to name… or imagine.
That being said, her mind was having less trouble with the latter.
“Whatever freedom you promised me must have been a lie,” she rasped, as furious with herself for that lingering reassurance as she was with him.
“It was no lie. Being distantly aware of what you were doing does not undo your freedom. It was my insurance,” he said calmly. “Would you let a stranger loose in your home without having some notion of what they were doing?”
She could not argue with that and hated that she could not.
“Once they were no longer a stranger, I would stop,” she pointed out, aware of how feeble her retort was.
He smiled. “I did not say that I did not. You are making assumptions.”
“Then be plain with me or you are just a… a…” she could not think of the right word as he came closer “… a tormentor! Toying with me. A hypocrite, manipulating and influencing and taking advantage of my predicament like those you have warned me against.”
He paused, a frown appearing. “I am no hypocrite.” He gestured toward the door. “I think you should retire before you exhaust yourself again.”
“And I think you should return me to my family, as I have asked you to do,” she shot back.
“I would learn who I am, and who I have been these past four years, from them, since you will not be forthcoming with me. I would have them testify to all you have said, and all you have not said, since you evidently cannot be trusted.”
In a rush, he closed the gap between them, as if he meant to seize hold of her. Perhaps, he also had the sudden urge to shake her.
Instead, he simply stopped just a few inches from her, breathing hard, his blue eyes glittering as he stared down at her. And she did not step back, her whole being somehow unafraid, despite the intensity of him and the stance that should have felt like a threat.
Why am I not scared? What insanity is this? Indeed, how hard did I hit my head, exactly.
For a breathtaking moment, his gaze drifted to her lips before flitting back to her eyes.
As it did, his hand lifted slowly, as though he meant to touch her, but he curled his fingers into a fist at the last second and put both of his arms behind his back.
Like he could not trust himself, any more than she trusted him.
Thalia’s heart thundered in her chest, so loud she was certain he must have been able to hear each frantic beat. Not the percussion of terror, but of something else. Something that scared her far more than any anger or perceived threat could.
“Tomorrow,” he said thickly, as he withdrew, turning his back on her.
“Tomorrow?” she gasped, clearing her throat. “What about tomorrow?”
He hesitated at the door. “You will get what you desire.”
“Pardon?” Her heart raced faster, her head dizzy, her lungs struggling.
“Tomorrow, I will take you to your family.” With that, he walked out, unaware that he had taken all of the air in the room with him.