Chapter 24
LUCIEN
Lucien woke up when the sun was just beginning to stream through the windows. He opened his eyes when he realized that his arm had been draped across Marianne. She was still sleeping, her face turned toward him, her eyes moving beneath her eyelids, making it clear that she was dreaming.
What had he done? The events of the last night came back to him.
The two of them are looking after Henry together.
Him waking up in the middle of the night and kissing her.
His lips tingled with the memory of their kiss.
Instantly, he wanted to do it again. He was still not fully awake when a burning realization flashed through him. Henry!
He sat up straight as an arrow. Henry wasn’t in the bed anymore. He’d been curled up in the middle of the night at the bottom of the bed, but now he wasn’t there. Lucien’s heart thundered for a moment, thinking the worst, but then he spotted him.
His son was sitting on the floor, piling his blocks up into a tall tower. He looked well. The fever had to have broken just as Marianne had said.
Lucien breathed a sigh of relief and lay back down. The last couple of days had been an awful strain. He truly thought that he was going to lose his son, but somehow they had gotten through it.
“Good morning,” Marianne whispered. Her eyes were fluttering open, and he saw the traces of sleep in the corners of them.
“Good morning,” he replied, aware that this was most awkward. They were in bed together. Not an unusual occurrence for husband and wife, of course, but in their situation, it was most odd indeed. Yet neither made a move to get up.
“Henry?”
“He’s playing with his blocks,” he explained, and Marianne smiled.
“Good. I’m so glad.”
She lifted her head, drew her hand out from underneath the blanket, and placed it on his cheek. Instinctively, he placed his own on top of it, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.
Then he leaned forward and kissed her. The kiss was as sweet as the one from last night. Just as innocent. And yet something inside of him shifted.
A wave of passion flooded over him. And he knew if Henry hadn’t been there sitting on the floor just a few steps away, he may have entirely lost his composure.
He pulled back, but kept his forehead pressed against hers.
“Well,” she said, “so much for our agreement.”
“Right,” he said. Was this the end of their agreement? Were they going to be a couple now? It seemed that that was what she assumed. But he wasn’t ready for that. She didn’t want that, did she?
But he wanted her...
“I should get dressed,” he said. “I am rather rumpled. And also rather famished.”
“As am I,” Marianne replied.
He got up and slipped out of the bed, feeling more solid once his feet were on the ground.
“Papa,” Henry called and jumped up. He ran across the floorboards and jumped up into his father’s arms. Lucien lifted him up into the air. The redness was gone from the child’s face, and he no longer felt feverish. Lucien kissed him on both cheeks and held him close.
“Do you feel better?”
“Much better. Look at the tower I made,” Henry said and pointed at it.
“Quite magnificent indeed,” Lucien confirmed immediately.
“Marianne, did you see my tower?”
“I did,” Marianne said, likewise climbing out of bed.
If Henry found it odd that the two of them had been in bed together, he didn’t say anything about it.
Instead, he wriggled to be put down and rushed back to where Marianne was standing.
He hugged her legs, pressing his head into her rumpled skirts.
“Thank you for looking after me and telling me a story. I dreamed about it all night. The prince and the princess and their treasure,” he said. “We should go hunt for a treasure when next there is a falling star.”
“We shall do that,” Marianne said.
“You promise too, Papa?”
“Of course,” he said. The idea of going on a treasure hunt with Marianne and Henry was quite appealing.
“I am hungry,” Henry said.
“As are we,” Marianne replied, with a smile. Lucien stiffened a little at the word we.
“Good. But no salty porridge,” Henry told them firmly. “I want a hot cross bun.”
“Hot cross buns are for Easter,” Lucien reminded him, and Henry groaned.
“Alright. Just rolls then.”
He took Marianne’s hand with one and Lucien’s with the other.
They made their way down to the breakfast room together, Henry swinging his arms back and forth, so Marianne and Lucien’s arms swung as well.
Occasionally, he let out a little cough or sneeze—signs that his illness was not entirely in the past. However, he appeared much better.
They arrived at the breakfast table in unison. Mrs. Greaves met them at the door with a bright smile.
“Henry, my dearest,” she said. The little boy turned his face to her. “It is so good to see you recovered. And to see all of you down for breakfast together.”
She drew herself to her full height and winked at Lucien. He forced a smile, but he still felt most peculiar. This wasn’t right, was it? It felt right, but it shouldn’t be.
The three of them sat down to breakfast with Henry between the two of them and conversed as though at any normal family meal.
The newspaper was delivered, and they ate together.
Marianne helped Henry put butter and lemon curd on his bread, and when he smeared it on the table, she did not flinch.
Not even when he accidentally dropped a little lemon curd on her dress.
Instead, she laughed and said it needed washing anyhow.
Lucien sat next to them, drinking his tea and reading through the newspaper, but not really paying attention.
It was so surreal. This thing that was unfolding before him was how he had imagined his life when he had married Arabella.
All of them together and happy. Taking their meals together.
Contented. And yet the woman sitting at the table with him was not Arabella.
How could he trust this? How could he trust these feelings?
Whatever this was, it wasn’t going to last. If Marianne ever found out the truth about how Arabella really died and the role he played in it, she would leave immediately.
He would leave himself if he could. He would leave if the roles were reversed.
The meal soon ended, and Marianne rose to get changed.
Though not before being made to promise that she would take a turn about the garden with Lucien and Henry, of course.
Now that he felt better, Henry wanted to go outside into the fresh air and feed the squirrels.
Lucien could not deny his son anything when he had just recovered from an illness, so he readily agreed to this plan.
However, when Marianne slipped out of the room and the maid took Henry for his bath, Lucien remained seated.
He folded the edge of the newspaper into a triangle shape, then unfolded it again, repeating the motion time and again.
“My lord,” Mrs. Greaves said from the doorway. “You seem troubled.”
“Do I not always seem so?” he asked.
“Yes, you do. But there is something particular about you today. I cannot quite say what it is. But there is something heavier on your heart, is there not? I thought things between you and Lady Wexford appeared much warmer when you first came down. I saw you...” She smiled.
“Officially, I came to see little master Henry this morning and could not help but notice.”
“It does not mean anything,” he said, but he tasted the lie on his lips. It shouldn’t mean anything.
“Why not? Lady Wexford is so very fond of you. I dare say she is mooning over you, and I think you are over her as well.”
“And so what if I am? She doesn’t know the truth. Nobody does. I am not worthy of love. It was made very clear to me by the first Lady Wexford that I was nothing but a convenience.”
“The first Lady Wexford, bless her soul, was a fool not to see you for who you really are. The present Lady Wexford does. Do not throw it away over some perceived guilt from the past.”
“It is not a perceived guilt. It is a real guilt. I can never make her happy.”
“And why not?” Mrs. Greaves demanded. “It seems she’s perfectly content with you right now. Why not try? Why not be with her? Why not be a real couple?”
“I know this is what you have wanted from the beginning, what you have hoped for. But you do not understand. She and I had an agreement. The terms of which—”
“The terms of which seem to have changed. She adores Henry now, and he adores her.”
“Perhaps he is more comfortable with her than is wise,” Lucien said.
“Lucien,” the housekeeper said, using his name as she rarely ever did.
He knew that coming out of her mouth, his name was a reprimand.
“Do not be foolish. I shall speak to you as a loving aunt would, even if it does not seem proper. But someone must tell you when you are being a fool, and you are being a terrible fool right now. Do not throw away something precious out of fear or lingering hurt from the past.”
Lucien shook his head and got up.
“I must ready myself. I have to take a walk in the garden with the two of them,” he said. As he did, Mrs. Greaves placed a hand on his own.
“Think about what I said. You need not be lonely for the rest of your days. Allow yourself a little happiness.”
He nodded, wondering if perhaps she was right. Perhaps he should allow himself happiness, even if just for a while, even if to try it on as one might try on a fresh pair of pantaloons for size.
Could he forgive himself for the past? Perhaps there could be a different future. He wanted it. He desperately did.
He sighed and went to his chamber, changing into a simple pair of trousers and a fresh shirt.
When he returned to the entrance hall, Marianne reappeared.
She was in a pretty lemon-yellow dress, her hair properly pinned up.
She looked fresh-faced and lovely as she came down the stairs.
He smiled, for the truth was he was happy to see her.
He wanted to see her. His arms extended as if on their own volition, and he took her hands. She wasn’t wearing gloves, he noticed.
“I thought if we are perhaps going to feed squirrels, the gloves would be in the way,” she said.
“You must be careful. They do bite sometimes.”
“Oh,” she said. “I didn’t think of that.”
“I’ll show you how to handle them properly,” he said, and then leaned forward to kiss her cheek. She colored up at once, and the flutter in his stomach rose once more.
“Papa,” Henry shouted as he ran down the stairs. “Will you let me fly?”
“Fly?” Marianne looked at Lucien questioningly.
“He means when I hold him on one arm, and you hold him on the other, we swing him between us and then lift him up into the air.”
“I see,” she said. “Very well.”
And they did. Lucien held him on one side, Marianne on the other, and the two swung him between them, lifting him up into the air. He giggled with delight.
Once they got to the maze, the little boy let go of both of their hands and ran forward.
“I’m going into the maze,” he shouted. “It should be such fun!”
“Very well,” Lucien said, his arm linked under Marianne’s. “You have not yet been to the maze.”
“No,” she said. “But I have heard it’s quite treacherous. At least according to my sister.”
He let out a laugh. “Well, yes, she would think so, wouldn’t she? She does not seem to enjoy not being in control.”
“No, she does not. Nor does Evelyn.”
“And you?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I think that sometimes we must let outside forces take control of our lives. After all, isn’t that what adventuring is? Dashing forth into the unknown, hoping to find something wonderful.”
“I suppose,” he said.
She removed her arm from his and lifted the hem of her dress a little bit. Then she smiled at him. “Then let us dash forth into adventure.” She turned and followed Henry, who had already run into the maze.
Lucien stood and watched his wife and son disappear into the maze built by his grandfather, both of them giggling lightheartedly. He took a deep breath and then rushed in after them, feeling that perhaps Marianne was right and sometimes one simply had to let go.