Chapter 30
LUCIEN
Marianne saw Lucien enter from the corner of her eye, and her body instantly turned rigid.
He looked handsome. She could not deny it.
His pantaloons looked as though they had been soaked in water overnight; they clung to his figure most admirably.
The violet waistcoat poked out underneath his evening coat, and he even wore a top hat.
Beside him was Rhys. Rhys cut a fine figure as always, but she had already seen him when they left the house.
The two of them walked together, Rhys’s hand on the back of Lucien’s shoulder, guiding him. Supporting him?
She could not deny that he looked unwell. Dark shadows circled his eyes. She saw that as he came closer. His face looked pale, and he looked as though slumber had proven as elusive to him as to her.
How ironic it was that the two of them should find themselves united in their futile quest for sleep? A tremor passed through her when he looked at her, and she averted her gaze.
“You ought to speak to him,” Charlotte said.
“I shall have to. But not tonight. I would like to keep my distance as much as possible,” she replied. “Then I will speak to him. I will tell him about my decision. I will ask him to let me see Henry, and that shall be that.”
“But he is here, and he looks as though he wishes to speak to you. I told you that Rhys would speak to him.”
“It seems as though everyone speaks much when there is so very little to say, for all has been decided. I do not wish to see him.” Marianne turned and walked past her sister and further into the house.
She found herself in the library and stepped to the window, looking out.
Autumn leaves descended from the boughs now, and soon winter would be upon them again.
How peculiar that she should be returning to the convent when her least favorite season was upon them.
In the convent, it was cold, and she knew she would be shivering.
To distract herself, she catalogued in her mind things she would have Juliet pack for them.
Woolen shifts, flannel nightgowns, sleeping caps, stockings, and mittens.
She would bring extra for the nuns, though they would most likely not use any of the things she brought.
They were accustomed to the life, after all, but she could also bring things for the poor souls in their care.
Her thoughts drifted to the young girl who had joined them not long ago—not long before she left.
What was her name again? She could not recall it now.
Maria? Louisa? Whoever she had been, by now she would’ve had her child.
Her baby would’ve been taken from her and placed with a different family.
She would most likely be alone, back with her parents, or maybe she would still be at the convent, having taken her vows herself.
What occupied the sisters at this hour? They would likely be preparing for Vespers and then the evening meal. Soon she would join them again.
She didn’t think she would stay at the convent. It was not what she wanted. Not truly. Not anymore, because her faith had not faltered. She knew now, more than ever, that she believed in God. Why else would she have been sent upon this torturous path?
But she didn’t think that she would find happiness at the convent, though she would find peace there once more. And once she had that, she could decide what she wanted to do. Her title afforded her choices. And should Lucien honor his word, she would be financially secure.
But she would have to speak to him about that, wouldn’t she? They would have to hasten their separation. They would have to decide how to manage it.
Perhaps she could write to him from the convent. Perhaps she didn’t have to talk to him at all. That might be better for all of them. Mostly for her, because she couldn’t imagine speaking to him again and feeling all that pain and unrequited love once more.
“Marianne.” His voice drifted into her thoughts, and she closed her eyes, willing him away. However, his footfalls increased and came closer. She took a deep breath and turned.
“My lord,” she said.
He flinched at her formal use of his title.
“Marianne, I wondered if we could speak?”
“I do not know that there’s anything for us to speak about right now. I have said what I wanted to say in my letter.”
“Yes, that is why I’m here—to speak to you about the letter; about everything you said, everything that happened between us. You were right to leave.”
“I know,” she replied simply. “I know I was right.”
“I was unkind to you. I acted unreasonably. I can see how you would perceive my being warm and cold at changing intervals as difficult.”
“It no longer matters,” she said with a shrug. “It is resolved now.”
“Nothing is resolved,” Lucien objected. “I—”
“You made it clear that you regret it. The kisses. Our time together. You made it very clear how you felt. And I have understood. You attempted to tell me I was wrong; that I should not have allowed myself to become as close to your son as I did, although I only did it because you encouraged it. In any case, I understand now that there was nothing between us. That there will never be anything between us. In fact, it is almost as if nothing ever happened.”
“But it did. We kissed. We held one another,” he said.
“Did we?” she replied, tipping her head to one side. “As I said, it is almost as if nothing ever happened, so I cannot remember any of what you speak of.”
Lucien looked exasperated. “Marianne, please do not act as though you do not know exactly what happened.”
“But I do not. We are nothing to each other. By law, we are husband and wife, but in reality, we are two people who agreed to help one another, which we have now done. Indeed, I think it is rather fortunate that we are quarreling here at a ball. People will hear. People will talk about how our marriage is already falling apart after such a brief time. It will be most convenient. And in a few weeks’ time, we will announce our separation, and that will be it. ”
“But there are things I wish to tell you. Things I should’ve told you long ago,” he said.
“The time to talk has passed, my lord,” she said. “I have nothing further to say to you.”
She walked past him out of the room and into the hall.
Her legs were shaking beneath her because it took everything she had to remain firm in her resolve and not fall trap to his old patterns.
He was in the mood to talk. In the mood to show her kindness and warmth.
And if she gave in now, she would find herself in the exact same position again as she had so many times before.
She would not be a victim of his moods anymore.
“Marianne,” he called after her, his voice rising, echoing off the tall walls. She kept going until she was back in the ballroom. Her ears pricked at the sound of his footsteps behind her. He was following her. Why could he not leave her be?
She found her sister and Rhys standing near the refreshment table and joined them there, hoping that it might deter him.
“There you are,” Charlotte said with a smile, but then her visage darkened as she saw Lucien coming from behind.
“Lucien,” she said. “I saw you arrive earlier. I did not have a chance to say hello.”
“Yes, hello,” Lucien said. “I had hoped to have a moment alone with your sister so we might talk.”
“I have nothing further to say,” Marianne said quickly. Rhys grimaced and raised his eyebrows at this, and Charlotte looked disturbed.
“This is a joyous occasion,” Marianne said. “I do not think that we should darken this evening with our personal quarrels.”
“I really thought—” Lucien started, but found himself interrupted once more when Evelyn, Marianne’s older sister, appeared. She looked utterly flustered. She swept past him as though she hadn’t seen him at all.
“Marianne,” she called and swept her sister into her arms. “It cannot be true what I have heard. Is it? You are leaving us again for the convent?”
“What?” Lucien said. He took a step back and looked at Evelyn, his eyes wide. “Evelyn, I beg your pardon. I did not know that you were here too. I—” She looked at Marianne, and Marianne looked at him, her expression unreadable.
“You’re returning to the convent?” His voice was quiet.
The atmosphere around them was thick and awkward.
Evelyn had taken a step back and was now standing between Rhys and Charlotte, who were both looking awkward.
Rhys stared at his shoes as though he had found something very interesting at the tip of his toe.
At the same time, Evelyn and Charlotte looked at one another, both of them avoiding any direct eye contact with either Marianne or Lucien.
“I am returning to the convent next month, yes. It is not something I wish to discuss right now, but I will be in touch to do so,” Marianne said. She picked up her skirts and walked away as quickly as her feet would carry her. And this time, she was relieved to find that Lucien did not follow her.
The convent. She was returning to the convent? How could this be? Lucien stood there as though lightning had struck him. He looked up at her sisters. “This is true? She’s returning to the convent?”
“She is,” Charlotte said. “I suppose she and Juliet planned it together.”
“But she told me she was returning home. I had planned to talk to her. I tried to talk to her.”
“I am afraid to tell you that she is no longer willing to listen,” Evelyn said. “I am uncertain what has happened between the two of you, but I know that she is quite exhausted by whatever it is.”
Exhausted. By him. It was one of the things that Arabella had told him back then.
How he exhausted her with his demands for attention and attempts to make the marriage work.
He scoffed at the memory. He had felt like a weakling back then.
But in reality, he had tried to be a good husband to a woman who wasn’t interested in him.
Was he making the same mistakes now? But no. It was the other way around. Marianne had tried to be a good wife to a husband who pretended not to be interested. He groaned under his breath and turned, walking away.
“Lucien,” Rhys called and followed him. “Try again. Talk to her.”
“No,” he said. “She’s made it clear what she wants.
She wants us to be no longer wed, and that is the one thing I can give her.
It’s what she wants, and she shall have it.
I have just now come to understand that I have turned into Arabella.
I have been cold to her and rejected her every time she tried to make any sort of gesture toward me. ”
“Well, now you have realized that. Perhaps you can fix it. Talk to her again. Or I can talk to her and ask her to give you a chance.”
“No,” he said. “I cannot toy with her feelings any more than I already have. The best thing I can do for her and for me and Henry is to let her go. She has always found her happiness in the convent. I should not keep her from returning there for my own selfish reasons. Please convey to her that she is welcome any time at Wexford Hall to say goodbye to Henry before she leaves, and that I wish her all the best, and that everything we had agreed before our marriage still stands. She shall have anything she needs, always.”
With that, he walked through the crowd and out of the ballroom into the night, aware that there was nothing further he could say or do to win her back. Her beloved convent had won, and he had nobody to blame but himself.