Page 60 of Everything But the Earl
Right?
“I do miss him,” Grace said, “but it’s better this way. And surely this is something I should tell him face to face, rather than in a letter.”
“If you insist.” Catrin tutted and then picked up the hammer and pounded in the nail. Then she said, “I suppose I don’t understand because I’ve never lived apart from my husband, and I suppose I’m not an aristocrat.”
“I’m not much of an aristocrat.”
“No, but things are done differently. My husband and I share abedroom, and our house is spacious enough to fit us all, but I can hear my children cry at night if they need me. And Gareth and I, well, we knew each other as children because we both grew up in this village, no more than a stone’s throw from each other. So in truth, I’ve never been separated from my husband. But yours must be in London regularly, and I understand it is not uncommon for aristocrats in arranged marriages to lead somewhat separate lives.”
“Yes,” Grace said, although she wondered what it would be like to have Owen close, to be able to hear their children cry at night. As it was, the nursery was upstairs from the earl’s bedroom, and it was expected she’d hire nurses, nannies, and governesses to take care of this baby and any other children they’d have.
Because that was how things were done.
Although, one advantage to independence was that she could do things the way she wanted them done.
“Are you feeling all right?” Catrin asked.
“Just a little dizzy,” Grace allowed.
Catrin nodded. “That can happen. Here, I’ll finish this and wait for the mail coach. You should head home and eat something.”
“Oh, I’m all right, I’ll—”
“I insist. We finished all the food you were keeping here yesterday, remember? Go home. Eat. Take care of yourself and that baby. I can do this.”
Grace understood the wisdom of that. She pushed herself out of the chair and went to tell the footman to bring her carriage round.
“Thank you for your help, Catrin.”
Catrin waved her hand, as if it were of no consequence. “What are friends for? But you should consider telling your husband everything. I believe he deserves to know.”
Chapter Fifteen
Anthony had beenfeigning drunkenness and counting cards for the entire game, so when at last it ended and he won all the money in the pot, he had to pretend like this was just luck and not something he’d been working toward the whole game. Several of his opponents groaned or threw their cards on the table in disgust.
As the men left, Anthony finished raking his winnings into a sack he’d carried for this purpose. A moment later, Lark approached. “You knew Rutherford had the seven of diamonds.”
“I did.”
“You’re not drunk, are you?”
“Haven’t had a drop of alcohol all night.” He pointed to the glass near him. “That is just a bit of juice.” And bless Rutherford’s green-tinted glasses; the tumbler of juice looked like it held whiskey.
“You’re quite the actor.”
“Were you watching?” Anthony scooped the last of the coins into the sack and then looked up at Lark, who wore a pained expression.
“I lost ten pounds to Dain, and refused to bet any more because I know he cheats, so I had a little time waiting for you to finish.” He sighed. “The room is clearing out. I suppose we must rejoin the ball.”
The Rutherfords had decided to throw “a small gathering” for whoever was still in town now that the Season was long over. Although many had decamped for their country homes, enough aristocrats remained in town for this to be notso much a small gathering as a ball. The one saving grace was that there were not many unmarried women about.
After Anthony stepped outside to find one of his footmen to secure his winnings, he rejoined Lark in the ballroom. It was late and nearly everyone at the ball seemed deep in their cups. Lark himself drank what looked like brandy and glared at the dancing crowd.
“We could make our excuses,” said Anthony. “This ball has already thinned out a bit.”
“I almost enjoyed myself this evening. There wasn’t the pressure to pretend I’m willing to make a match with some young lady.”
Anthony was exhausted by the argument they’d been having for weeks about each of their relative willingness to get married. He opted not to respond to Lark’s comment. Instead, he watched the dancers, currently fumbling their way through a very drunk waltz. The wine had been flowing like a waterfall all evening. And although Anthony had abstained so he could keep his wits about him in the card room, part of him wanted to be drunk enough to have the courage to dance with Lark.
