Page 32 of Married to a Scandalous Spinster
“Wyatt. Do come and join us, dear.”
He shook his head. “I don't think that is the best idea.”
“Why not?”
“Grandmother. You know exactly why not.”
She scowled at him; a look he had not seen since childhood. “So, are you planning to just ignore your wife for the rest of your life?”
He sighed. “Truly, I think that is what she would prefer.”
“Nonsense. You've just got to get to know each other a little better.”
Wyatt folded his arms across his chest. “If you hadn't noticed, Grandmother, my wife is the coldest woman on earth. You have seen how she is.” He sighed in exasperation. “I have tried again and again to get past that cursed wall she has put up around herself, and all I get is more coldness. So if you have any suggestions on how I might begin 'getting to know her a little better,' I am more than open to hearing them.”
The Dowager Duchess hesitated a moment, as though caught off guard by his impassioned outburst. Finally, she wrapped a firm hand around his wrist and tugged him out toward the lawn. “Come on. Come and see what Patch and Lucy can do.”
Wyatt sighed. But he knew there was no point in arguing.
As he made his way toward the gathering, he could feel Gemma's eyes on him. When he glanced in her direction, she quickly looked away.
The Dowager Duchess picked up a stray stick from the lawn and flung it across the garden. The two dogs hurtled off toward it, with their elderly owners chasing after them almost as quickly. Within an instant, he and Gemma were alone.
Wyatt let out a short laugh. “Well. I suppose subtlety has never been their strong suit. I do not think I've ever seen them move so fast.”
Gemma gave him a wry smile. “I thought you were doing your best to avoid me.”
“And here I thought the same thing about you.”
For a moment, Gemma's eyes looked faintly apologetic. “It is best that way. You know I am right.”
Wyatt hesitated. “Is that really what you think?”
“Yes,” she said. “I do. I am surprised you have to ask.” She turned to follow after their grandmother and the dogs, but he reached out impulsively to grab her arm.
“Wait, Gemma. Please.” She looked down to where his fingers clasped her elbow, and he released her hurriedly. “Might we just speak?” he said. “Give me five minutes. That's all I ask.”
Gemma looked ahead to where the Dowagers and their dogs were on a furious hunt for the missing stick. “Very well,” she said finally. She let out a resigned sigh. “You have five minutes.”
Wyatt smiled faintly. “Good.” He put a tentative hand on her shoulder, guiding her back toward the arbor. He sat on the shaded bench and tugged her down beside him. For a moment, he looked out across the sun-drenched garden, choosing his words carefully. “I know you never wished to marry,” he said. “And I am sorry that things have turned out this way for you. But we need not carry on the way we have.”
Gemma raised her dark eyebrows.
“You and I, we could be friends, at least.”
She let out a burst of humorless laughter. “Friends? You think you and I could be friends?”
“Why not?”
“Because you've never… I've never…” She let out a breath, tangled in her own thoughts. Waved a fly away from her face in irritation. “Because you and I, we do not like each other, Your Grace.”
“Wyatt,” he told her. “I am your husband, Gemma. There is no need for you to address me with such formality.” Gemma said nothing. She wound the fringe of her shawl around her fingers and stared into them. “Besides,” he said, “what makes you think I do not like you?”
“Because whenever we speak, we do nothing but fight. When have we ever managed a civilized word to each other? Besides, I know what men like you say about me. I know you all think I amdreadfully stuck up and cold.” She sniffed. “What a terrible bore it must be to be married toLady Highbrow…”
Wyatt felt a faint pang of regret. She was not wrong. Gemma Caster and her icy, prudish ways had been a source of entertainment among the young men of thetonfor years. They had laughed at her, whispered about her, called her names, both behind her back and to her face. And for the first time, Wyatt wished he had not been a part of it. Perhaps Gemma was a little standoffish, but that night in the music room, he had begun to understand what drove her. Began to understand that there was far more to her than the prudish snob she presented herself as.
He pressed a hand to her wrist, surprised when she did not pull away. “Of all the things I can say about our marriage, Gemma, it is certainly not a bore.” That brought the faintest of smiles to her lips; one that Wyatt found himself returning. He squeezed her wrist gently, enjoying the feel of her bare skin against his own. “I am sorry about my mother. I know she has been making things difficult for you.”
