"Personal matters that you cannot share with your wife?"
The question hung between them like a challenge, though he detected no real expectation that he would confide in her. She was asking from politeness rather than genuine desire to share his burdens, fulfilling her role as concerned spouse without anyreal investment in his welfare beyond what duty demanded.
"Some burdens are better borne alone," he said with finality. "Please convey my regrets to Lord Melbourne and enjoy your evening."
He turned back to his desk with deliberate dismissal, though he was acutely aware of her continued presence in the doorway. When she finally departed without further comment, the silence she left behind felt like a preview of the loneliness that would mark the remainder of his existence once she was free to seek happiness elsewhere.
The days that followed established a pattern of polite estrangement that grew more entrenched with each passing hour, as Lucian maintained careful distance from his wife while she struggled to comprehend the reasons for his sudden coldness. He took his meals in his study, declined invitations that would require her company, and responded to her attempts at conversation with the sort of formal courtesy that effectively discouraged further overtures.
Her confusion was evident in every interaction, though she maintained her dignity despite his obvious rejection of her companionship. Yet he also detected relief beneath her puzzlement—relief at being spared the necessity of pretending affection she did not feel, of enduring proximity to a husband she could barely tolerate.
It was during one of these frigid exchanges, as she attempted to discuss strategy for the upcoming competency hearing, that his new understanding of their relationship crystallized into action.
"I have been reviewing our legal position with Mr. Blackwood," she said with the sort of determined cheerfulness that suggested she was trying to bridge the growing gulf between them through shared practical concerns. "He believes that testimony from our London acquaintances regarding yourobvious competence will significantly strengthen our case."
"That will not be necessary," Lucian replied without looking up from the correspondence he was pretending to review. "I have decided to withdraw my opposition to the proceedings."
The silence that followed his announcement stretched long enough to force him to look up, where he found her staring at him with an expression of such shocked disbelief that he almost wavered in his resolution.
"You have decided to what?" Her voice emerged as barely more than a whisper, though it carried undertones of incredulity that suggested she could not have heard him correctly.
"I intend to cooperate with Edmund's petition," he said with manufactured calm. "The competency hearing will proceed without opposition from our side."
"Are you insane?" The question burst from her with such force that it echoed off the library walls, though she immediately seemed to realize the unfortunate implications of her choice of words. "That is to say Lucian, you cannot simply surrender to your cousin's schemes. We have been building a strong defence—"
"A defence that will ultimately prove futile," he interrupted with the sort of weary resignation that he hoped would discourage further argument. "Edmund possesses sufficient evidence to raise reasonable doubt about my fitness, and the burden of proof lies with us to demonstrate competence rather than with him to prove its absence."
"Then we shall meet that burden," she said with fierce determination that might once have filled him with hope but now only emphasized how much effort she was willing to expend in defending a husband she pitied rather than loved. "We have medical opinions, character witnesses, evidence of your excellent estate management—"
"Evidence that can be explained away by my cousin's legalrepresentatives as the temporary lucidity of a damaged mind or the careful management of loyal servants compensating for their master's deficiencies."
She stared at him as though he had announced his intention to take poison, her dark eyes wide with disbelief at his apparent capitulation to Edmund's schemes.
"This is not like you," she said finally, her voice carrying a note of desperate confusion. "You are not a man who surrenders in the face of adversity. What has happened to change your mind so completely?"
For a moment, he was tempted to tell her the truth—to explain that he had finally recognized the futility of asking her to sacrifice her happiness for the sake of a marriage she had never wanted and could never truly embrace. Yet such honesty would only make their eventual separation more painful for both of them.
"I have simply accepted the reality of our situation," he said with calculated indifference. "Perhaps it is time to consider that Edmund's concerns about my fitness are not entirely without merit."
"That is absurd, and you know it," she replied with heat that suggested his apparent self-doubt genuinely distressed her. "You are one of the most intelligent, capable men I have ever encountered. The notion that you lack the competence to manage your own affairs is simply preposterous."
Her passionate defense of his character filled him with emotions too complex to analyze, though he forced himself to remember that such loyalty stemmed from duty and not love. She would defend any husband against unjust accusations, regardless of her personal feelings toward him.
"Your loyalty is commendable," he said with the sort of distant gratitude that effectively dismissed her concerns, "but perhaps misplaced. A truly competent man would not haveallowed his cousin to maneuver him into such a vulnerable position."
"A truly competent man might have recognised that his greatest vulnerability lies not in his cousin's schemes but in his own willingness to surrender without a fight."
The accusation struck him with unexpected force, highlighting the fundamental difference in their perspectives on the situation they faced. She viewed his withdrawal as cowardice; he saw it as necessary sacrifice for her welfare.
"Perhaps," he said with finality that discouraged further argument. "Regardless, my decision is made. The proceedings will go forward without opposition."
"And what of me?" The question emerged with such quiet intensity that it commanded his immediate attention despite his efforts to maintain emotional distance. "What becomes of your wife when you are declared incompetent? Have you given any thought to my circumstances in your eagerness to capitulate to your cousin's demands?"
The pain in her voice nearly undid his resolve, reminding him of how much he was asking her to sacrifice for the sake of his own tortured conscience. Yet her freedom was precisely what he was trying to secure, even if she could not yet understand his motivations.
"Edmund will undoubtedly be generous in his settlement arrangements," he replied with deliberate callousness. "You may claim deception regarding my mental state, present yourself as an innocent victim of circumstances beyond your control, and emerge from this situation with both your reputation and your financial security intact."
"My reputation and financial security," she repeated with dangerous quiet that suggested he had chosen his words particularly poorly once again. "How remarkably considerate of you to arrange my future with such careful attention to practicalconcerns."
