Page 86 of From Unwanted to Duchess
“No, My Lady,” Franklin replied.
“Well, in that case, will you stoke the fire? It looks like a crypt in here.”
“Of course, My Lady.” Franklin immediately set out to stoke the fire, after which he lit several candles.
“That is much better. I never thought I would see you in such a wretched state, James. It is pitiful. Pitiful, indeed. Not as pitiful as your wife, however.”
At that, James looked up.
“How is she?” he asked.
Secretly, he didn’t want to know, because he could imagine.
“Dreadful. She is quite undone. She will not leave her room. She will not eat. She will not speak to anybody. She tolerated Marianne’s presence yesterday for about an hour, but she did not say anything.”
“I see,” he sighed. “It pains me to hear that she is not faring well.”
“That’s it? Because I believe you are the author of her misery.”
“Of course I am. That is why I didn’t want to marry in the first place. I am unfit for civilized company.”
“Pish! Piffle! You must stop wallowing in self-pity. It is most unbecoming. Now, tell me what happened, for she will not tell me.”
He shrugged. “She wished to leave.”
Before he knew what was happening, the palm of her hand connected with the back of his head, as though he were a naughty schoolboy.
“Ow!”
“Do not lie to me, James Ellery. That girl did not wish to leave. You sent her away. You sent her away because you were beginning to fall in love with her, no?”
He looked away. “I care for her. I do. But you know that I am not made for marriage.”
“You keep saying that, but you know it’s not true. You have so much to offer. I really wish I understood why you are so averse to marriage, because I know it’s not just because of your brother and that wretched duel.”
He took a deep breath. “There is nothing to tell. It has nothing to do with Marcus or that foolish woman or that wretched duel. It has everything to do with me. I am not fit to be anybody’s husband, and that is the end of it. Now, please, I must have my rest.”
“James—”
“I have made my decision. It is done.”
Aunt Eugenia was silent for a moment, studying him with those sharp eyes that saw far too much.
“You are afraid,” she said finally.
“I am not.”
“You are terrified. I can see it in your eyes. You think that if you love her, you will lose her. Just as you lost your brother.”
He said nothing.
What could he say? She was right.
“But James, my dear boy, you have already lost her. You sent her away. So you are experiencing the very loss you sought to avoid. Quite a self-inflicted wound.”
“Better this way,” he said. “Better now than later when?—”
She shook her head. “You are your father’s son, after all. Not in temperament, thank God, but in stubbornness.”
