A few hours ago Trent had been sure he was done with sitting in chairs, waiting for the sun to rise. He’d thought his nights of sleepless contemplation were over.
He was afraid they were just beginning.
If anything, this night, this moment was worse than all the sleepless nights that had come before. This time he wasn’t waiting for the first rays of sunlight to bring him new opportunities and fresh hope. No, on this morning, on which he wasn’t going to be able to bring himself to even attempt to eat breakfast, he was waiting for daybreak to give him permission to flee the scene of his atrocity and seek advice from the only person he could.
His Bible sat forgotten on his leg. The answers were probably in there somewhere, but in his agitated state he hadn’t been able to find anything but genealogies, proof that what men had been accomplishing for centuries either came at a great cost to their wives or Trent was a dismal failure.
On the other side of the connecting door, Adelaide slept. He knew she slept because he’d gone to check on her every half hour since he’d carried her to her own room. He was glad she slept, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t even bring himself to return to the bed. He’d hurt his wife. He hadn’t meant to, hadn’t even known that he could, but somehow the moment had gone from blissful and beautiful to tragic in a single instant. Her squeal of pain still echoed in his ears, refusing to give him peace.
So he sat in his father’s chair and waited for the sun.
How often had his father sat in that very chair, contemplating the questions of life? While Trent was fairly certain his father had never had to come to terms with this particular question, he knew the man had struggled with more than one life decision in this chair. He was a duke, after all. Making life-changing decisions seemed to be all they ever did. But his father had been lucky enough to know and love his wife before their marriage. The story of how his father had pursued his mother was almost famous among the ton. Courting her for over a year. Buying an estate next to her father’s so he could continue courting after the Season was over.
Was that what Trent had wanted? Was it the reason he’d been so hesitant to focus on one woman before now? Or had it been that he’d instinctively known there was something wrong with him? That any woman who married him would be getting a bitter life sentence of pain. Since he had obviously done something wrong, did that mean there couldn’t even be children?
He left his curtains open, watching the building across the street so he could know the moment the sun’s rays hit it. He could have gone to the breakfast room, where the sun would shine through the glass, but he had no idea what time she rose. What if he ran into her? He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to look her in the face again. Not after he’d turned her sweet request into such an abomination.
The sun streaked the sky, lighting on the rooftops across the street. He waited until the attic windows of the house across the street glinted in the sun before he rose from the chair to dress. The muscles in his legs protested, stiff after their prolonged time in one position. He didn’t ring for Fenton, choosing instead to dress himself. He didn’t even know if the butler knew Trent had spent the night at the house.
His tying of the cravat wasn’t anything to speak of, but otherwise he looked like any other aristocratic gentleman going for a morning ride. He hoped his household thought so, anyway. They had no need to know he was riding but one street over and not to Regent’s Park or even Hyde Park.
Mrs. Harris was coming out of the breakfast room as Trent made his way toward the small stable at the back of the property. “May I say how nice it is to see you this morning, my lord?”
The twinkle in the housekeeper’s eyes nearly choked Trent. He had to get out of there. “Yes, well, let’s not mention it, shall we? We don’t want to embarrass anyone.”
For once he hoped his staff would act like staff and not make any comments like that to Adelaide. While she’d initially seemed to accept the marriage more easily than he had, she was probably regretting it now. There was no need to constantly remind her of the regret they couldn’t change.
Knowing he didn’t have far to go, Trent made himself think of his horse and walked him the short distance to Anthony’s house. The butler threatened to throw him out, but since Trent had charmed his way through the kitchens and was already at Anthony’s study door before the butler saw him, Trent was able to convince him not to. He’d already asked one of the footmen downstairs to tell Anthony he was here because he didn’t trust the stiff-necked butler to do it.
Trent tried to settle into a chair in Anthony’s study, but he couldn’t do it. Lots of men had books in their study, but Anthony’s walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. So many books made him think of how much Adelaide would enjoy looking through the shelves for unusual titles. She probably wouldn’t hunt down obscure facts for him anymore. She probably wouldn’t even speak to him.
He paced. From window to door and bookshelf to bookshelf, but he didn’t have long to wait before Anthony came busting in still tying his dressing gown. “What’s wrong?”
“I need . . . I don’t . . . I can’t . . .” Trent fell into a chair, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, as words, the one thing that had always saved him before, failed him. “I’ve botched everything.”
Anthony stopped in the middle of the floor. “And you came to me?”
Trent looked up, wondering if his despair was evident. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
Shock drifted across Anthony’s face, but he contained it quickly. Trent didn’t blame him. While he and Anthony had always gotten on well enough, often fencing or going riding together, Anthony had always been more Griffith’s friend than Trent’s. But Trent was counting on that friendship being extended to him now.
“Is anyone hurt?” Anthony asked slowly as he lowered himself onto the edge of the chair next to Trent’s.
“No.” Trent fell back to slump into his own chair. “At least she said she isn’t. Well, not anymore, anyway.”
“Ah.” Confusion and even worry dropped from Anthony’s face to be replaced by a ghost of a smile as he sat deeper into the chair.
“I shouldn’t have come here.” Trent wanted to stomp out of the room, but the truth was he really didn’t have anywhere else he could go.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Anthony wiped a hand over his face and did his best to erase the smile. “What happened?”
“I stayed the night.”
“I gathered as much.”
Trent popped back up to resume pacing. “She asked me to stay. I wanted to stay.”
Anthony leaned back, watching Trent go back and forth across the room as if he were watching a tennis match. “That’s a good start.”
Once more words failed him as he didn’t begin to know how to tell Anthony what had happened next.
“I’m assuming there was kissing at that point.” Anthony couldn’t quite hide the humor in his voice, even though he managed to keep from smiling. He was intently studying his fingernails in order to keep from laughing.
“Yes,” Trent growled. “There was kissing.”
More silence. Finally Anthony looked up. “Was it good?”
Trent groaned at the memory. “The best.”
“So it was everything else that was the problem, then?” Anthony wasn’t even trying to keep the smile off his face anymore, and Trent couldn’t bring himself to care.
He braced his hands on the desk and leaned forward, hunching his shoulders and dropping his head. “It didn’t work.”
Anthony barked in laughter before taking huge breaths to try to contain it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. What didn’t work? Er, was it you?”
Finally the other man seemed to realize the awkwardness of their conversation as two high spots of red formed along his cheekbones.
Trent glared at the marquis. “No. I worked just fine. It was the . . . Well, the process didn’t work. I bungled it, Anthony. I thought I knew what to do. I’ve certainly heard about it plenty of times, but then it didn’t . . . go right. And then I hurt her. I hurt my wife, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
He rubbed his hands over his face hard, as if he could wipe away the events of a few hours prior, surprised when they came away wet. When was the last time he’d cried? His father’s funeral? Maybe the first day he’d gone off to school and his father hadn’t been there? But if ever there was anything to cry over as an adult, failing at one of the prime responsibilities as a man was certainly a good one.
Anthony rose and crossed the room. He took Trent’s shoulders in his hands. “Trent, it happens. There are plenty of men who bungle their wedding night. Though most of them do it on their actual wedding night.”
“I’m sure you didn’t bungle your wedding night,” Trent muttered before breaking away from Anthony and throwing himself back into the chair. The tufted club chair rocked back on its legs with the force of his weight.
Anthony’s good humor disappeared as he slowly sat in the other chair, looking every inch the powerful marquis that he was. “I think Amelia would have happily accepted some bungling on my part if it meant I came with a purer past, but that’s not of consequence here. Is my experience the reason you came to me, Trent?”
“No.” Trent hated himself this morning. First he’d hurt his wife, and now he’d hurt his friend by unintentionally bringing up his dark past. “Griffith isn’t married, so what does he know about it? Colin and Ryland are married to my sisters, so I’d really rather not have this conversation with them.”
Anthony relaxed and held his hand out, palm up. “Point taken. The thing is, Trent, if you got your information about how last night should have gone from the boys at school, it’s not a wonder that it didn’t go as planned. As for hurting your wife, I’m afraid the first time is difficult for a woman no matter what—a man too, for that matter. How was she this morning?”
Trent didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. He avoided Anthony’s gaze but couldn’t bring himself to actually get up out of the chair, as that would be too obvious an avoidance of the question.
“You didn’t see her this morning?”
“I saw her.” He had. He’d slipped in to make sure she was still sleeping peacefully before he left.
“Did you talk to her? Kiss her? I can already tell you didn’t try again.”
“Try again? Are you crazy? I broke my wife last night. She cried out in pain, and I caused it.”
Anthony sighed. “Didn’t your father ever . . .”
“No. I was so young when Father died. I don’t know if he ever even talked to Griffith. It’s not a subject that comes up on a regular basis with us.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” Anthony scrubbed his hands over his face. “Awkward though it will be, I promise you I will talk to Griffith before he marries.”
“He won’t have this problem.” Trent grunted.
Anthony lifted that annoying single brow. “He won’t?”
“Do you think Griffith would be foolish enough to be trapped into a marriage? No, he’ll know and love his wife before it ever becomes an issue. I have to think if I’d known Adelaide better, if we’d fallen in love like we were supposed to, last night would have gone better.”
“Maybe.” Anthony shrugged. “But probably not. You aren’t the first man to fudge his wedding night and somehow the human race continues. Which means people get past it. You just have to take your time and learn together. Next time will be easier.”
“Not if she hates me. I should have waited. What if what we’ve built isn’t strong enough to withstand this?”
Anthony sighed. “Do you love her?”
Trent stared at the other man, feeling like the life had drained out of him. “I don’t know.”