told you that women were logical? I thought we were famous for acting upon our impulses. Although, I admit that I have always striven to act with some degree of reason.”
“Yes, and surely you see that this is unreasonable.”
“No, actually, I do not.”
Tristan looked at her, opened his mouth to speak, and then stopped. She could feel his gaze upon her lips
Marguerite continued, conscious of the shape of her mouth with each word formed, “Whatever our reasons we have decided to embark on matrimony. It does not seem illogical, unreasonable, or lacking in sense to think that we will do best if we try it together. I had always believed that marriage required two.”
Tristan rubbed his brow, but his focus remained. “Why do I feel that I never win with you? This should be a simple thing and instead I am backed into a corner. I do not believe that your heading to the country a day or two early would have set our marriage on a path to ruin, but by all means stay if that is what you want. It hardly matters.”
He turned to the table set the book back without opening it
“It is gracious of you to grant your permission, husband.” Why did her voice sound so deep, so husky?
Tristan glanced back at her and for a moment she thought she caught the hint of a question. Did he have something else to ask? Then he schooled his features, again. “As I said it matters not. I intend to dine tonight at my club and then attend the theatre with my friends. I would dislike canceling on such short notice. I am sure that if you let Lady Smythe-Burke know you are without entertainment she will fashion something suitable. Although perhaps given your condition a quiet evening at home would be best.”
“I shall do as you suggest. I believe that tomorrow will be soon enough to embark on the grand career of a marchioness.”
“I should have known better when you argued with me at the start.” This time there was no mistaking the upward curl of his mouth. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He nodded his farewells and turned and left the parlor.
Marguerite did not move. Her body ached with the effort of not wilting before Tristan. Finally, she let her head fall forward. “I don’t know what you were thinking either.”
She was still here, not sent to Glynwolde. What good was being here with Tristan, if he wasn’t here, at home, with her? Had he not understood her comment about it taking two to make a marriage? She was prepared to do whatever was necessary to form a solid bond. She would even welcome bedroom games if they would lead to the home and happy family she had dreamed of as a girl. She had forgotten all the stories her sister had told her about how little time society husbands and wives actually spent in each other’s company. The bedroom might be the only place she could catch her husband’s attention – if he would actually stay home.
Returning to London was an empty victory.
Still, perhaps she would visit his mother. Getting to know his family could only help her cause.
“You want his mother’s direction? Didn’t you ask him? A man, even a marquess, should know where his own mother lives. I don’t know what is happening to children in these current times. Makes me glad I didn’t have any myself. Still my nephew knows where I live and he’s a duke.” Lady Smythe-Burke was on a roll. She took one gulp of air and continued without stop. “Felicity, that’s his mother, but I daresay you know that, only lives four doors down. The house with the green shutters. Who would ever paint their shutters green? It makes me think of peacocks. Disgusting birds, always screeching. My father kept them when I was a girl. Never could get a good night’s sleep and then father would see the circles under my eyes and question my reading by candlelight. Never would believe it was the birds. So few books worth staying awake for – I was up until past two with Byron once. The book not the man. Not that either was that entertaining.”
Lady Smythe-Burke paused to take a swallow of tea. Marguerite was not one to miss an opportunity. “Four doors down, green shutters did you say?”
“I just said that, didn’t I? Lovely flowers in the summer too, not those horrid things that Dutchman keeps sending