Page 67 of Not his Marchioness
Rhys briefly closed his eyes. It was true—his father had been popular, admired, and seemingly larger than life. He had left behind great shoes to fill. Shoes that were never meant for Rhys, but for his elder brother.
And yet here he was. He had taken his father’s place, and perhaps it was not so terrible if he was becoming a little like him. Still, did it mean he was losing himself in the process? And was that an altogether bad thing?
“Say,” Gideon continued, interrupting his thoughts, “have you sworn off our lady friends altogether? I ventured into St. Giles not a week ago, and our favorite cyprians bemoaned the fact that they had not laid eyes on you in an age. What shall I tell them next time? That you will call again, or that you aretruly reformed? I thought this whole marriage business was only to appease our peers, or else they would have come for your fortune.”
“It was meant to be that, yes. And I never intended to reform altogether,” Rhys said slowly. “But I have not had the urge or the time. Besides, it would have been risky. Had anyone seen me…”
“But that is why you have a wife now,” Gideon pressed. “Everyone already believes you are perfectly, blissfully married. Not least because of that rather impressive twirl, dip, and kiss you performed at Lady Swanson’s ball. And if there had been any doubt, you silenced it when you spoke with the Duke of Windsor last week. He was most impressed—my father heard him boasting about it in Parliament.”
“Is that so? Well, that is good. It means soon enough, we need not continue the charade. Woodhaven is going to support Charlotte’s school, and once that is set in motion, we shall begin the next phase of our plan.”
“The next phase of your plan?” Gideon grinned. “You sound as though you are preparing for Waterloo.”
“Sometimes it feels that way,” Rhys admitted. “Navigating Charlotte’s needs and Society’s demands is not unlike conducting a war.”
He laughed under his breath, recalling their earliest conversations.
“What is it that amuses you?” Gideon asked.
“Not much. Only that a few days after Charlotte moved in, she had all the suits of armor removed from the front hall. I asked if she was planning a war. She replied she was cleaning up after one.”
“You are smiling,” Gideon observed. “In fact, you often smile when you speak of her, even when it is something meant to vex you.”
“No, I do not.” Rhys shook his head firmly.
“You do,” Gideon insisted, clapping him on the back. “You cannot see your own face, so you must take my word for it. You are grinning like a man whose horse has won at the races. Admit it, you are in love with your wife.”
“Lower your voice,” Rhys hissed.
But Gideon only laughed louder. “I daresay you protest too much. There is nothing wrong with it. A man ought to endeavor to be in love with his wife. The question is, does she feel the same?”
Rhys leaned closer, lowering his own voice to a whisper. “First of all, I am not in love. And even if I were, it would be a foolish venture. She does not care for me. Half the time, she does not even listen. I am convenient to her; she is convenient to me. That is all.”
“I see. Then why have you not visited the races of late? Nor the club? You have not placed a wager in weeks. And if I were to challenge you to billiards, I would surely win without even cheating.”
“So you admit you have been cheating?”
“Do not change the subject. You, my friend, are in love.” Gideon patted his shoulder and, to forestall any reply, strode away.
Rhys scowled.
Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Gideon only wanted amusement, and Rhys was not about to provide it. Yet, despite himself, his eyes drifted across the garden, searching for Charlotte.
She was with her cousin Margot and her sisters, Evelyn and Marianne, along with their aunt Eugenia. They had all come up from Bath. What were they talking about? Did they speak of him?
It should not concern him, and yet curiosity gnawed at him.
Could it be that Charlotte felt more for him than she let on? He thought back to the afternoon they had spent searching for a property, and the way her body had felt against his as he lifted her out of that treacherous pond. How his heart had swelled when she declared the old house of worship perfect for her school. How he had wanted to see her joy.
There was no use denying it; Gideon was right. Rhys was falling for his wife. Not that he would ever admit it. To do so would be to lower every wall he had built around his heart, and nothing good could come of that.
“My Lord.” The feminine voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
A woman approached with a practiced smile, dipping into a curtsey that revealed far more than was proper.
“Lady Sandler,” Rhys greeted as she rose.
“My Lord, it humbles me that you remember me.”
