Charlotte Louise Dolan (30 page)

The words were harder to say than he had thought they would be, but then he had never before told a woman he loved her. In fact, he had never in his life said those simple words to any person—man, woman, or child.

Taking a deep breath, he said the words that would put him in her power forever. “I love you, Elizabeth, with all my heart, forever and ever.”

Instead of answering him with her own declaration of love, his wife again began to weep as if her heart were breaking.

At least she was clutching him desperately and not trying to shove him away. That thought kept Darius from total panic, although he was not sure how long such reassurance would last.

Sliding under the covers, he pulled his wife down until her face was nestled against his shoulder, and he felt her tears dampening his shirt. Holding her even closer, he resumed stroking her back, but this time he whispered in her ear all the sweet words he hadn’t even realized he had been storing up in his heart.

Gradually she grew calmer, and finally she said in the merest whisper, “I’m so ashamed.”

“Because I love you?”

She took a shuddering breath. “Because I’ve been acting so ... so silly, crying and carrying on like this.”

“And demanding a divorce?” he risked asking.

Her arms tightening around him were a satisfactory-enough answer, even without her words. “I thought it was the honorable thing to do.”

Now that she was no longer crying, Darius was beginning to find this conversation enlightening, and more than a little amusing.

“In what way can divorce be considered honorable? Has society changed so much while I was off fighting the French that divorcing one’s spouse has become the proper thing to do?”

“I was sacrificing myself for your happiness.”

Not wanting to lose this opportunity to learn more about the convolutions of feminine logic, Darius used every ounce of his self-control to keep from laughing out loud.

“Have I been acting so unhappy, then?”

“No, but ...”

“But?”

“But I thought you were merely doing the honorable thing and pretending to be happy, just to make the best of things, since you were trapped in a marriage you never wanted in the first place.”

Her logic was getting more and more fascinating. “And what made you think I was just pretending?”

“Because when I looked in your eyes, there was a certain reserve—a wall—that I could not penetrate, no matter how I tried.”

All desire to laugh left him. What could he tell her? That what he was hiding was the guilt he felt because he had suspected her of duplicity? Of cheating on their marriage vows? That he was ashamed of himself for having believed the lies his sisters had told him, rather than having faith in his own wife? If he told her such things, she would be deeply hurt.

But no matter how good his intentions, it was his very wish to keep secret his own lack of trust, which had almost destroyed his marriage.

Somehow, he would have to confess his shortcomings, but in such a way that he did not scar Elizabeth worse than he had done already.

Tentatively he began. “When I first met you, I was very much inclined, as you may have noticed, to assume all women were deceitful hypocrites.”

“I noticed.”

“And even though you gave me no cause to distrust you, it took me a long time before I could believe you were really as open and honest as you appeared to be. When I finally accepted that you were, I was ashamed of myself for having wronged you in my mind, and I have been doing my best to make up for my lack of faith in you.” He prayed she would be satisfied with that answer and not demand to know specifically every unjust suspicion he had harbored against her.

“There needs to be trust in a marriage,” was all she admitted.

“Do you believe me when I say I trust you completely?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

It wasn’t enough. He understood suddenly how important words could be. He was sure from her actions that his wife loved him, but he had a deep need to hear her say it.

“Is that all a marriage needs?” he asked.

He put his hand under her chin and tilted her head back so that he could see her face, but she lowered her eyes so he could read nothing in them.

“And other things,” she whispered shyly.

“Such as?”

“Friendship ... loyalty ... honor ...”

“I can give you all of those.”

“And I you.”

Anxious to have her say the other words he needed to hear, he prompted, “And what else?”

She was silent too long, and he recalled her earlier insistence that she wanted a divorce. Maybe he had lost everything by waiting too long? Maybe she had so despaired of ever winning his love that she had taken back her own? Fear, more intense than any he had felt during battle, dug its spurs into him cruelly.

“And?” Say it, Elizabeth! Tell me you love me the way I love you. Don’t tell me again that you want a divorce because your love for me has died.

Never a man to pray, Darius found himself doing so now. Dear God, what would he do if he had lost her?

“Do you still want a divorce?” The words were out of his mouth before he could pull them back.

Silently she shook her head.

He felt as if he could at last breathe again. “And what else can you give me?”

“I can’t give you my love, because that has been yours from the beginning,” she replied softly, and he felt as if he had come home at last.

“Tell me,” he insisted.

Tilting her head back, she looked in his eyes. “I love you with all my heart, forever and ever, through this life and the next. I will never stop loving you.”

He could see into her soul—nothing was held back, nothing kept secret. He felt totally humble and undeserving of such deep love, but he was not such a fool that he would stand aside and allow another man to receive such a wonderful gift in his place. He would cherish his wife and love her until he took his last breath and, if possible, even beyond the grave.

Only one thing still puzzled him. “Why did you cry when I told you I loved you?”

Her lips quivered and her eyes began to fill with tears, but before she could lose control, he kissed her. When she was relaxed against him once more, he repeated his question.

“I don’t know ... I was so happy to hear you loved me, but I’m not usually such a watering pot. Unless ...”

“Unless?”

“Maggie says I am with child at last.”

This time it was Darius’s eyes that filled with tears, and Elizabeth who kissed them away.

Never one to loll in bed until noon, Lady Letitia was taking her hot chocolate in the breakfast room one morning late in winter when the butler brought in the mail.

Sifting through the stack of notes and invitations rapidly, she found the letter she had been impatiently anticipating for days. It was franked by the Duke of Colthurst, but written by the duchess herself.

Dearest Lady Letitia,

You will be pleased to know that I have at last presented my husband with an heir. We have named him Edward, after Darius’s father. My new daughter we have named Catherine, after my own mother. She was born ten minutes after her brother and has been protesting loudly ever since. According to Darius, she seems determined never again to take second place to anyone ...

With a smile on her face, Lady Letitia finished reading the brief letter, then rang for her secretary and instructed her to enter the new Lady Catherine’s name on their schedule for the 1831 Season.

This book is dedicated to my mother,

Charlotte Walker Baker,

who has spent many happy hours with me in Regency England.

I wish to express my sincere appreciation to

Joan Hohl, Mary Jo Putney,

and Peggy Summers

 for their help and encouragement.

Copyright © 1991 by Charlou Dolan

Originally published by Signet [ISBN 0451168917]

Electronically published in 2013 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.