In theory, he could sit her down and explain the truth of his feelings for her. In essence, that was what his ill-fatedoopshad been about—getting her to question him and drag the truth from him.
That, she would have believed. Him simply telling her…wouldn’t work. He’d done too good a job of convincing her that she knew his mind and, more importantly, his heart regarding her. Overwriting a belief he’d spent more than five years instilling and underscoring couldn’t be done with mere words.
If he tried to simply tell her his truth…not only did he doubt she would believe him, but worse, such an attempt would almost certainly lead her to distrust him. She would unquestionably wonder what he was up to, and he shuddered to think what she might conclude.
While he might have deceived her by omission, by all the things he hadn’t said, he’d never directly lied to her, and he would infinitely prefer to keep it that way.
His fingers found a pencil, and he idly tapped the end on his blotter. “So if words aren’t a viable way forward…”
Eyes narrowing, he thought and imagined, weighing the possibilities. Given it had been he who had shaped their marriage into its current form, if he wanted that form to change, then plainly, it fell to him to do whatever was needed. “Whatever I need to do to open her eyes to the truth that I love her and always have.”
Hearing the words helped him focus. He could, he decided, leave the somewhat damning revelation ofwhenhe’d fallen in love with her until later. The essential first step to achieving his desired goal was to convince his wife of the past five years that he loved hernow. Today.
Given her character and his, the only approach that might work, that held any real hope of convincing her that her view of his feelings toward her was wrong, was to show her—to demonstrate the reality. She was highly observant and needle-witted; she would believe what she could unequivocally see.
He considered the prospect for several long minutes, then, resolved, tapped the pencil one last time and let it fall. “Actions always speak louder and truer than words.”
Chapter 2
Just after nine o’clock that evening, Therese finished greeting Lord and Lady Walton and moved on into their drawing room.
Therese paused and swiftly scanned the crowd. Her ladyship was well known for inviting a wide range of interesting people to her events. From social mavens to parliamentarians, from critics and bluestockings to masters of finance and business leaders, one never knew whom one might meet at Walton House. Tonight, there were few faces to which Therese couldn’t put a name. The chandeliers threw soft light over glossy heads and elegant gowns, striking gleams from jewels and laying a subtle luster on countless pearls, all set against the backdrop of the severe black of gentlemen’s evening coats. All in all, the sight left her feeling comfortable and assured, and the ambiance beckoned.
It was in no way unusual for matrons of her age and station to attend such events without their husbands or other companions. In her gown of figured lilac silk, with her hair swept up but allowed to softly frame her face and with the Alverton diamonds blazing about her throat and dangling from her earlobes, she was entirely as one with the crowd, and with a confident smile curving her lips, she glided through the guests to join a group of other young matrons whose lives were similar to her own.
She arrived in time to hear Georgiana, Lady Sheldrake, say, “My Thomas has just discovered the joy of tugging—he races around pulling every rope, cord, string, or tie he can reach. He’s even taken to escaping the nursery to find more things to pull. My butler despairs. Every time he walks into a room, it’s to discover the curtain cords have vanished.”
“Better something so innocuous as curtain cords,” Emily, Lady Pritchard, replied. “I still have nightmares over the months during which Cedric became obsessed with tugging necklines and trying to peer inside. You can imagine how that played out when my mother-in-law brought her bosom-bows to visit to show off her eldest grandson.”
The other ladies laughed, which Emily took as her due, then she blandly added, “I did ask Pritchard whether he’d been teaching his heir bad habits, but he denied it.”
Everyone chuckled, and the conversation rolled on; initially a running commentary on their children and households, gradually, the shared observations shifted focus to those of the ton still in London, what the latest gossip regarding political maneuverings was, and whether anyone had heard more about the latest scandal engulfing the business world.
Eventually, satisfied that she’d learned all her closest acquaintances could tell her and having contributed various social tidbits of her own, Therese left the group and wended through the knots of guests to join another circle of acquaintances. She paused beside a tallish lady with burnished brown hair and tapped her arm.
Veronica, Viscountess Hemmings, turned her head, saw Therese, and her face lit. “Therese, my dear! Well met.”
Therese smiled as she and Veronica clasped fingers. “I wondered if I might find you here.”
The tall, rakishly handsome gentleman on Veronica’s other side leaned forward to smile and half bow. “Therese.”
Still smiling, Therese nodded back. “My lord.” James, Viscount Hemmings, was one of Devlin’s oldest friends, and somewhat to Therese’s surprise—and possibly James’s as well—given he’d married Veronica, with whom Therese had been acquainted since girlhood, she, James, and Veronica had become established friends.
James glanced over the heads in the direction from which Therese had come. “No Devlin, I take it.”
“I believe he’s attending a business dinner in the City,” Therese replied. Devlin occasionally attended social events, usually by her side, but by and large, he preferred to leave it to her to maintain their wider social presence, a normal arrangement for couples of their standing. Smiling easily as she acknowledged the other two ladies and three gentlemen in their circle, she shrugged aside the niggling thought that she wouldn’t have minded Devlin making time to attend more social functions—and that she was just a touch jealous of the way James was constantly to be found at Veronica’s side.
Admittedly, James’s hovering came with repercussions of which Therese was well aware, but a relationship that landed midway between overly possessive and distant would, she thought, be rather nice.
There were often times in social situations when she wished Devlin was beside her to share observations and insights; strange to say, he was the person whose views most closely mirrored her own.
Such unproductive mooning was something she rarely indulged in; that wasn’t how their marriage worked.
Her social smile firmly in place, she turned to the gentleman on her right, who had just joined their circle.
She didn’t recognize him, not at all, which was unusual enough to make her take extra note. He was tall—as tall as Devlin—with a similar lean and rangy build. His features were blatantly aristocratic, with a patrician nose, well-defined cheekbones, and a squarish chin. Glossy, light-brown hair fell in fashionably cut waves, and his eyes, as they briefly met hers, were a curious shade of amber.
Well dressed, aristocratic—Therese felt she should know him.
