Chapter 21
“Did the duchess return?” Henry rubbed the last of the dampness from his hair with a bath-linen, as he turned to look at Baxter.
The butler gave a small bow of his head. “She did, Your Grace.”
“How did she seem?”
Does she despise me more than she already did?
For Henry’s part, he could still feel the shape of her in his arms, the soft warmth of her, and the way she had seemed to lean back into him.
Melting into him, almost. It had been unexpected.
At the time, it had felt remarkable, but now it rather felt like trouble.
This was why he was supposed to keep his distance. Otherwise, he stood to upset the delicate balance of their somewhat unusual marriage, changing the terms of a deal that had served them well enough for four years. And he was not someone who broke promises.
Baxter seemed uncomfortable, which was strange for a man who, in most things, was unflappable.
“Very pale, Your Grace. I believe she is suffering some manner of headache.” He paused.
“Mrs. Fisher is taking care of her now, and chicken soup has been ordered from the kitchens. There was talk of the physician, but the duchess has refused.”
“A headache?” Henry frowned.
He had seen her leave the boathouse; he had watched her from beneath the willow tree. She had seemed in good health, wearing a dry dress, nothing out of the ordinary. Had he missed something?
She was in the boathouse for rather a long time, he realized, but the boathouse was also a part of their deal; it was one place he was not permitted to enter. Sometimes, it was where she went when he was in residence, like a small home away from the manor. Away from him.
Perhaps, he should have slackened that rule, seeing as she likely did not remember it.
“Send for the physician anyway,” he instructed, wondering if it was truly a headache or if it was an excuse to keep him at bay.
As if that would not encourage me, more like. No matter their arrangement, nothing would be able to prevent him from racing to her side if she needed him, if she was in some peril.
“You do not wish to attend to her?” Baxter asked, his tone a little surprised.
Henry hesitated. “I suppose I should.” A groan caught the back of his throat. “But James and Frances are due to arrive at any moment. You see, this is why I prefer to be absent from society; it is nothing but trouble afterward.”
“Shall I send them away?” Baxter said.
For a moment, Henry was tempted, but he had been a bad cousin in recent years and, despite his protests to the contrary, he had rather liked seeing them at the ball.
A reminder of the better portion of old times: the summers where all four cousins spent weeks together at Holdridge or Weverton; games at Eton where he and James were on the same side; the support of James when Walter was being particularly obnoxious.
“No, I shall greet them and explain,” Henry replied. “By then, the physician will probably be here.”
Thalia will not want to see me, anyway, whether it is a real headache or not. He would just have to ask the physician what the matter was, after the fact, and hope it was not something he had missed by the lake.
Just then, he heard the crunching rattle of a carriage approaching. Padding over to the tower window to look out at the driveway, he recognized it immediately.
“They are here,” he muttered, knowing that Thalia’s absence was not going to go down well at all with Frances.
“What do you mean, she is unwell?” Frances cried, jumping up from the drawing room settee in indignation. “What manner of ailment? Is it that headache again? Well, I must see her at once. It must be very serious indeed if she will not come down to see me.”
Henry had to put himself in front of the drawing room door to prevent her. “The physician is on his way, and my wife has asked that she not be disturbed. Yes, it is that headache again, so she does not need you chattering away at her, making it worse.”
He felt a little guilty for that, as he did about telling a white lie in regard to Thalia asking to be left alone. The housekeeper, Mrs. Fisher, was the one who had demanded complete rest and peace for Thalia. She, herself, probably would not have minded having the company of her best friend.
“Now, you listen to me,” Frances urged, pointing a finger, “I know there is something more to this. I know there is more to this that no one is telling me. I cannot understand why Thalia will not tell me, but you must; it is a rule of blood. Family cannot lie to one another.”
Somewhat thrown by his cousin’s perceptiveness, it took a moment for Henry to school his expression into one of blank calm. Or what he hoped was blank calm, at least.
“It is just a headache,” he insisted. “It is all in hand.”
From his seat at the other end of the settee, James muttered in a stern voice, “Would you sit down, Frances. Henry is right; the duchess does not need you making her feel worse by fussing over her. If a physician has been sent for, then there is nothing else to be done.” He paused.
“But you would tell us if anything was wrong with Thalia, would you not?”
“Of course,” Henry lied.
James gave a small nod, but something in his face suggested he did not fully believe it. “Is she with-child?”
“No, nothing of the sort,” Henry answered, perhaps too quickly, still remembering how right his wife had felt in his arms. How, for a few moments, all the years they had spent apart seemed like a terrible waste.
Snatching up a teacup, Frances flopped back down onto the settee. “Well, I am still worried for her. You say it is nothing more than another headache, but I have noticed some disconcerting changes in her lately.” She took a sip of her drink. “Yes, it worries me greatly.”
“What sort of changes?” James asked, as he reached for a raspberry cream puff.
Satisfied that Frances would not attempt to barge out of the room, Henry went to perch on the opposite settee. Intrigued to hear what his cousin had noticed.
“She is behaving very strangely,” Frances began. “As if she is… in a very loud place all the time and is trying to hear every conversation at once. I do not know how else to explain it; she is distracted, dazed, and not at all herself.”
Henry furrowed his brow. “How is she usually?”
“Yes, well, of course you would not know,” Frances remarked, in a tone that made Henry’s hackles rise. “Do you know how sad she has been, all these years you have been apart?”
The question halted the rebuke that danced on the tip of Henry’s tongue. Sad? Is that true? No, Frances must be mistaken.
“I am beginning to wonder if it is your sudden interest in her that has brought on these headaches and this peculiarity,” Frances continued at a clip.
“I championed your new desire to be a proper husband at first, but now I have half a mind to tell you to leave her be again. After complete separation, this must be a huge shock to her, and shock manifests in many ways. Headaches, sickness…”
“With respect, Cousin, you will not be telling me to do anything,” Henry said sharply. “The understanding between my wife and I is none of your concern. For now, I will remain with her.”
Once again, Frances raised an accusatory finger.
“You see, now I am certain that there is something more to this. In four years, you have had no inclination to be near her, and now you say you will remain with her? Is she very unwell? Is it something terrible?” Her voice hitched, her eyes beginning to brim.
“Please, Cousin, if there is something wrong with my best friend, I must know of it.”
“She… bumped her head, that is all,” Henry replied reluctantly, and prayed it would be enough to satisfy Frances. “The physician said it was perfectly normal for her to have a few headaches while the bruise heals. That is all it is.”
Suspicion flickered across the young woman’s face, as she took a pointed sip of her tea. “You swear it to me?”
When Henry did not immediately answer, she added quietly, “I am sorry for being so rude, Cousin. I am just so very worried.”
Hearing the anxiety in her voice, seeing the sadness in her eyes, Henry wondered if he should be honest. Was it unfair of him to keep secrets? Then again, if Thalia herself had not informed Frances of her condition, it was not up to him to reveal the truth.
“I know,” he said more amenably. “But there is no cause for concern.”
James stirred a drop of cream into his tea. “What happens when the headaches have ceased?”
“Pardon?” Henry tilted his head, confused.
“When you are certain she is well again, what will you do?” James replied. “Do you mean to continue as you were, living apart in a most unconventional manner? Or is this the beginning of a more… customary marriage?”
Frances brightened, nodding. “Yes, does this mean you will stay with her indefinitely? A proper couple, at last?”
Wishing he had accepted Baxter’s suggestion to send his cousins away, so he would not have to field such nosy questions, Henry shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
It was different with his friends; they understood when he did not want to speak on something anymore. His cousins had no such perceptiveness.
“Whatever is for the best,” he said diplomatically.
James made a noise of disapproval. “I could never dream of being apart from my wife for long. You are missing out on such companionship.”
“Your situation is different,” Henry replied, his patience fraying. “You have a child together; it is natural that you would stay close by. Now, please, do not suppose to tell me how to manage my marriage. Any decisions are between me and Thalia. I realize you mean well, but it is unnecessary.”
Offering an apologetic look, James sighed.
“I just… find myself wondering what your father would make of all of this. Like my own father, I know he instilled a sense of duty in you; it is how they were raised, it is how we were raised. So, I cannot help but wonder why you seem determined to do the opposite?”
A bristle of anger pushed Henry up from the settee, his entire body tensing as if his father were in the room. There was nothing about that selfish, vice-ridden, cruel, manipulative man that Henry ever wished to replicate, least of all his way of conducting married life.
“If you will excuse me, I must prepare for the physician’s arrival,” he said sternly. “Please, take a moment to finish your tea and cakes. I will ask Baxter to bring the carriage around.”
Barely suppressing his frustration, he offered a polite dip of his head and walked out before he lost his discipline and said everything he had ever wanted to say about his wretched father.
As he made his way up the stairs, the thud of each step underfoot allowed him to quieten his ire. I never wanted us to live so separately. That was her proviso. That was my promise to her. She was content with it, until she forgot.
It exasperated him in a different way, to bear the responsibility of their detached union when she was the one who had asked for solitude. He had given it freely because he wanted her to be comfortable, because he felt he owed her that, at the very least.
But it was not how he had wanted things to be, especially after setting eyes on her for the first time at their wedding. Indeed, it was supposed to be a temporary measure that became permanent, at her request.
By the time he reached his wife’s chamber door, he was mostly calm again.
Taking a breath, he knocked.
“Come in,” Thalia called from within, her voice raspy, as if she were weary or in some pain.
He stepped into the room, surprised to find her out of bed. She was sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, a book open in her lap.
“Another romance?” he asked, aiming for playfulness.
But when she raised her gaze to him, her face was a cold mask. “A mystery, actually.” She closed the book. “Now solved.”