Chapter 21 #2
“Your Grace,” the lady said. “It is such a delight to finally meet you and speak with you. I’m the Duchess of Kirkford, but you must call me Madeline. This is my husband, His Grace the Duke of Kirkford, but you may call him Wilhelm. I insist upon it; he gets so stuffy if you address him formally.”
She beamed at Thalia, and Thalia saw instantly the love that these two shared.
Despite their differences in appearance and even their disparity in age, they were wholly in love.
Madeline glanced up at her husband with a small, private smile, and his hand came to cover hers.
On the outside, they appeared perfectly normal, but at every opportunity, they touched each other in a casually affectionate way.
The way Thalia and Maxwell had touched each other in the beginning. But this was maintained by a show of unity. While these two were standing together, Maxwell had left her to speak with someone else.
Ordinarily, she wouldn’t mind, but tonight she needed his presence more than ever before.
“I have to say, I am so incredibly impressed by your work,” Madeline said, drawing Thalia’s attention back to her. “I have been a fan of Rossi’s forever—have I not, darling?”
“You most certainly have,” Wilhelm said with a slightly wry smile. “To the extent that I wondered if I ought to be jealous.”
Madeline’s laugh was bright and unaffected, not concerned by this comment at all, and by the way Wilhelm’s face split into a more sincere smile, too, this had not been a genuine concern of his either.
“Well,” Madeline said teasingly, “I suppose it entirely depended on whether the gentleman in question was as handsome as everyone said he was.”
“You do not have to worry,” Thalia said. “As I am not a gentleman at all.”
“We are delighted that Maxwell had the sense to marry a lady with something about her,” Madeline said.
“On occasion,” Wilhelm said, “a man must be challenged, and often it is best coming from his wife.”
“And as a wife, it is best to know how to challenge one’s husband.” Madeline rested her cheek briefly against her husband’s shoulder. “Frequently, if one can. And always with affection.”
Because you love one another.
The thought of it made Thalia want to scream, even as she smiled at the Duke and Duchess.
Truly, she was happy for them. It was not that she didn’t want joy for others, but more that she wanted that same joy for herself.
The Duke struck her as a man accustomed to getting his own way, and who’d had to learn how to bend for the sake of his beautiful wife.
And she was an independent soul who had come to love and trust in her husband.
Whatever they had overcome, they had done so together.
Thalia looked again at Maxwell, who was now speaking to someone else, gesturing at one of her sculptures.
“We wish you both the best,” Madeline said, seeming to sense Thalia’s desire to be alone. “And for what it’s worth, I am so glad he finally decided to marry you.”
Finally.
The world thought that he had been the one to throw her over the first time; they probably saw her with a degree of pity, having finally won over the man who had scorned her.
The room was filled with her sculptures, and yet she felt as though the walls were closing around her. Her nose stung.
The musicians began to play, and Wilhelm asked his wife to dance. They went to join the other couples, and Thalia retreated to the far wall to watch them. She found herself beside Passione.
How young and foolish and na?ve she had been when she first created it. Now she had experienced passion, and it was so very much like what she had imagined, only far better. Her sculpture didn’t do it justice.
But there was something else that followed.
Heartbreak.
And nothing she could do could prepare her for that.
The ball lasted until the early hours of the morning. As the sun began to rise, the final guest left, and Thalia felt as though she could breathe again.
She lay across the sofa in the drawing room, staring at the ceiling, as Maxwell entered the room and closed the door with a small click behind him. They had danced occasionally, and he had sought her out a few times, but he largely seemed more interested in her artwork than in her.
Perhaps that was an unfair criticism, given everything. But one she couldn’t help but make.
Her stomach tightened. Her face felt tight and dry, although she hadn’t given way to the tears that had been threatening the entire night.
“Well,” Maxwell said, “I think that went about as well as expected.”
“My father didn’t arrive.”
“On the contrary; he attempted to. I told him to leave.”
“Why?”
“I thought this was your night, and you would not want it ruined by your father coming in to criticize everything.”
Thalia closed her eyes. No doubt this was something else Maxwell had done that made him feel as though he was doing her a favor. How fortunate she was to have a husband like him who would do so much for her.
And she knew she ought to feel that way. But resentment choked her throat, and she felt tears start behind her eyes.
Even without her eyes open, she felt his gaze on her. “Thalia?” he asked after a moment. “Is something wrong?”
“I am grateful for everything you’ve done tonight,” she said.
“If that were the only issue at hand, you wouldn’t be looking like this.”
She snorted softly, not daring to open her eyes in case he would see the tears that gathered there. “And how do I look?”
“Devastated,” he said after a moment. “Did I err by making the ball about your sculptures? I thought it was the best way to show my support, and you seemed appreciative.”
“I am appreciative.”
“Then what is this about?”
“It’s about the fact that…” She drew in a deep breath. “You have no real need of me.”
Silence. She didn’t dare look at him. Her lip wanted to tremble, but with a force of will, she kept it in place.
“You want me to need you?” His voice was different now, colder, and more remote.
“You know, I spoke with the Duke and Duchess of Kirkford today.”
“Did they say something to upset you?”
“No. No, they were perfectly nice. They spoke to me because they wanted to show their support, and also because I suppose they were pleased we married.” She tried to laugh, but the sound came out scratchy.
“And do you know the thing I noticed the most? They were so in tune with one another. They loved one another, Maxwell.”
He didn’t so much as move. If she hadn’t been able to feel his heat and sense his presence, she would have thought he had disappeared into thin air.
“You know what this is,” he said at last. “I told you what this marriage would look like.”
“You told me after we were married.”
“I said nothing of love before then.”
No, not with his words. But he had hinted at the prospect of it with his body, with his hands, with his eyes. She had not thought he loved her, but she had thought there was the suggestion of it.
“I will only ever have part of you,” she said, swallowing hard.
“I thought… When you told me, I thought I might be content with that and that alone, but I can’t be.
I won’t be. I am not some pretty wife to be tossed aside when her use is over.
A life like that would turn me into a bitter harpy, and I won’t allow that to be my future.
Joyce has shown me the reality of an unhappy marriage. ”
“Joyce,” he said grimly.
“Yes, Joyce. She told me not to expect too much from you, that as a husband, you had already given me far more than most ladies can expect. As you said that—you were smiling at another lady, and I know what she was implying.”
His voice was low and dangerous. “I have no intention of betraying my vows, Thalia.”
“I know.” Finally, she sat up and met his gaze. The look in his eyes, all dark and deadly, made her stomach hurt. “I’m not afraid of that, precisely. I know you want me.”
“So what? You want more?”
“Yes,” she said simply. “I have trusted you with everything, but you can’t trust me.”
“What does our union have to do with trust?” he demanded.
“Love has everything to do with trust. A person cannot decide that they will not fall in love unless they are unwilling to. You are unwilling; you allow me into your bed, but you refuse to let me into your heart. That speaks of a lack of trust.”
He rose, raking a hand through his hair. “And I suppose Joyce was the one to tell you how miserable her marriage made her?”
“She made it plain that a loveless marriage cannot be happy, but is she so wrong? Everyone I know whose marriage is happy is in love!”
“Joyce made a mistake, and she paid for it, but her husband was hardly comparable to me. He despised her, and I admire you. I threw this ball to showcase your talent and demonstrate that I will not let a handful of rumors hurt you. Is that not enough?”
“You were protecting yourself as much as you were protecting me,” she snapped. “Or were you expecting me to fall over with gratitude and forgive the fact that yesterday you told me you would never love me?”
“Did that truly come as such a surprise?” His jaw clenched, and he looked more darkly forbidding than ever, and just as appealing. “I didn’t expect you to fall over yourself, but I didn’t expect you to throw everything you’ve done in my face.”
“The problem with you is that everything is transactional.” She curled her hands into her fists, trying to find her calm, and failing. “This issue is entirely separate from the fact you did this to help me—I said I was grateful, and I meant it.”
“When you first arrived, you told me you would have married me earlier if you’d had the chance.” His chest heaved as he took a single breath. “Are you telling me now that it was a lie?”
The words slid between her ribs, a fatal blow. Because it hadn’t been a lie, not then. But then she hadn’t known what it would be like to come to terms with the fact he would never love her.
Never.
This was her reality—this was her future.
“I thought I could live with it and be satisfied,” she said, “but I can’t, Max.
How can I always be satisfied with second best?
What happens when you decide you want someone else?
You don’t trust me with your heart, so I doubt you’ll trust anyone else, but what about when I get older and you no longer want me in your bed?
What then? Will I have to watch as you grow steadily less interested in me? ” The thought made her heart clench.
He may not have loved her. But she suspected—she deeply suspected—she had come to love him.
Nothing else could hurt like this.
“No doubt you think I’m being foolish and making a fuss out of nothing,” she said, taking a deep breath.
“And no doubt you think your assurances to me now—that you will not stray—will make me feel better. But what is the reassurance of you not straying if you want to? What happens when you inevitably regret marrying me? What happens when this small pool of affection runs dry?” She gestured between them. “I just need to…”
What?
She could hardly escape this marriage now, and until very recently, she hadn’t thought that she might even want to.
“I’m going to sleep in the duchess’s suite tonight, Your Grace.”
If her use of his title hit, he didn’t show it. He just stared at her, his mouth a hard line, and his eyes cold.
She waited for him to call her back, to beg her to understand, or just to tell her that things would not be as she described. But instead, he merely watched her walk away.
The moment she reached the other bedchamber, cold and empty, the fire unmade because the maids had not expected her to sleep there, she lay across the bed and gave way to tears.