Page 72 of To Marry and to Meddle
“Fine,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “The show wasn’t my favorite.”
“And?” he prompted.
“And,” she said, taking a deep breath, “I thought it was a bit… pretentious.” She was surprised how liberating she found it to express an unguarded opinion.
He reached out to take her hand, his thumb stroking across her palm, the feeling like a flicker of flame even through the fabric of her glove.
“I don’t think comedies need to—to beaboutanything important, to be worthy of merit,” she said, the words coming out in a rush. She felt a bit giddy, and glanced up at his face with a momentary pang of anxiety, wondering if she’d gone too far.
But he was smiling at her.
“I agree,” he said simply.
“You do?” she faltered, then deflated. “Oh. Because your father didn’t like it.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head as he tightened his grip on her hand. “Because I sat there and watched the same performance you did, and spent the entire time wishing my father had come to any other show. This isn’t the sort of production I want to put on. My father remindedme of that, yes—but I already knew it.” He shook his head. “I should have listened to you long ago. The Belfry makes a sizable profit each year—why should I change anything about what I’m doing?”
“But I thought you wanted the approval of theton,” Emily said slowly, unable to understand the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Wasn’t this precisely what she’d wanted him to realize for weeks?
“Ah, again you were right all along,” he said. His smile widened a bit, making him look entirely unlike the rakish, seductive Julian Belfry she’d first met on a night like this one, at the same theater they’d just departed, three months earlier. “I only wanted the approval of one particular member of theton.”
“Your father,” she said softly.
“My father,” he agreed. His face, which had brightened and grown more animated as he spoke, darkened again slightly at whatever he saw in her expression.
“What is it?” he asked. “I thought you’d be pleased. No more tedious litany of afternoon calls. You can simply be yourself—be Emily.”
Be Emily.
But who, precisely, was that? She had spent so much of her life crafting a perfect version of herself—one who always spoke and acted a certain way, because that was how she was expected to speak and act.
And who was she to be now, if he no longer needed her to be the Emily he’d first met?
Did he have any use for her at all?
To him, of course, she said none of this. Instead, she did what she did so well, what she had always done: she pasted a bright, cheerful smile upon her face, and took great pains to ensure that not a single one of the thoughts currently swirling around in her mind was evident in her voice.
“This is such wonderful news,” she said, still smiling. “We shall have to celebrate when we get home—drinks in the library, perhaps?”
“Are you all right?” he asked, frowning at her, and a momentary flash of panic gripped her. No, no, no. He mustn’t see through her smile—her uncertainty.
“Of course,” she said, waving him off.
He continued to regard her for a long, thoughtful moment.
“Yes,” he said. “Let’s have drinks. And then I’ll take you upstairs and show you myfavoriteway to celebrate good news.”
So they did, and he did. And Emily enjoyed every moment of it, as he must have known she would. But long after he had fallen asleep, she lay awake, curled up beside him in the enormous expanse of their bed, wondering how on earth she was going to bear life with a husband she’d accidentally fallen in love with—and who would shortly realize that he no longer needed her at all.
Twenty-One
“You look appalling,” Diana saidthree nights later as they gathered in Emily’s drawing room before dinner.
“Diana,” Violet hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had heard her. “What on earth is the matter with you? Were you raised by wolves?”
“More or less,” Diana said, unrepentant, continuing to fix Emily with a suspicious stare. “What is the matter withyou, Emily, is the real question. Did you sleep at all last night? You’ve dark circles under your eyes, darling, this is most unsettling.”
“She’s a newlywed, Diana,” Violet reminded her. “Perhaps sleeping is not her first priority.”
