Page 101 of Lord Garson's Bride
“That must be beastly.”
“I’ve been through it before.”
She frowned. “That makes it worse.”
He shrugged, his casualness unfeigned. It was odd. When Morwenna threw him over, the public nature of his rejection had been an excruciating ordeal. When Jane left him, he hardly cared what people thought. All he cared about was how much he wanted her back and how he’d let her down so badly.
“I haven’t been in London to hear most of it. I just got back from Beardsley Hall four days ago.” He’d hoped returning to his estates would heal the endless ache in his soul. But without his wife by his side, the house where he’d hoped to install her as mistress had felt empty. “Susan came to see me yesterday. She wanted to know where you are.”
“Did you tell her?”
“No. I assumed if you wanted to see her, you’d invite her to visit.”
Susan had arrived at Half Moon Street in a state. In his opinion, her theatrics stemmed more from fear of how her sister’s marital dramas might affect Lucy’s prospects, than any genuine concern. But then he was biased against his sister-in-law. He’d always thought she treated Jane abominably. These days, he acknowledged that was the pot calling the kettle black.
“I don’t want to see her. She hasn’t spoken to me since the Oldhams’ ball. If she speaks to me now, she’ll only say ‘I told you so,’ and lecture me about people who make their own beds having to lie on them.”
He winced. The mention of beds was a little too close to the bone. “I told her you needed total rest in the country, on doctor’s orders.”
“She wouldn’t believe that.”
“She didn’t. She left convinced that I’ve strangled you and buried the body in the garden.”
Jane looked startled. “Oh, no, I didn’t think of that.”
He gave an unamused grunt. “I assume if the magistrates take me up and charge me with murder, you’ll deign to appear to prove that you’re not dead.”
It was her turn to wince. “Hugh, I hope you know that I don’t wish you any harm.”
No, even if her absence threatened to destroy him. No harm in that at all.
“How do you see this working long-term, Jane?” he asked, taking advantage of the fact that she seemed in no hurry to send him on his way.
The question surprised her, although he couldn’t imagine why. “Surely I’ll conceive.”
“Yes,” he said impatiently. “And the child might be a boy. Then you’ll no longer have to suffer my distasteful advances.” Perhaps after that torrid joining, his rancor at her desertion wasn’t quite as exhausted as he’d thought.
Jane went pale but met his eyes. “You know your advances aren’t distasteful, Hugh.”
He ignored that and persisted with his questions. “Once you’ve had the child, who will bring it up? You? Me? Some neutral third party?”
She faltered back, although despite his hard tone, he wasn’t attacking her. “I don’t know. I thought perhaps we could share.”
“Not the best choice for a child, to be pulled from pillar to post because his parents don’t see eye to eye.”
“I’m aware that all the legal power in this battle is yours.”
His heart cramped in agony. “Must it be a battle?”
She looked devastated. “Hugh…”
He swung into the saddle. Either he left now, or he wouldn’t leave at all. His reluctant bride would find herself tupped fromthe cellar to the attic of the dower house, whatever his better nature might insist upon. “What if we have a string of girls? Think about that, Jane.”
She swallowed. “I assumed you were only interested in a boy.”
His hands clenched on Lysander’s reins, making the black sidle and snort in protest. “Then you assumed wrongly.”
“You only ever mentioned an heir.” She spread her hands. “I thought if we had girls you’d leave them to my care.”
