Page 125 of To Catch a Viscount

When they’d seated themselves, Anwen drew closer. “What is it like?”

Marcia glanced over. “It?”

The other woman rolled her eyes. “Iiiit,” she whispered, stretching out that single syllable. “Lying with one’s husband. Because from what my mother and sister and the other women in the Mismatch Society whom are married shared, it sounds awful. They assure me it isn’t, but I cannot see how any of that can be anything but uncomfortable and painful. And I’m very certain that they are lying to me.”

“Anwen,” Faith admonished. “Your sister and mother lead a society of women advising other women on matters of intimacy. I daresay they aren’t going to lie to you.”

“What?” the other woman said defensively. “It wouldn’t be unlike our mothers to want to protect us from what it really is like so we don’t worry.”

Marcia’s gaze grew distant as she stared out at the park. “It was… It is… magnificent, as they say,” she said softly.

“I knew it,” Faith loudly exclaimed, catching several curious looks from passersby. “You are in love with him!”

Another dreamy smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.

“Shh.” Anwen sent an elbow sailing into the other woman’s side, causing Faith to grunt. “Will you have a care before we are overheard? A lady doesn’t wish to have her feelings about some gentleman aired about.”

“Ah, yes,” Faith said, waggling a finger at Anwen. “But Marcia is wed and—”

“And it’s still not anyone’s business who she has fallen in love with, and she’s given no indication—”

“It is fine,” Marcia said softly, and both women immediately ceased fighting and looked at her. “I do love him.” She looked off in the distance. “I suspect I always have. For so long, he was just Andrew, my friend, whom I looked to like an older brother. But then, along the way, that changed.”

While the two proceeded to argue about their levels of freedom, Marcia twisted her parasol at her shoulder and absently studied the Hyde Park landscape.

There was truth to what Faith had spoken of. As a married woman, Marcia was granted freedoms previously denied her.

Only, she knew precisely what she wanted in life—a real marriage with him.

Because she loved him.

Because she always had.

She knew that now.

“Oh, dear, you have the same look my brother and his wife have whenever they are together,” Anwen lamented.

“And isn’t that a good thing? That Marcia is in love with her husband?” Faith asked.

“Yes, but does her husband love her—ow.” Anwen cried out as the other woman kicked her in the toes.

As if Marcia weren’t seated right beside them, Faith cast a pointed look her way and whispered, “Of course he loves her. How could he not?”

How could he not?

Very easily.

He was a rogue who’d likely broken any number of hearts through the years. He’d never professed to love her—not in that way. He made love to her, passionately, but again, he’d had any number of lovers.

And yet…

They stopped at the side of the river. The maid who’d accompanied them, hastened over, snapping a blanket out for them to sit upon.

“Something felt… different between us last night,” Marcia confessed to her friends once they’d claimed a seat at the shore, and her friends went silent, staring at her with rapt gazes. “He’s not said he loves me, but I think… he might. At least eventually.”

Both her friends dropped their chins upon their knees and sighed.

“Why should he not love you?” Faith asked, her tone indignant. “You are perfectly lovable.”

---