and I grasped the opportunity. I was not to know how it would turn out.”
Did he mean when he found out she was not pregnant or now, when she found out that she was? “I am still unsure how marriage helped you with your – work. I do not see that I helped in anyway. You say you needed entrance, but none would have denied you.”
“True.” He finally released her hands and sat back on his haunches, bringing their gazes level. “But, it would have become the cause for speculation and question if I, with my reputation, suddenly began appearing at musicales. After I married you nobody questioned my presence. If there was any gossip it was about our marriage not about my presence.”
“Oh.” It was a very small sound. “Then all those time you came with me it was not because you wanted to?”
“I have always wanted to be with you. I know it sounds unbelievable now, but it is also true. I may have had other motivations, true, but they were as much an excuse as they were reality. I enjoyed your company and found myself seeking it even on those occasions when I had no reason to accompany you.”
Did she dare believe him? It all sounded so reasonable, but she knew it was anything but. It was in fact ridiculous. Her husband was a spy who had married her to make his mother mad and because he wanted invitations to tea. What sort of story was that?
One that was so unbelievable it had to be true.
But could she believe him about his feelings? Had he truly desired her company? She knew he had desired her, even when racked with self-doubt she did not doubt that, but did he value her beyond her body. Did he actually like to be with her? Did he care for her? She hesitated to even ask herself the question.
She reached forward and took his hands. She pulled them back to her lap. “Assuming that I do accept all you say, accept that despite the calculation of your actions that you held my interests at heart, where does that put us now?”
She stared down at his hands. She turned them over and began to examine the lines of his palms. She had heard that a whole life’s story could be read in the lines of the hands. She traced the patterns with her eyes, memorizing every length and cross.
He did not speak. She scrutinized his hands for a moment longer, and then finally dragged her gaze up to his face. His eyes were closed and he looked as if he was praying.
His voice was quiet when he finally spoke, “You ask the difficult questions today. I wish we could go back to yesterday morning when you asked that question. I would answer differently now – express the jubilation you deserved. But, I did not.”
“No, you did not.” Her hand trembled as she reached out and lay it on his cheek.
“So, we can only move on from here. I am attempting to forgive my mother for you. I will raise our child with kindness – and I will love it, boy or girl. I will attempt to be the father that my father was to me.”
She stroked her thumb over his cheek. “That is a good first step. But, I need more.” She hesitated a moment. “I need you to listen to your mother.”
“What?”
“I have sat here listening to you speak and I have realized my great fear. I do believe that you do not lie to me now and I think I even believe you will not lie to me in the future. But, I realize I do not trust you to make a judgment and not listen. You decided that I should marry you and never truly listened to my reasons why I did not wish to. You decided I should go to the country. You decided that it was in my best interest that we not share a bed and I do believe that if I had not forced your hand we would still not touch more than fingertips. On none of the occasions did you decide to discuss the matter with me.”
She watched as his lips grew tight and his eyes had trouble meeting hers.
She continued on, “You know I speak the truth. I see it in your expression. You do not always listen, particularly to women. You make a decision and you will not be swayed from it. I