13. Chapter 13

Chapter thirteen

Robert knelt on the floor in front of Louisa, examining her hand. The mantle held a small fire to give them extra light since evening had fully descended by the time they arrived home. His mother had not yet returned, and Robert hoped that meant Jessica had finally snapped to her senses and decided to mourn her loss.

"Does this hurt?" he asked, moving her thumb.

She winced. "Yes. But I can move it." She wiggled the appendage to prove her claim.

He shook his head. "You are lucky you did not break it. When punching someone, you must never tuck your thumb into your palm."

"Forgive me for being inept at pugilism. I had not intended to have need of it."

He felt a soft chuckle tickle his chest, but kept his face calm. Feeling a strange pull, he looked up to find his wife watching him, her eyes soft and tender. "Why do you do that?" Her voice was almost a whisper.

"Do what?"

Her eyes dipped from his face. "Withhold your smiles."

He paused. It was a reaction borne from many years of practice. Now, he rarely had to try to withhold them. They simply didn't come. At least, not easily. And not without his permission. He appreciated having the ability to control what people saw and what they didn't. It kept him safe. But with Louisa, apparently, his defenses crumbled.

Seeming to notice his hesitancy, she continued. "Do you wish to talk about what happened at your sister's today?"

His eyes fell to her hand, so small and delicate in his own. Why was he still holding it? "There isn't much to say, I'm afraid."

"It seemed to upset you."

He swallowed, but before he could respond, she continued. "We did agree to be friends, did we not?"

"I suppose," he said, a bit reluctantly. "But I do not wish to burden you."

She twisted her hand in his grasp, tightening her grip. "We are married, Robert."

A warmth spread through his chest. A familiarity rang through her words that made him want to take off his mask for once. If he wished for her to mourn him one day, he needed to give her something of himself. But could he trust her? To not mock what was within or rebuff his heart?

He finally nodded. "Yes, we are."

He watched as her eyes slid to their clasped hands with a sort of uncertainty, but he still did not want to separate them.

"Were you and Lord Drake close?"

He gave his head a small shake. "No."

"Well, I believe it is a natural thing to hurt when our loved ones are hurting."

He sat down at her feet, still holding her hand. He couldn't seem to let it go. "That is just the thing. Jessica wasn't hurt."

"Oh?" Her brow furrowed with her question, her body leaning closer.

"She was more concerned that she wouldn't be able to wear her newly commissioned dresses."

"I see." Louisa tucked her free hand beneath her chin as she propped an elbow on her leg. "And what sort of relationship did Jessica and Lord Drake have?"

"I arranged it." Robert ran his thumb along the outside of her palm, careful not to touch her thumb. "With her approval, of course. She had approached me about him, so I did some digging. He seemed a respectable, stable sort of man."

"See? If she was only looking for something stable and for her own well-being and not love, I do not think her reaction is so concerning." His wife's thumb idly rubbed his hand, the caress soft as she favored the injured finger. He nearly sighed at the tender touch. "Would you really want her to be hurt?"

Yes, he did. Though it sounded rather unfeeling to say so. But, apparently, that was a tendency in his family. Unfeeling. Uncaring. Unloving.

"I had just not expected her cold reaction. That is all."

"And that is why you went to . . ." Her words trailed off, and she nodded toward his hands.

He tilted their joined hands, gazing at his knuckles. "Yes. It helps me sort my thoughts."

A smile spread across her rosebud lips. For a moment, Robert wondered what it might be like for them to kiss his calloused knuckles. How long had it been since someone placed a loving kiss anywhere on his person? The last time he could recall had been when he was six years old and had skinned his knee outside while running after a duck by their pond. Gravel had ripped through his trousers and sunk into his skin, and his mother had gently rubbed it away, cleaning it and kissing his wound. But he was a man now. No more comfort. He was to always hold his head high and be his own man.

But she was his wife. Would it be so absurd for them to kiss? The idea caused a heat to uncurl in his stomach, but the fear of not knowing how she would react kept his lips to himself.

"I must admit that I envy your sister." Louisa's words startled him from his thoughts.

He swallowed, letting his fingers slide across hers. "How so?"

She took a slow breath, relaxing into her chair. How very fitting. To be comfortable while she sat there questioning his character and very being. "Grief has a way of breaking people. I would not wish that on anyone."

"But mourning someone shows there was something between people to mourn, does it not?"

She gave a small shrug. "I suppose."

Silence descended after her ambiguous answer.

Could he change his fate? Perhaps if he allowed his mask to fall, even if just with his wife, he could stop the awful thoughts that she would not mourn him. If he died tomorrow and she did not cry, how could he blame her? What effort had he put forth to get to know her or spend time with her? More importantly, how could she care about him if he kept himself from her?

An idea sprouted. "So, would you like me to teach you how to throw a proper punch?"

Her eyes jerked toward him, her mouth quirking into a grin. "Truly?"

"Yes." He nodded, allowing a smile to lift his lips. His smile fell, however, as he remembered something. "It will have to be after Lord Drake's funeral." He stopped and swallowed. "But perhaps in a few days we can arrange something."

"Will Jessica be riding in the procession?"

"Not likely." Jessica's face flashed into his mind again, so aloof and unbothered. "It is not common for genteel women to do so, and based upon her feelings today, I would say she would rather stay home."

"Well," Louisa said, pulling her hand back and sitting up in her seat. "When everyone is recovered, I would be happy to learn boxing at the hands of a master."

"You need only name the day."