Chapter 18
“Traitor,” Frances said with a wink. “No, no, it is quite all right. I will be content with my delicacies until you return to me.”
Smiling awkwardly, her hand feeling out of place upon James’, Thalia promised she would soon be back. With that, she was suddenly being led out of the room, heading back toward the gossip and the whispers of the ballroom.
“I fear I may have angered you, Duchess,” James said as they walked.
“I understand that you are fiercely protective of my sister; you have been instrumental to her recovery after the death of her husband. So, I do hope you know that I was merely jesting with her before. It is what we do, but I know it may seem mean-spirited to those who are unaccustomed.”
Thalia glanced up at him, appreciating the gesture of apology.
Indeed, he seemed a pleasant enough fellow, though there was not much of a cousinly resemblance.
Where Henry’s eyes were sapphire blue, James’ were a warm sort of brown, his hair as fair as his sister’s, his features handsome but ordinary.
If it were not for that bright blonde hair, he would not have stood out in a crowd, not the way that Henry did.
“I just do not like to see my friends hurt,” Thalia replied. “Thalia assured me she was not, so all is well.”
James seemed relieved. “So, she does not mention marrying again to you?”
She remembered what Henry had said about Frances’ unceremonious ejection from the household she had married into, and patched together a picture of what Frances’ feelings on the matter might be. Not a memory, or certain knowledge, but close enough.
“She does not. I think the shock of the first time was enough.”
James nodded. “That is as I thought. She does not speak of it, you see, though I am not foolhardy enough to think you would betray your dear friend’s confidence either.
” He smiled warmly. “But I hope you know I have no intention of forcing her into a match. We are not wealthy in the way that my cousin is, but we are comfortable; she has a place with me forever if she so chooses.”
“I am glad to hear that,” Thalia said, meaning it.
“However, despite what she says to the contrary, I know she would be heartened if you would visit her sometimes. The Frances you see often is not the same Frances who exists at Weverton,” he said sadly, ushering her through into the ballroom.
Thalia paused, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“She becomes so gloomy at Weverton,” James admitted.
“It is harder to escape oneself when one only has one’s company, I suppose.
She does not get along with my wife, unfortunately, and my son is most often with his governess.
But you would undoubtedly bring some vitality to the manor if you were to call upon her now and then. ”
With a hand to her heart, Thalia gave a slow nod of agreement. She had suspected that no one could be quite so cheery and optimistic after suffering such heartache and cruelty, and felt rather guilty that she clearly had not done more for her friend.
“I shall be better with sharing the effort,” she promised, wishing she could remember why she had not visited more often.
The house cannot be in such a terrible state, can it? Maybe, it is because that is where Frances is gloomy. She does not want me to see her that way.
James sighed, as if relieved. “You are a good friend to her, Duchess. I do not know what she would do without you.” He smiled. “Now, let us dance.”
Taking an anxious breath, Thalia nodded. “Yes, I suppose we should.”
She had only made it a few steps toward the dance floor when a figure stepped out in front of her, his towering height casting a shadow that brought her shy gaze upward.
“Where are you going?” Henry asked, a frown forming a line between his eyebrows.
James gestured toward the dancers, the music fading to a conclusion. “We were about to dance, Cousin.”
“No,” Henry replied sternly, as he reached for Thalia’s hand, taking it from where it rested upon James’. “No one dances with my wife before I have.”
The other man took a step away, his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender. “I would not dream of stealing the privilege from you, Cousin. I did not realize you cared to dance, but it seems much has changed.” He bowed his head to Thalia. “My apologies.”
A moment later, James wandered off, leaving Thalia and Henry alone on the periphery of the dance floor.
In truth, Thalia had not known that her husband cared to dance either; not because she could not remember anything, but because they had, apparently, been leading separate lives.
It seemed unlikely that they had ever danced before.
“The next set will begin soon,” Henry said stiffly. “We should get in position.”
Thalia took a steadying breath. “Yes, I suppose we should.”
She followed the light pull of his hand onto the floor, where they found their places among the other, far more eager dancers.
Swallowing past the nervous lump in her throat, she forced herself to look directly into her husband’s eyes as he stood opposite, determined to hold his gaze though every instinct urged her to look away.
There was something about the intimacy of gazing into his eyes that made her feel unmoored, as troubling as the way her heart raced whenever he was too close.
I must have a journal somewhere. I must have written about him.
Someone must know how I felt about him. She had searched Holdridge high and low for some hint of who she was before, some encyclopedia of herself, but had found nothing.
As if all trace of the Duchess had been removed, yet Mrs. Fisher and Rowena had both insisted that none of her things had been touched.
Just then, the music began afresh, and Thalia stepped gracefully toward her husband.
“Did you tell that Mr. Baxter to do something with my belongings?” she asked abruptly, raising her palm to Henry’s.
He raised an eyebrow. “What? Certainly not.”
“Then why can I find no correspondence, no letters, no nothing?”
“I do not know. I have no notion of where you kept your correspondence.”
They turned in three lively circles, before switching palms to turn in the opposite direction. Even through her gloves, Thalia could feel the warmth of his hand, fighting the sudden, bewildering impulse to slide her fingers between his.
“I did not realize it was common to interrogate during a dance,” Henry added, something like wry humor in his expression.
Thalia scoffed. “Then, you must not have attended any balls at all. A dance is the very place to interrogate. Indeed, what is the Season for unmarried ladies and gentlemen but one lengthy interrogation?” She shuddered at the memory of her debut.
“You find out what someone likes, what they dislike, if they enjoy the theater, if they favor the opera, if they prefer music or poetry, or both… and so on.”
“I never partook,” Henry replied simply, gaining a glare from her.
“No, I suppose you did not, seeing as our marriage is what it is. An arranged thing. A convenient thing.” She paused as they swept away from each other, hopped in their respective places, then came back together. “This must be our first dance ever, is it not?”
Henry nodded. “It is.”
“Is that why you did not want me to dance with James?” she asked. “You realize that I must have danced with plenty of gentlemen before, do you not? It would seem strange if a duchess attended events and did not take to the dance floor at least once. Yet, it appears that was not a bother to you.”
A cold look fell across Henry’s face, as they joined hands in a cross configuration, to begin a promenade.
“It would seem stranger if a duchess did not dance with her duke before anyone else. Would you invite fresh gossip and scrutiny by not dancing with me first? Really, you should have thought ahead before accepting James’ request.”
So, this is not you wanting to dance with me at all. This is about how it makes you look, yet again.
Annoyance bubbled away in Thalia’s veins like a pot about to boil over, her pride a little dented. But what had she expected? That her formerly distant, absent husband had suddenly transformed into one who did not wish to be parted from her, not even for the duration of a dance?
“It would not invite fresh gossip at all; it would merely be a repetition of the old,” she remarked. “Apparently, you have a horde of paramours, and I am a silly thing waiting at home for you, oblivious.”
As Henry raised his hand up to turn her in a circle, his expression was peculiar, strained as if he was trying to fight amusement.
“Is that funny to you?” Thalia rasped, as they swayed from side to side, before returning in the direction they had just come, promenading. A dance step that made it impossible to be anything but close to him.
“It is rather ridiculous,” he replied. “Anyone who knew me would laugh at such an accusation.”
Thalia’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, well, I do not know you, do I? Even before… my injury, I did not know you. I have enough pride to know that I would not mope around for someone, least of all an absent husband, but I can only take your word for the rest.”
She shook her head. “I mean, I certainly am not to your liking, I know you do not find me appealing, so why would you not have a paramour? Someone you actually like. All I ask is that I am informed.”
“I cannot inform you of something that simply is not true,” Henry said, turning to face her, as they moved together in a box step. “I have never been disloyal. It has never been a matter of finding you unappealing. Indeed, that is part of the problem.”
Thalia wobbled, losing her footing at the shock of what he had just said.
“What?” she managed to whisper, as his hands shot out to steady her.
His grip did more than balance her, snatching away her breath as she peered up at him, wide-eyed.
In kind, he stared back at her, with such intensity that her heart began to pound violently.
And when his gaze flitted to her lips, she wished she had brought her fan to cool the heat in her face, for if this kept up, she was bound to faint.
He would not… would he? He would not kiss me in front of all these people.
The thought swiftly reminded her that there was quite an audience. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see people staring, cupping their hands to the ears of others to whisper, muttering under their breaths.
But Henry seemed unperturbed, his eyes burning, his hold upon her almost possessive, as he moved a half step that brought him inappropriately close. Barely an inch between them.
He is going to kiss me…
And she was too dazed to be able to decide if that was what she wanted or not. Her thundering heart seemed to say “yes” while her foggy, impaired mind was split. Did that give “yes” the majority? She did not know.
Just then, the music came to an end, the rest of the dancers drawing apart to curtsy and bow respectively.
Instead, Henry put an arm around her and whispered, “Pretend your foot is sore.”
“What?” she murmured.
“Your foot. Pretend it is sore. It will gain you their sympathy, and they will forget that you stumbled.”
Any involuntary desire to be kissed evaporated, the moment gone, as her wide eyes narrowed in irritation once more. Evidently, he cared more about her misstep than anything else.
Nevertheless, she feigned a mild limp as Henry ‘helped’ her from the dance floor, the pressure of his arm around her tempering her anger just a little bit. Which only served to annoy her more. Why did he keep confusing her like this? Why did her traitorous heart keep racing?
And what on earth had he meant when he said that not finding her unappealing was part of the problem?
Is he attracted to me, after all?
Somehow, that felt like an alarming prospect, particularly when paired with the knowledge that she had recently desired to be a mother. Asked Henry to make her a mother, according to some letter she could not remember, and according to Frances who had no reason to lie.
Now that Thalia thought about it, that was the second time she had been certain that her husband was about to kiss her. And that was a problem for her, too.