Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

J ames turned out to be an excellent dancer, his steps graceful and his movements lively. His conversation, however, left little to be desired. It was as if he had rehearsed the questions he was going to ask before he had invited Caroline to dance, lacking any of the ease and amusement that she relished with Max.

"You are very beautiful, Your Grace," James said for the tenth time, smirking as if he had just invented flirtation. "Maximilian is a fortunate man indeed."

Caroline smiled politely as she hopped from foot to foot. "You have mentioned that already." She turned in a circle, coming back to face him. "But what of you? Do you consider yourself fortunate?"

"What do you mean?" James frowned.

"Max informed me that you were married. Do you not think of yourself as fortunate? Do you tell your wife that she is very beautiful?" Caroline said.

It made her uncomfortable to be complimented by the husband of another woman, especially one who had such hunger in his eyes when he looked at her as if she were a roasted goose on the table. More than that, it made her sad.

Is this what my life will be? Will Max be dancing with other men's wives while I dance with other women's husbands? Will we be so apart that we do not even attend gatherings together anymore?

She had thought she was alone during the first week of her honeymoon, but she could think of nothing lonelier than being married to someone who became a stranger.

"My wife is nothing compared to you," James said with a wink, clearly mistaking what it was that Caroline had wanted to hear.

"That is unkind of you," she scolded, her temper flaring.

Perhaps, she had been spoiled by being in the company of the Spinsters' Club and their husbands; couples who adored one another with all their hearts and were not afraid to declare it and show it at any given opportunity. As such, she had forgotten that there was another side to the marriages of society—a darker, more miserable, more painful side, where wives and husbands barely tolerated one another.

"Pardon?" James' nostrils flared, affront evident on his face.

Caroline paid his displeasure no mind. "How did you come to marry your wife?"

James eyed her distrustfully as if she was setting out some manner of trap for him. But as she waited for his reply, keeping her expression patient and sincere, he seemed to relax.

"I met her in her debut Season," he replied. "She was—is—the sister of a friend of mine, who I have known since Cambridge. The moment she stepped out on her brother's arm, I knew she was the woman that I would marry. Like an angel, she was. But looks can be deceiving."

"In what respect?" Caroline pressed, dancing in a horseshoe around James before twirling back into position in front of him.

James shrugged as he echoed the movement. "The first year of our marriage was a magical thing. I could not have been happier. Then, she became sullen and argumentative. We fought more than we showed fondness and, eventually, it became simpler for us to live apart. We see one another every couple of months, and that is more than enough. She would agree."

"People do not suddenly change," Caroline pointed out, as he raised his hand above his head and she pressed her palm to it—hesitantly, not sliding her fingers into his as she would have done with Max. "Can you recall anything that might have made her sullen and argumentative?"

James snorted. "Of course not. People change all the time." He pointed his chin in Max's direction. "Your husband, for example. He had such dreams of adventuring across the world, seeing everything there is to see. He spoke about it often, making us all jealous with his plans, but then he abandoned them all to play Father to his brother and sister."

He wanted to travel the world. He never told me that…

Caroline tried to picture her husband stepping away from his study and his tireless work to set sail for foreign shores, emerging from the somewhat hermit-like shell he had fashioned for himself to secure his family's legacy. But try as she might, she could not do it. In her imagination, the ship's cabin transformed back into the paneled walls of his study, white sandy beaches became the white gravel pathways of his manor, and bustling marketplaces became him lying in the sun room with Powder Puff on his chest.

"His parents died, Mr. Forster." Her voice dripped with frost, a defensive streak appearing inside her, bubbling with anger.

"Oh, I am aware of that. Very tragic, of course, but nothing was stopping him from continuing with his plans. Even less stopping him in truth, for his mother and father were not keen on the notion," James replied nonchalantly. "The earldom would have been waiting for him when he returned. There was a steward in place, and I believe there was an aunt or a cousin who had already offered to look after his siblings. But he just dropped all of his wild dreams like hot potatoes and became this boring, upstanding gentleman that you see today. When he was younger, he was far more like Dickie."

"But would that not be a reason for his change?" she said thickly, glancing at her husband.

He was standing off to the side in the shadow of a velvet drape, sipping gingerly from a glass of port. He was not even looking at the dance floor, unbothered by the fact that his wife was dancing with someone else. Yet, there was something sad about his demeanor, as if the weight of the world was resting upon his broad shoulders.

"You gave no reason for the change in your wife," she added, turning back to James. "And I suspect there must be one if your marriage suddenly went from magical to miserable."

James furrowed his brow. "You are suggesting that I am to blame?"

"I was not suggesting that at all unless you can think of something that you might be responsible for," she retorted. "Did you pay less attention to her? Did you say something unkind? Did you treat other women the way you should have been treating her? Did she hear you say that she did not compare to another woman?"

The creases in his forehead smoothed out as his eyebrows rose upward, a flicker of something like realization dawning across his face. "Would that be enough to change a woman's heart?"

"Which part?"

"All of it," James replied, his throat bobbing.

Caroline nodded. "It would certainly harden a woman's heart. I am no expert, but when a woman is hurt, she will create distance. She will wait for the man in question to try and close that distance, to show her that she is cherished. If he does not close the distance, it will grow wider. So wide, perhaps, that you live almost entirely separate lives."

That is why I am dancing with you, she neglected to add, for she had wanted Max to ask her not to. She had wanted him to claim her, informing James that no other man but him would be dancing with his wife. When he had not, it had stung, leaving her feeling like she was the one trying to narrow the distance between them. And as she glanced at Max again, that distance only seemed to be getting wider.

"I… had not considered that," James said stiffly, turning a slow circle as the music began to fade to a close.

Caroline mirrored his movement. "Perhaps, you ought to try and close that distance now. You will not know if it is too late unless you do."

"My wife is in Yorkshire," James said.

Caroline shrugged. "Then, you have a long ride ahead of you."

"Yes…" James came to a standstill in time with the music and bowed his head. "I daresay that I do."

Caroline curtseyed in response. "In that case, I hope that the next time I see you, your wife is standing at your side, some magic rekindled."

She had learned a thing or two from Anna since it had been revealed that she was the Matchmaker, and the main lesson that Anna had taught was that there was nothing so detrimental for a couple than miscommunication. Resentment festered in things unsaid or misunderstandings, and resentment was like a weed, smothering the love and affection that might otherwise blossom.

"Thank you, Your Grace." James bowed his head again, hurrying off without another word.

And as Caroline took a breath and looked at her husband, who still seemed oblivious to her existence, she wondered if she ought to follow her own advice.

All week, Max had been responding to the romantic behavior she had put on for society. He held her hand without hesitation, he smiled at her as if she were something precious, he guided her into tea rooms and around dinner parties with his hand on the small of her back, he danced with her as if there was no one else in the room. More than that, when they returned home each night, he sat beside her in the carriage with his arm around her and had even carried her to her bedchamber once, when she had fallen asleep.

All the rest, she could put under the banner of a performance, but in that carriage where no one else could see them, why had he acted the same way? And why, now, was he pulling away from her so tangibly? At the beginning of the week, there was no way he would have allowed her to dance with someone else. Now, he could not have foisted her off on another fast enough.

No one suddenly changes without good reason, she reminded herself, determined to get to the bottom of what his reason was.

Watching Caroline dance with James had been a singular sort of torture that no amount of port or distraction could ease for Max. She had looked so happy and so vibrant, her graceful movements attracting the attention of almost everyone at the Assembly Rooms. A rare bird, so beautiful and so intelligent and so amusing and so vivacious that it felt—not for the first time—utterly wrong for her to be trapped in Max's cage.

She is the kind of woman that could make a man lose all sense of reason. The kind of woman a man could and should be obsessed with.

The tight sensation in his chest had swelled to near suffocation, his veins filled with thorns that prickled from head to toe. It was a feeling he had experienced before, though in a lesser, different capacity. And he did not like it one bit. He was a duke and a respected gentleman with an excellent reputation, not a pitiful schoolboy overcome with jealousy.

I should have come to London straight after the wedding. I should have left her at Harewood or sent her back to Westyork. I should never have spent so much time with her.

He drew in a deep breath, held it in his chest for five seconds, then expelled the air slowly for ten seconds. But no relief came, the breath merely constricting his chest into a tighter vise.

"I think I succeeded in scaring Mr. Forster away," Caroline's sweet voice hit him like a rock to the face.

He turned as she approached, resembling an ethereal being as she walked toward him in her gown of light blue, the color of the lake shallows on a summer afternoon. Her cheeks were flushed the prettiest shade of pink, her lips a bitten red, her eyes shining with the exertion of the dance, a lock of her raven hair falling over one eye, begging for his fingertips to brush it back behind her ear.

But if he touched her now, all of his resolve would shatter.

"I ought to depart," he said roughly. "You do not have to join me. Now that you are a duchess, you should indulge in your freedom. Spend the evening with Phoebe and her sister. I saw them not a moment ago, heading to the tea room."

Caroline's face hardened, her lips pressing into a thin, determined line as she took hold of his hand and squeezed it. "What is the matter, Max? Have I done something to annoy you? Your face is not quite the same as it was when I played my violin badly, but the look in your eyes is not dissimilar."

"You have not annoyed me. You are doing exactly what I asked you to do," he replied flatly. "Now, I am giving you the evening to enjoy yourself at your leisure, without worrying about keeping up appearances."

"And what if I would enjoy it more if you stayed?" she replied in defiance.

He managed a tired laugh. "I would wonder if you were quite well."

"Is it so exhausting to pretend that you like me?" she challenged in a low voice, so no one else could hear.

Max stared at her, his throat constricting along with his chest. Words danced on the tip of his tongue, longing to tell her that the problem was that he did like her. Indeed, he was beginning to like her far more than he should.

Every morning, he woke up alone in his bed and looked forward to heading downstairs to breakfast so that he could see her and ask her how she slept. He looked forward to the reassurance of her hand on his arm, the pressure of her body leaning into his, the closeness of her when they shared a carriage journey. He savored every smile and laugh, overjoyed when she did not cover her mouth. And when he returned to his bedchamber, alone, every evening, he missed her with a physical ache that only the promise of the morning could ease.

The performance had blurred into something more, and he could not allow it to continue.

"I will see you in the morning," he said. "We will leave for your new residence at ten o'clock."

"So, you have already decided then?" she asked, her tone thick with disappointment.

"I will see you tomorrow."

Drawing his hand away from hers, he dipped his head in a bow and turned on his heel, forcing himself not to look back as he left the Assembly Rooms altogether.

On the way, he passed Phoebe and Ellen. The former narrowed her eyes at him, not with disapproval but with a regretful understanding, and as he reached the doors and did deign to glance back, he was relieved to see the two women making their way toward his wife.

Perhaps, with the help of her friends, Caroline would learn that this was all for the best. And perhaps he, in time, would remember what life had been like without her.