Page 85 of Lord Garson's Bride
“Bugger.”
When Silas looked really worried, cold terror settled in Garson’s belly. “What?”
“Fine is the worst thing she could say. If she says everything’s fine, it most definitely isn’t.”
“Perhaps I should take her up to Derbyshire. All this gallivanting might be the problem.”
“Don’t be a damned coward. Sit down with her and don’t get up until she’s told you what’s upsetting her.”
That was good advice if only she stopped flitting about long enough for him to catch her.
“I hate feeling so inadequate. I hate to think she regrets marrying me.” Garson spread his hands in bewilderment. “This isn’t what I wanted.”
Silas’s glance was unimpressed. “What you wanted when you married her didn’t do her justice. Damn it, it didn’t do you justice either. It was a blasted cold bargain.”
“There’s nothing cold about how I feel about Jane,” Hugh snapped, bristling at the criticism, even if he deserved it. “That’s part of the problem.”
Silas’s smile held too much pity for Garson’s liking. “Having a yen for your wife is a good thing.”
The damnable truth was that, despite their estrangement, Garson still wanted her all the time. He resented being at the mercy of his animal impulses. “Maybe.”
“You’ll work it out.” Silas tried to sound encouraging. “All marriages require compromise. It’s early days yet.”
“Any other platitudes you want to share?” Garson asked grumpily.
“No.” The pity in Silas’s expression deepened. “Because I see my good advice is falling on barren ground. I wish you well, my friend. You’ll muddle through. We all do in the end.”
Hugh gave a noncommittal grunt and stared moodily into the fire. He’d muddle through, all right. But the devil knew where he and his beautiful wife would be once he did.
Chapter Thirty-One
Jane watched Hugh and Silas return to the ballroom. Her husband always danced the second waltz with her, and whenever he did, it only sharpened her heartbreak. Every time he touched her, she thought she must crack with the force of the titanic feelings she struggled to contain.
She’d spent her life longing for a London season. Now here she was, popular beyond her wildest dreams, and she hated every moment of it.
Because the man she loved didn’t love her.
She suspected Hugh was as unhappy as she was. The stiff set to his broad shoulders hinted that his casual manner was as artificial as her endless sparkle. She supposed she could ask him, but these days they only spoke about trivial matters. That was her fault, she admitted. She couldn’t risk a deeper discussion, for fear that she might reveal too much.
But the strain of keeping up a constant façade was telling on her. The pretense—to Hugh and to the world—that she was blissfully happy was draining every ounce of vitality. She felt like she was nothing but a dried-out husk. How much longer could she continue? Pride was all that sustained her, and it grew more tattered by the day.
Hugh bowed to her. “My dance, I believe.”
“I wondered if you remembered.” She took his arm and let him lead her onto the crowded floor. “I looked for you and couldn’t find you.”
They turned to face each other. He looked exceedingly handsome in his evening clothes, the crisp black and white setting off his chiseled features. Somehow that just made Jane feel worse. He was so fine inside and out, and having to live without his love was a constant torment.
“I’ll always remember you,” he said. The gentle words only increased the weight of misery pressing down on her heart. He cared about her, she knew he did. But it wasn’t enough. “I was talking to Silas in the library.”
She sniffed and tried to sound teasing. “And drinking Anthony’s brandy.”
He smiled, but compared to the smiles he’d once given her, this was a mechanical effort. “It’s too good to pass up.”
The violins took up a lilting melody. Hugh’s arm curled around her waist, and his gloved hand caught hers. She set her other hand on his shoulder and started to move in time with him.
Once, his touch had been paradise. No more. It only reminded Jane of what she couldn’t have. Oh, how she hated her stupid heart for wanting more than he could give her. She wished she could rip it out and go on without it.
Still, she must endure. They were in public, and she owed Hugh an appearance of amity. She lifted her head and fixed a smile to her lips. Most nights by the time she went home, her jaw ached with smiling, when all she wanted to do was crawl away into the dark and cry.
