Chapter Five
That afternoon, wishing for an escape from idle gossip from the groups of ladies, and since it was raining anyway, Mary slipped up to the portrait gallery.
It wasn’t often she and Bright visited his family’s country home, but when they did, she enjoyed gazing at the paintings of his family who had gone before.
And it reminded her that time marched on regardless of the challenges therein.
A wall of windows at the back looked out over the rolling rear lawn.
Off to one side was a hedge maze, where she’d visited many times before with either Francis or Gabriel.
There was a lovely fountain at the heart ringed by marble statues as well as wrought iron benches if one wished to relax and find peace by oneself.
In the far distance, the traveler’s fair was no doubt operating at the property’s boundary, and she hoped to enjoy the fair at some point this week.
Vivian was currently putting together a list of guests who wished to visit with her once the rain stopped.
With a sigh, she gravitated toward the paintings of Francis and Gabriel when they were boys, as well as the ones that depicted them as youths. The similarities between them weren’t as pronounced back then as they were now.
One of the smaller paintings caught her eye this time; she’d never seen it before, but that was probably because they’d been reorganized on the walls, which had been repainted since the last time she was at Stanwick Hall.
And during that visit, she’d been interrupted, for someone always needed her urgent attention.
The portrait depicted Gabriel with his first wife and Henry, who’d probably been six or seven years of age.
Good heavens, Bright had been so young! And Henry was such a dear child who had far too serious an expression for that phase of life.
But as she peered more closely at the portrait, even on canvas, Bright hadn’t seemed happy.
Though he grinned, there was no answering light in his eyes.
Not even the painter’s talent could make that so.
The expression on his wife’s face was quite smug, as if she’d just dressed Bright down or had done something that showed her possession of him.
Quite possibly, she’d threatened him, for she’d heard many stories regarding the woman.
The muscles of her stomach tightened. He’d been so miserable in that relationship.
It had been one of the reasons she’d been drawn to him during those early days because she’d felt an affinity, a camaraderie with him of sorts due to her own terrible first marriage.
Poor Gabriel. She reached up and traced his face with a fingertip.
In the portrait, Henry clung to his father’s hand.
That bond between them had always been there, apparently.
It was no wonder that Henry strove to be the same sort of honorable man his father was.
In many ways, he was doing just that; she saw it in how he conducted himself while learning to be a solicitor, in how he treated his young wife, in the way he wished to spend time with his adopted siblings.
Henry will be just fine, I’ll wager.
“That was the year when I knew my marriage wouldn’t last, when I knew it was already crumbling beyond what I could repair.”
Mary startled at the sound of her husband’s voice. With a hammering pulse, she turned her head to glance at him as he drew abreast of her. “Why would you say that?”
“Because my wife was extremely critical at the time of my position with Bow Street. She hated that I worked long hours, that my time was always divided between my career, our son, and her.” When he shrugged, his shoulder brushed hers.
Tingles followed in its wake. “In my defense, I was trying to take care of my family, give them a home and a secure life, make a future for them. It wasn’t good enough for her, so she began an affair that would eventually take her away from me, and destroy our family. ”
“Mmm.” Mary nodded. She’d heard stories of his failed marriage before, knew how long it had taken for him to heal and trust women again, but she didn’t know it had fallen apart so early in their relationship. “I’m sorry. Some women delight in destroying men.”
“I’m not sorry, though.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because then I wouldn’t have met you.” He glanced at her, briefly met her gaze. “That meeting? It completely upended what I thought my life had become, made me change directions and follow a path I’d never considered before.”
“I appreciate you telling me that.” Even still, she worried, because it was now her complaining about the hours he kept, about how much time his position and private investigation business took, about how it all tore him away from her and the children.
Hot shame filled her belly, but it wasn’t easily dismissed.
Will he eventually resent me? Leave me?
Yet why couldn’t they find some sort of a balance? Coming together as frantically as they had last night was lovely, but it didn’t heal what had broken between them. The words she needed to say remained frozen on her tongue, and her pride stopped her from releasing them.
“Ah, Mary.” Bright clasped his hands behind back as he gazed at some of the portraits. “I know what you’re thinking.”
One of her eyebrows rose. “Oh?”
“You worry that you are like her.” He nodded at the portrait. “My first wife.”
How could he know that? But then, there were usually no secrets kept between them.
“I hope I’m not, but even I can’t ignore the similarities, and that bothers me.
That woman made you so desperately unhappy.
” A waver set up in her voice. “It would break my heart, to lose you because I had complaints or criticisms… that something I said killed the love between us…”
“Do hush. Such gammon.” Bright slipped an arm about her waist and pulled her close. The warmth of his body seeped into hers, and she reveled in that tiny tactile touch. “That will never happen.”
Tears stung the backs of her eyelids. “You don’t know that.”
“I do, because you and she are two very different people. And I know you would never throw me over for another like she did.” He paused while a muscle in his cheek ticced. “She did it to wound me.”
“I may not, but what if you do?” He might want a younger woman, a less independent or opinionated woman, one who would parrot his views. A woman who could give him biological children, a woman who would remain silent and let him do whatever he wanted without consequence.
Stifling the want to sob, she jogged her gaze away from his. Reality had snuck up on her and was horrid in what it might hold, for he had his purpose in life and she had hers. Where do we go from here?
As he regarded his wife, watched the emotions flit over her dear face, Gabriel died a bit inside from the turn the conversation had taken. Did she truly think that of him?
“I would never even entertain the thought of taking a mistress.” A wad of emotion stuck in his throat, but he swallowed hard around it. “I married you; you are the one I want then, now, and forever. Regardless of what we’re going through.”
“You were always one for pretty words, Bright.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “But let us both be honest. I know you think that, but there is something wrong. We’re just not as close as we used to be, regardless of the lovely night we had yesterday.”
“I see.” The muscles in his gut clenched with worry and perhaps a bit of fear, for she hadn’t definitively reassured him that she wouldn’t take a lover.
Was she that unhappy with him, then, even after the whispered words she’d said to him the night before?
Or worse yet, had she only wanted him to scratch an itch, to give her that physical release?
He shook his head, immediately rejecting those thoughts.
“How do we fix that? You must know I am trying; I’m doing the best I can with what I have. ”
“I know.” Yet she didn’t look at him, only kept her gaze on that damning portrait. “Will a week away help? After all, we’ll only return to the lives that are doing the chafing. Can anything solid change in such a short period of time?”
God, I hope so. He cleared his throat, for they’d gone through a couple of rough patches before and had always come out the other side stronger.
“It is the life we’ve chosen. The children, the business, the house, all of it.
” Pausing to consider his next words, he searched for wisdom before he spoke again.
“We both dreamed of having a family, of making a living that we can control instead of toiling for someone else. The fact we can do that together at times only firms those decisions.”
“We did dream of this, had talked about it at length in all those months before we finally wed.” When she fell silent and didn’t offer anything else, more worry pulled in his gut.
Again, he peered at that portrait of his family when Henry had been a small boy.
It had been a confusing, terrible time for both him and his son, for the upheaval involved when his wife had started her affair without keeping it a secret had been devastating.
Pressures at Bow Street hadn’t helped, and back then, he hadn’t been as patient of a man or willing to consider someone else’s point of view as he was now, thanks to Mary’s guidance.
I can’t destroy another marriage.
Yet how did he fix something when he didn’t quite know what was wrong?
“I think our family should sit for a portrait.” It was asinine to say in the face of the heavy conversation they had been having, but he couldn’t help it.
When it came down to brass tacks, he was a coward, for remembering what his first wife had done made him terrified that it could happen again.
“Perhaps.” Again, Mary didn’t offer more commentary.