Page 48 of From Unwanted to Duchess
“I said, I see!”
“Very well,” he replied.
She took a spoonful of soup. “The soup is good!” she shouted.
“What?” he shouted back.
“I said the soup is—oh, never mind!”
James frowned, catching only half her words. This was intolerable.
“Would you take me on a tour of the estate the next morning? I would like to meet some of the tenants.”
He looked up at her, and for a moment, she thought he hadn’t understood what she said, but then he nodded.
“I suppose that will be good for you.”
“Thank you,” she replied, and then focused on her soup.
The rest of dinner passed in the same fashion. Like two people on opposite sides of a chasm, attempting to converse. On occasion, one of them would shout a question down to the other, receive a brief answer, and then their focus would be back on the food.
Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he be more like he had been when they had debated about the Corn Laws? Why couldn’t he be more like he had been on the night of the riots?
Was it really just because of what she had said to her father? It had been a foolish thing, she knew, but did she deserve to be treated as though she were merely a guest? Merely an inconvenience? A hardship upon his life?
This is madness. We are married, living under the same roof, and yet we might as well be strangers passing on the street. How long could this possibly continue?
