The look he received was almost pitying. “My friend, if that were true, you’d know exactly why your attempts at quiet evenings at home with your wife are torturing you both rather than encouraging.”
Thomas couldn’t deny that, much as he would have liked to. He’d often felt that he was missing something but couldn’t seem to discover what that was. He never knew what to say to his wife, what she was thinking, how she was feeling, and he’d spent so long trying to remedy their finances that he’d neglected the actual marriage itself.
He slumped further in his chair, the truth sinking deep into his heart and mind. “True enough, I suppose.”
“I suppose as well.” Whitlock took a drink of his beverage before exhaling slowly. “You have spent five years avoiding your wife, by your own admission, to spare her feelings and your own. That’s not unthinkable in your situation. But it would render you rather unpracticed when it comes to the art of wooing your wife, however skilled you might have been prior to your marriage.”
“I was not that skilled,” Thomas admitted bluntly. “I have no assurance that she would have consented had she been given the choice.”
Whitlock shrugged with a nonchalance that suited him. “Which makes you no different than any other man who marries for any reason other than necessity. The fact of the matter is that you needed her fortune, and you went to her father, knowing he would accept your offer despite your having nothing to give in return but your good name. You chose the direction that would give you certainty.”
Thomas nodded, his cravat threatening to strangle him as he attempted a swallow. “I couldn’t lose her.”
“Unfortunately, you proceeded to place yourself in a very deep hole dug by your own two hands,” Whitlock told him, ignoring the admission. “I have no confirmation of this, but I think your wife had a degree of affection for you before your marriage, and being married for her fortune rather than her person caused a wound.”
“I know. Don’t you think I know?”
“But,” he went on, still ignoring his words, “that is not to say that a wound may not heal. Does your wife know how you feel about her?”
Shaking his head, Thomas spun his glass against the table surface slowly. “I couldn’t tell her. Not after…” He shook his head again. “No. She doesn’t know.”
“So, we are starting from the beginning. Further than that, as it happens, for your beginning with her would have been a fond acquaintance, yes?”
At Thomas’s nod, Whitlock grunted. “Then you are now attempting to woo a stranger, for so she is, after all this time.”
That did not sound promising. He’d spent the last five years wrapped up in guilt over Lily and almost painfully attuned to her. He knew every facet of her features and could see the slightest hint of strain in her face.
But he couldn’t make her smile. He couldn’t make her laugh. He couldn’t find words.
“My shame blinds me,” he murmured in despair, finally seeing what Whitlock was hinting at. “Blinds my actions. In my desperation for redemption, I have forgotten to love her.”
“Forgotten is not a word I would choose for the scenario. I’d venture that you were distracted from loving her. Again, not unthinkable. You did not find yourself worthy of doing so. You might find a kindred spirit in Lord Blackmoor, Granger.”
He’d have been lying if he said he hadn’t thought of that before. Lily was quite fond of Gemma, Lady Blackmoor, and knew of the painful situation her friend had endured in the early days of her marriage. Blackmoor’s past had overshadowed his ability to find present happiness for a time, though, as Thomas understood it, things were in far better straits now.
Blackmoor was not a particularly social man, which would either make him the perfect candidate for aiding Thomas or the worst. But if Blackmoor held his wife’s happiness above all else, which Thomas thought he might, then it could follow that he would be more inclined to help. After all, Thomas wanted the same for his wife, did he not? And Lily’s happiness would bring Gemma’s in part, would it not?
“So many allies for a helpless fellow,” Thomas said with the first hint of humor he’d felt all morning. “Do you think there’s a chance my prospects might become less dismal with your help?”
“Mine?” Whitlock laughed once. “Not a chance. But with Monty and Blackmoor as well? I’m sure one of us will have a good idea.”
Thomas rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Marvelous. Four clueless men scheming to make a woman fall in love with one. I may be doomed before I make any progress.”
The remark made Whitlock sputter, still chuckling. “I beg your pardon, but three of us have wives who adore us. And we wooed them post matrimony to boot. We certainly have a few clues, I thank you.”
“Not many,” Thomas retorted. “Between you and Monty, I’ve been told to come to London to woo my wife, and that London is a terrible place to come and woo my wife. Really, it is so helpful.”
Whitlock surprised him by barking a laugh of real amusement and grinning broadly. “That might be the first sign of true life I have seen in you yet. I may rather enjoy this.”
“Happy to provide entertainment.” Thomas looked away, dubious about the entire project at this point. “Monty is due to arrive tomorrow or the day after. He claims he will assist me once he arrives.”
“I have no doubt he will. I’ve had a thought.” The marquess tapped the table again, looking almost mischievous. “We’ll invite the lot of you to our home for dinner and an evening’s entertainment. Blackmoor, since he’s a viscount; Montgomery, since he’s an earl and a near relation; possibly the Gerrards; anyone else
