Ah, Christ.
Sweeter words could not have been said to him in that moment.
When it came to Harriet, Will was a selfish man. He wanted to occupy every chamber of her heart. But he would settle for claiming the territory of at least ninety percent. When he said he didn’t gamble, he hadn’t lied. He didn’t gamble with money. He respected his blunt too much to lose it on a bad hand or the roll of a dice. But he did gamble in a way. And the stakes were much higher than any monetary fortune.
He had taken a gamble when approaching her father and asking for her hand. And now he was gambling that he could win her heart.
Will slipped from the sheets, careful not to disturb his wife, and padded over to the connecting doors. His gaze flicked over her baubles as he passed her dressing table, landing on a plain silver hand mirror. Before he knew what he was doing, Will stopped and reached out to clasp the looking glass and settled onto the small stool.
He lifted the mirror to his face.
Will stared at his reflection, his eyes flicking over his somber countenance weathered with lines of age and years of practiced restraint. There was nothing handsome about his face, at least not to his eye.
His reflection stared back at him, unmoving and aloof.
Will summoned a smile.
Dear God.
Was that how he looked when he smiled? Had he always looked so damn uncomfortable?
He curved his lips a bit more, but the attempt felt forced, lacking the warmth that should accompany a smile. He tried again, focusing on the delicate muscles around his mouth, the subtle movements that would transform his visage from something cold to something warm.
This look was even worse than before.
What a disaster.
He lifted his chin and mouthed,you look lovely, Lady Harriet. How many times had he practiced that particular line in the mirror? Too many to count. Come to think of it, he’d not been struggling in his conversations as much lately as he had in the beginning. They flowed more easily now.
Also, the line had changed, had it not?
You look lovely, love.
Will placed the mirror down with a grunt. He glared at the thing, before picking it up again.
He didn’t need to practice lines anymore. But his smile...
The corners of his mouth twitched, but the smile remained distant, failing to reach his eyes. It was as if a veil of coldness clouded the true nature of his emotions, preventing them from realizing their full potential.
He flashed a row of white teeth.
Bloody hell.
This was even worse.Theworst. He should never, ever, show his teeth when he smiled. Such an unnatural expression...
What the hell am I doing?
Calstone, that blackguard. This was all his fault. Did he really look like he smelled something foul when he smiled? Did that even make a whit of sense?
He would probably never be able to rid this face of its solemnity and embrace a more carefree existence. But he wanted to try.
For her.
Will scrutinized his reflection, searching for the missing spark, the ease that Calstone enjoyed but seemed to elude him. He had never thought about how his face seemed to others—not until Calstone had pointed it out—even though he had always known he was seen as cold and indifferent at times.
Perhaps there was an art to smiling. Like boxing. And if one practiced enough hours a week, one could master the intricacies. Like he had done with his stammer. He thought of Harriet, the ease with which she laughed. Her smile always came naturally and was truly a thing of beauty.
Will wanted to smile like that.
