The draper’s assistant clearly knew he was not needed for this conversation. Blushing as magenta pink as one of the samples, he turned and hotfooted it into one of the back rooms.
“I thought you said you felt blessed to marry a friend,” Honora said with interest as she pulled forward another bolt, this one plain cream.
“Too plain,” Frederica said with a wrinkled nose, so Honora happily discarded it. “He is my friend. It’s just…” She looked around, checking no one else was close enough to hear them before she carried on. “… I do not understand him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes he is warm to me; sometimes cold.” Frederica shook her head, not even noticing the bolt that Honora now presented for her appraisal. “He can be so kind, so amusing, eager to have me sit with him, to talk, and yet other times… he will be formal with me… but the rest is just coldness.”
“I see, and could there be a reason for such coldness?”
“I…” Frederica trailed off. The first time Allan had been cold with her in the house was when she had suggested he could take a lover. The last time was because he had kissed her, and she had demanded he never did it again. “It may be because I push him away first.”
“Well, this is not a conversation to be had over swatches. Come, there is a teahouse across the way. This requires tea or hot chocolate. You can choose tea if you like, but I will certainly be indulging in hot chocolate.”
Frederica was so caught up in her own thoughts that she just let her aunt steer her out of the shop. A handful of minutes later, they were pressed into a corner of the shop with people glancing their way, clearly curious as to the identity of the lady sitting with the new Lady Padleigh. Hot chocolates were presented to them, and Honora gulped hers as Frederica stared down into hers uneasily.
“So, you were saying that you push him away,” Honora began. “Will you share with me why that is, dear?”
“Because when he is warm with me — when he is kind — it feels wonderful,” she said with exasperation.
“I’m going to need a little more explanation, dear,” Honora said with a perfectly arched eyebrow.
“I am not used to that feeling,” Frederica continued in a rush. “I certainly don’t deserve such happiness.”
Honora froze with her cup half lifted in the air, paused on its way toward her lips.
“What did you say?” she whispered.
“Allan was forced into marrying me because we were caught together. Should I not pay a price for that scandal? And my last scandal, too? I am hardly a woman who deserves happiness, am I?”
“I have always thought you to be clever, but I am seriously beginning to doubt my own judgements,” Honora muttered sharply. “Are you honestly so interested in self-sabotaging your life?”
“That’s not what this is.” Frederica shook her head firmly. “All I’m saying is that such a rushed marriage, one of arrangement, is unlikely to cause any degree of true love. I am happy to be his friend, but when he offers more…”
“You pull back,” Honora concluded, so she didn’t have to. Frederica just nodded, hurriedly. Reaching out with her hand, Honora placed her fingers over Frederica’s on the table. “Have no fear, dear. I have a feeling that things will work out in the end. Everything will be well.”
“What makes you say that?” Frederica asked, for another fear had entered her head now. She was remembering Lord Wetherington, wondering if he would yet make an appearance at her house.
“Because I think I have seen something in your husband that you have not seen yet, but it is not for me to tell you. It is for you to discover. Just trust me on this,” Honora said, retracting her hand and finishing off her hot chocolate. “Things have a funny way of working themselves out in the end, and I believe this will be one of those things.”
“Thank you,” Frederica said though she wasn’t convinced.
Lord Wetherington will come back, won’t he? He will not give up.
“Might I just recommend one thing?” Honora said, putting down her cup. “Maybe don’t think too much when you are next in your husband’s company. Rather than dwelling and overthinking it all, you could try and be in the moment, dear. Enjoy his company again. You never know how that might change things.”
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
“Allan?” Frederica’s voice caught his attention. He turned at the bottom of the stairs to see his wife was halfway down the stairs.
She was wearing another of the gowns he had purchased for her. In a deep, rich, dark blue satin, it looked stunning against the paleness of her skin and the brightness of her eyes. Speechless, Allan’s jaw slackened a little as he stared at her.
She walked toward him, so swiftly down the steps that he had to clear his throat to shift the sudden awe from his mind.
“Good evening,” he said softly.
“You do not call me Freddie anymore,” she whispered, stopping a couple of steps above him so that she was at his height.
