Page 44 of Better Love Next Time
“Pitiful?” Her back was up now and charged with liquor. “Is that so?”
“Damn so. And what occurred last night, I’ve thought on it long, wondering as to your motive. You were attempting to be a woman you will never be. Do you know why I know this?”
Waving his glass at her parted mouth, he said, “Because the sort of woman who would do what you did wouldn’t have rolled away like a bloody martyr and ruined what pleasure I gained. And while I am being honest, and angry, I will tell you I never want you in my bed again. You are the antithesis of pleasure. You are maudlin and self-pitying, and the man you search for to fulfill your needs does not exist. A man does not want to suffer for a fuck. Or for what you name love. Neither do most women for that matter. And while I free you to seek other men, know that at most, in your present state, you will get a man who will bed you once and run.”
Kitty scrunched her cheeks, on the edge of tears.
“Are you going to cry?”
“No.” She reached for the glass and finished it off.
“Kitty, you and I have changed. What we were can never be again. But I want you to have this opportunity. I owe it to you. I want you to fight for it. You said it was quite simple, your reasonfor the laudanum. Do you know why I finally decided to marry you? Because you were going to jump out that damn garret window. No more windows. No more laudanum. Stop being a coward and fight.”
“I understand,” she whispered.
“Ah, there is Katherine with her wounded mien. I question the sanity of my offer and my ability to tolerate nine months of misery, let alone your ability to manage men. Your pretty face and their pity will get you through a week before they lose respect for you.”
She jumped to her feet, struggling to mind his generous offer instead of arguing her points. Points she could not broach without admitting the whole. And as much as he hurt her—and he hurt her so very bad she thought she might break in two—she could not refute him. She saw herself through his eyes, and it didn’t matter the reasons why she was, but that what he saw was true.
She was the most miserable of people.
“Know,” he said, “that if you wish to speak to someone about your troubles, if you need a friend, I am here.”
She stretched over the desk, grasping his hand, remembering how it had once been her solace, how any trouble had vanished with his touch.
He hesitated, his gaze pinned to their joined hands. “What is it?”
“I am so very…” She cleared her throat. “That is… I will endeavor to heed your counsel. There. I am no longer that pitiful person. I am brave, you see? And I am more grateful than… well, just much more grateful. Are there more conditions?”
He canted his head. “You will acknowledge me as your husband.”
She withdrew her hand from his. “I cannot.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” She had only to feel her bruised heart to form her reply. And it was half a truth, but still the truth. “You ask too much of me to bear the pitying glances of those who suspect or know you seek pleasure with other women.”
“I will be discreet.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Those ready with pitying glances will never know. You will never know. Or I can tell you, so you might avoid them.”
Not just a her.Them. Kitty settled back into her chair, gripping with all her might to the practical part of her who wished to rescue something, make good from her suffering. “I do not want to know.”
“Excellent. Do you agree then on the second condition?”
“Why must I be your wife?”
“Because I’m not dead. Because you are my wife, and our marriage will assist you. Men will respect you without question if they respect me. Because if you are successful, when I leave, the men will see you as working under my authority. Moreover, I pledge to return at the beginning of each season, except winter, to ensure the men do not forget your authority to manage them.”
He made good sense. Before her lay a generous offer. More than she’d had an hour before. Julian would teach her to oversee a shipyard and visit three times per year when she suspected he could not stand the sight of her.
“I agree to your terms,” she said at length. “But you will allow me to remain Madame Féline. Your wife.”
He shook his head and lifted his glass to his lips. “Can’t bear to lose the memory of Etienne and André, can you?”
She pushed from the chair, recognizing her descent into mopishness, and walked to the bookcase. She wondered if Andrew would have loved ships like his father. If his eyes would have turned the darkest brown if he hadn’t died after sixteen short months in her arms. She must find a way to reconcile her feelings to reality. She could never forget, but she needed toremind herself at every slip into self-pity that her grief meant something more than grief itself.
“I concede. You may carry on as Madame,” he said. “At least you make a convincing widow.”
Don’t I though.
