Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,250

Not from a man such as Phillip, who clearly enjoyed—no, clearly needed—the physical aspects of married love.

Marina had only been dead for fifteen months. If Phillip had gone without a woman for eight years, that meant they hadn’t shared a bedroom since the twins had been conceived.

No . . .

Eloise did some mental arithmetic. No, it would have been after the twins had been born. A little bit after.

Of course, Phillip could have been off in his dates, or perhaps exaggerating, but somehow Eloise didn’t think so. She rather thought he knew exactly when he and Marina had last slept together, and she feared, especially now that she had pinpointed the date of it, that it had been a terrible occasion indeed.

But he had not betrayed her. He had remained faithful to a woman from whose bed he’d been banned. Eloise wasn’t surprised, given his innate sense of honor and dignity, but she didn’t think she would have thought less of him if he had sought comfort elsewhere.

And the fact that he hadn’t—

It made her love him all the more.

But if his time with Marina had been so difficult and disturbing, why had he come here tonight? Why was he staring at her portrait, standing there as if he couldn’t move from the spot? Gazing upon her as if he were pleading with her, begging her for something.

Begging the favor of a dead woman.

Eloise couldn’t stand it any longer. She stepped forward and cleared her throat.

Phillip surprised her by turning instantly; she’d thought that he was so completely lost in his own world that he would not hear her. He didn’t say anything, not even her name, but then . . .

He held out his hand.

She walked forward and took it, not knowing what else to do, not even knowing—as strange as it seemed—what to say. So she just stood beside him and stared up at Marina’s portrait.

“Did you love her?” she asked, even though she’d asked him before.

“No,” he said, and she realized that a small part of her must have still been very worried, because the rush of relief she felt at his denial was surprising in its force.

“Do you miss her?”

His voice was softer, but it was sure. “No.”

“Did you hate her?” she whispered.

He shook his head, and he sounded very sad when he said, “No.”

She didn’t know what else to ask, wasn’t sure what she should ask, so she just waited, hoping he would speak.

And after a very long while, he did.

“She was sad,” he said. “She was always sad.”

Eloise looked up at him, but he did not return the glance. His eyes were on Marina’s portrait, as if he had to look at her while he spoke about her. As if maybe he owed her that.

“She was always somber,” he continued, “always a bit too serene, if that makes any sense, but it was worse after the twins were born. I don’t know what happened. The midwife said it was normal for women to cry after childbirth but that I shouldn’t worry, that it would clear away in a few weeks.”

“But it didn’t,” Eloise said softly.

He shook his head, then harshly brushed one dark lock of hair aside when it fell onto his brow. “It just got worse. I don’t know how to explain it. It was almost as if . . .” He shrugged helplessly as he searched for words, and when he continued, he was whispering. “It was almost as if she’d disappeared. . . . She rarely left her bed. . . . I never saw her smile. . . . She cried a lot. A great deal.”

The sentences came forth, not in a rush, but one at a time, as if each piece of information were being brought forth from his memory in slow succession. Eloise didn’t say anything, didn’t feel it her place to interrupt him or to try to inject her feelings on a matter she knew nothing about.

And then, finally, he turned away from Marina to Eloise, and looked her squarely in the eye.

“I tried everything to make her happy. Everything in my power. Everything I knew. But it wasn’t enough.”

Eloise opened her mouth, made a small sound, the beginnings of a murmur meant to assure him that he’d done his best, but he cut her off.

“Do you understand, Eloise?” he asked, his voice growing louder, more urgent. “It wasn’t enough.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said softly, because even though she hadn’t known Marina as an adult, she