perhaps not the very beginning. I gather you met before you arrived on his doorstep asking for help.”
“Yes.”
“And, I know that when Tristan came to see me before the wedding. He said he could not visit me any more. He would not risk hurting you by even the appearance of impropriety.”
“Oh. I did not know that. What about the ball and then the note?”
“I am not quite sure to what you refer? I attend many balls, send many notes.” Lady Carrington moved away again.
“The Winchester’s ball. I saw you call Tristan over to you and then you left, together,” Marguerite answered
“And the note?”
“You wrote and told him that he was needed. Then he disappeared for a week.”
“I did not sign it. How did you know it was from me?”
“I recognized the scent from that first night, combined with the initial . . . I must confess I was not sure until now that you had sent it.”
“Yet, you noticed the scent. That would be the move of a jealous woman. Are you jealous of your husband?”
“He is my husband. Why would I be jealous?”
Lady Carrington leaned all the way back. “Well then, why are you here?”
“Marguerite felt a damn burst within her. “Yes, I am jealous of everything. He barely speaks to me or even looks at me. He tries not to be rude, he answers my questions, carries on a polite discussion at dinner, and takes an interest in my activities and correspondence. Oh, that does not paint an accurate picture at all.”
“Explain more, then.”
“He listens to me without hearing. He looks at me without seeing. That sounds so trite, but I do not know how else to express it.”
“That does not sound like Tristan – except perhaps it does. He never hears as much as when he is pretending not to listen. And as for not looking, there is only one reason I know that a man pointedly avoids looking at a woman. He wants to look too much.”
“That sounds most unlikely.”
Lady Carrington leaned forward again. “I believe it is most likely. You are a beautiful woman. Oh, don’t look so doubting. I am sure you’ve been told that before now. Tristan appreciates beauty. There is only one reason he would not look.”
Marguerite bent forward until their faces were inches apart. “Because he wants to look too much. I still do not see that that makes sense.”
“You do not have much experience with men if you expect them to make sense. One can learn to understand how they will act, but not understand why – although in this case the why is obvious.”
“Obvious? Not to me.”
“Your husband desires you and does not wish to.”
“Why not?”
“That takes further consideration. Have marital relations not been satisfying?”
Marguerite was glad she had not taken another mouthful of tea. She would have spit it across the room. Instead she just choked.
“Oh, don’t sound so shocked.” Lady Carrington patted her knee. “You are a married woman.”
“But we have never, I mean never – why would you think –“
“Well, with men it almost always comes down to sex. And as I said you are married, how can you not have – I mean I know Tristan, and even if we were never intimate, I know he has a healthy appetite. You are his wife. Why would he not . . .?”
“You tell me. You are the one who has just said she knows him so well. At first I thought it was because of the baby, but then he kissed me, but then he left, and then there was no baby, and I thought he’d be angry, but he was not, but he stopped looking at me and when I tried to talk to him he left again, and yes, this time he was back for dinner, but then he left again and I do not even know if he came home last night, and I was awake until after three and –“
“Stop. You need to breathe. I am not sure I have ever heard such a sentence, but I do think I understand your confusion. I will not even ask about the baby that wasn’t. You will have to share that with me when we are better acquainted.”
“So what should I do?”
“What do you want to do?”
Marguerite paused. People never asked her what she wanted. She remembered her one item list. “I want the magic.”
“The magic?” Violet looked unsure.
“I want to feel as alive as I did the first time Tristan touched me, when