Chapter Thirty-Three

Eliza felt as though the world had suddenly rearranged itself into nonsense. Solid ground was now ocean, ocean was now marmalade, and her husband detested tea.

“You…detest…tea?” she repeated, just to be sure.

“Loathe it,” he confirmed.

He took a bite of chicken sandwich, and then—in complete disregard for his own words, not to mention her poor nerves—gulped a large swallow of tea. She watched, fascinated and horrified, as his expression turned carefully blank before he replaced his dish on the table. Had he always masked his distaste so? How had she never noticed?

“I don’t understand,” she said helplessly. “Why drink it if you don’t like it?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Because it was offered. Haven’t you ever taken the path of least resistance?”

“What resistance? You’re a duke.”

“Yes, I am always aware of that. I could have refused the tea and left my hostess to ruminate on her failure. Or I could have confessed my dislike, couldn’t I? But it is quite terrible having one’s whims catered to. You’ve no idea. Would I like brandy? Coffee? Chocolate? There would be no more conversation. I would be poked and prodded until they had made me happy, and I would be miserable about it.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Eliza said. “How much you must endure!”

His lips quirked. “You mock me, wife? And here I am, pouring my soul into your care.” Spoken flippantly, as always. And yet…there was truth there, too.

“Never,” she said softly.

He blinked in surprise, then smiled ruefully. “Ah, but you do, although I don’t know that I don’t deserve it.” Another bite of sandwich, another quick gulp of tea. “We have an estate in Hampshire, you know. His Highness would often stay a night with us there when he was traveling to Dorset. George had quite a lot of whims that my mother was so happy to satisfy. What a pleasure, she would say to his every request.” He looked thoughtfully at his dish of tea. “I believe her greatest pleasure was seeing him depart the next day.”

Eliza frowned at that. It was not hard to understand his point. “That would not be you, Sebastian. It would never be you. Everyone adores you, and not just because you are a duke, but because you are such a delightful duke.”

“I imagine they would find me less delightful if I didn’t drink tea,” he said drily.

“I doubt that very much. Abingdon likely wouldn’t even notice.” She paused. “Unless he already knows?”

“Of course I wouldn’t tell Abingdon.”

He said this so quickly that Eliza took notice. She regarded him quizzically. “Why not? He is your closest friend, and I am certain that his devotion has nothing to do with your feelings on tea. He— Oh.” An epiphany struck. “Oh. It’s not Abingdon with whom you are concerned. It’s Lady Wintham. It’s his mother.”

Sebastian contemplated the sandwiches and said nothing.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” she persisted. “You told me you spent the winter holidays from school at Haverly after your parents passed. You didn’t want her to be relieved when you left, as your mother was when the king departed.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “My parents were madly passionate and demonstrative in their affection—toward each other, as I have told you, but also in their treatment of me. My mother especially doted on me. If we were in the same room, her hands were upon me. An embrace, a touch on my shoulder, or perhaps she would ruffle my hair.” He paused with a sheepish grimace. “God, how I loathed that. When I was a young child, I did not mind so much, but as I grew older I pushed her away. Now, of course, I would give anything to have—” He stopped abruptly.

“You couldn’t have known.” Her chest constricted. She reached out, laying her hand on his.

“Hmm.” He turned his hand over, so it was palm to palm with hers, and laced their fingers together. “Such a strange thing, touch is. We don’t know how much we need it, how we crave it, until we are deprived.”

Her fingers tightened around his, quite unconsciously.

“I was sixteen when my parents died, you understand. Still just a boy, but suddenly I had to be a man. My uncle was named my guardian, but as he did not want to leave America, he allowed my father’s steward to continue to oversee the estates and business until I came of age. It could have been a disaster, but Danner is excruciatingly honest and is my man of business still. He saw me safely through the years where I was young and stupid and ensured my fortune would remain intact. But he was neither family nor friend, and always treated me as my title demanded. He never touched me. No one did, except my valet, and that was quite a different thing.”

His thumb stroked the back of her hand, as though to demonstrate what a valet most certainly would not do.

“But Lady Wintham fussed over me a good deal, especially that first year. Poor motherless boy, she called me, and was very affectionate. It bruised my pride a bit, but it was also exactly what I needed.”

Eliza watched him raise his tea to lips again. It was impossible to tell that he did so reluctantly, if one did not look very, very closely. “You always arrived just in time for tea, when you came to call. Why not avoid it all together, if you did not wish to put me out?”

A myriad of emotions crossed his face. Surprise, confusion, denial, resignation. Finally he shook his head slowly to and fro. “Do you know, a morning call is often no more than half an hour, but if tea is served, the visit might stretch for as long as an hour without seeming too presumptuous?” he mused, almost to himself. “I suppose my motivation was the same as it always was. I wanted to enjoy your company for as long as you would allow me to do so.”

The words fell with all the soft, unexpected devastation of an April snowstorm. Eliza blinked at their hands, still woven together. What did he mean? He couldn’t—

“Have you tried lemon?” she asked, a trifle desperately. “Or sugar? Or perhaps if you—”

“Eliza,” he interrupted gently. “I am not a problem for you to solve. I decided my course of action many years ago, and I see no reason to change it now.”

“Then why did you tell me?”

“You’re my wife,” he said simply. “I want to be known by you.”

She felt the words as a rebuke. She was his wife, so he trusted her with his secrets. And, oh, she was glad he had. Except… Did he expect the same from her? He knew she had secrets of her own. She had been honest there, at least. He had never demanded she divulge further—had never so much as hinted, as a matter of fact.

And yet.

She wanted him to know. Not that—not yet—but something. Something that was her.

“I am frightened.” The words were out before she realized her own intent.

He stilled. His gaze never left his dish of tea, as though the amber liquid was of all-consuming interest, and his voice was barely above an audible whisper as he said, “Tell me.”

“Alice is with child. I am happy for her. So very happy. But I am also terrified. What if she—” She stood abruptly, paced several steps away from him, and stopped. “God! It sounds so selfish when I say the words aloud. What if she does not survive the birth? How will I survive the loss of my dearest friend?”

There was a slight creak as he rose from his chair. A soft sigh of footsteps muffled by plush carpet as he came closer. And then the warm haven of his arms encircled her waist.

“Not selfish.” His cheek rested against the crown of her head. “Loving. You love her. You have suffered such losses before, so naturally you are frightened. You are brave, Eliza, because you continue to love even knowing it might end with loss.”

She leaned against his chest, allowing the strength of his body and the tenderness of his voice to soothe her. “What if…” The question dangled, incomplete. She couldn’t bear to finish it.

“What if, then? What if it is not then, but tomorrow? We cannot know. We cannot prepare ourselves for the pain. The pain will come regardless, whether you worry about it now or put it from your mind. Grieve her tomorrow, if you must. But love her today.”

She looked at him with amazement. “This, from the man who said to prevent pain one must forgo love?”

“So I did, and I stand by it. But you are better than me, Eliza. You can love, even with the threat of pain.”

“I don’t know if I can, entirely,” Eliza confessed. “I cannot easily refrain from worrying. But it feels better somehow, now that I have told you.”

His arms tightened, and she felt his cheek lift in a smile against her head. And in that moment it felt impossible that anything terrible could happen.

But if it did, he would see her safely through.