Chapter 16
Be civil, Thalia. You are in a beautiful dress; you cannot be sour in a beautiful dress.
It had been five days since she had last seen her husband for more than a glimpsed second. He had not dined with her, had not visited her in her chambers to see how she was faring, had not so much as sent a message through a servant to make her feel remembered.
The worst part was, she did not know what she had done to make him distance himself again.
He was the one who had held her that night in the library.
He was the one who had stayed awhile, asking her questions, telling her about himself.
He was the one who must have covered her with the blanket when she accidentally fell asleep.
It cannot be because I drifted off while he was talking, can it? That would be so very childish. She had asked herself the same question over and over since and, frankly, it was driving her mad.
“We are here,” Henry said from the opposite side of the squabs, the first words he had spoken to her aside from a gruff “we will be late” before they departed Holdridge Court.
She stared at him. “Yes, I can see that. The carriage usually does stop when we have arrived at our destination. Goodness, it would be a perilous thing if one had to step out of the carriage while it was still moving.”
He frowned at her, as if she had displeased him. “What?”
“Nothing,” she muttered, wondering why she had bothered to put on such a lovely gown at all when he clearly did not care either way. She could have worn a sack, and it would have made no difference to him.
She shifted awkwardly on the squabs, holding the sides of her cloak tighter around herself so that he would not be able to peek at the dress beneath.
It had not yet been revealed to him, but she had half a mind to just keep the cloak on, so he would not see the trouble she had gone to, to make a good impression.
The door opened and Henry exited ahead of her. He made it two steps before he turned back and extended a hand to her, evidently forgetting how a husband was supposed to behave.
It should not be a surprise when he has not been around these past four years…
Nevertheless, she took his hand and allowed him to help her from the carriage, while continuing to urge herself to be nice, to be civil, to put on a show for society. And hope they did not notice that she was not quite herself.
“Thalia!” a voice shrieked, a figure shooting down the porch steps toward her. “You came!”
Thalia laughed as she hugged Frances. “I could not let you down.”
“But are you feeling better?” Frances pulled back and stared intently at Thalia’s face. “If you are still unwell, I shall have no choice but to send you back home.”
Henry cleared his throat. “If she was still unwell, I would not have permitted her to leave the manor.”
“When have you ever had any say in what she does or does not do?” Frances replied with a snort of laughter, as she weaved her arm through Thalia’s. “Heavens, I think I preferred it when my cousin was not accompanying you to these gatherings.”
Thalia cast a look at her husband. “The night is still young. Perhaps, he will change our minds.”
His blue eyes darkened for a moment, his mouth opening to say something. Before he could utter a single syllable of protest or a retort, Frances whisked Thalia away, up the stairs and into the residence of the mysterious ‘Catherine,’ whom Thalia still could not remember.
“May someone please take my friend’s cloak?” Frances asked as they entered the foyer of the grand manor.
It was not as charming as Farhampton, nor as breathtaking as Holdridge, but the house was airy and welcoming, the entrance hall decorated for the occasion with garlands and fresh sprays of flowers.
Thalia took in every detail from the somewhat stern portraits that hung on the walls to the Persian rugs that covered timeworn flagstones and the curving stairwell that led up to the other floors.
She eyed the roses in the vases and, indeed, the vases themselves, desperately trying to find something that might ignite a memory.
Just then, a footman came forward to take Thalia’s cloak.
“Thank you,” she said, as she reached for the knot at her throat. “Ah… just give me a moment. It appears to be fastened too tight.”
She fumbled at the knot as a prickly, flustered sensation began to beetle down her spine. Other guests had begun to take notice of her, and she could feel their eyes on her, yet the more she tried to untie the knot, the harder it became.
“Allow me,” Henry said, appearing in front of her.
His breadth and his athletic bulk created a wall between Thalia and those prying, judging eyes, while his hands came up to tend to the pesky knot.
As he teased the cords apart, she peered up at him, marveling silently at the incomparable beauty of him.
Up close, it was even more disarming, his proximity a knot of its own, constricting her chest until her breaths shallowed.
It cannot be good for my condition, to have my heart keep racing like this…
Yet, no amount of inner scolding could suppress the memory of being in those strong, muscular arms in the library.
On her divan, no less, alone without a chaperone.
She thought of how those same fingertips had brushed the tears from her cheeks, how soft and thoughtful he had been, how safe she had felt, if just for a short while.
And then he all but vanished for a week. She could not forget that part. Would not.
“There,” he said, as the knot loosened and the footman stepped in to try and take the cloak from Thalia’s shoulders.
Henry shot the man a sharp look, and the servant backed off with his head bowed.
With the footman’s slight retreat, Henry did the honors, gently sliding the cloak from Thalia.
As he did, whether intentional or not, his hands lightly brushed her collarbone and skimmed her shoulders, before he passed the cloak into one hand.
“Now, you may take it,” Henry said to the footman.
The visibly anxious servant took the cloak and hurried off, yet neither Henry nor Thalia moved a muscle.
He gazed down at her with those shining blue eyes, his closeness robbing her of breath and nudging her heart into a frenzied percussion that he had to be able to hear.
It did not help that she could still feel the tingle where his fingertips had brushed her bare skin.
Do not be drawn in by him!
Heeding that warning, she stared back at him with what she hoped was a cooler expression, as if they were in the midst of a challenge to see who would be the first to break the quiet intensity.
In the end, it was Frances.
“Come, Thalia!” she said eagerly, grabbing hold of Thalia’s hand.
“My brother is here, and I am desperate for the two of you to meet. I have been trying for years to acquaint you, but it has never quite worked out. He is always so busy with his endeavors and his wife and my nephew, but, for tonight at least, I shall get my wish!”
“James is here?” Henry’s voice interjected, as Thalia felt a slight pressure on the small of her back, her husband’s palm coming to rest there.
Frances grinned. “He did not believe me when I said you were coming too. I wish I had made a bet, but no matter; I can just gloat that I was right instead.”
“Well, dear husband,” Thalia whispered dryly, uncertain of whether or not she should ask him to withdraw his hand, “it would appear that tonight is going to be something of a family reunion.”
She had meant it in jest, but Henry did not seem amused at all as Frances led the way to the ballroom…
and Henry’s hand remained on the small of Thalia’s back, edging toward the curve of her waist. A support that she had not known she needed, especially as they stepped into the ballroom, and the whispers began.