Thomas nodded at the idea, though he failed to see how a party of Lily’s friends would do anything to help him win her. “She’d love it, I have no doubt. Quiet evenings are always her preference.”
Whitlock’s brows rose in surprise. “What in hell’s name gives you reason to think that an evening at my home with my family will be quiet?” He waved a hand, dismissing his own remark. “At any rate, we must establish that you and your wife can have an enjoyable evening together, not just independently. What better way to do that than with a gathering of mutual friends?”
“I wasn’t aware we had mutual friends.” Thomas smiled without humor. “I was of the opinion that her friends wanted me to writhe on a spit over an open flame.”
“Only on Thursdays,” Whitlock shot back. “Which is why we will gather on a Tuesday. Come, man, do you want my help, or have I been wasting my considerably sacrificed time?”
Thomas could only sigh and nod.
“Yes, you want my help?” Whitlock pressed, more filled with energy than he had been yet that morning. “Or yes, I have been wasting my time?”
“Probably both.” Thomas smiled reluctantly. “Invite whomever you like. Lily has no enemies, and I’ve no preferences.”
Whitlock’s expression soured. “Your enthusiasm overwhelms me.”
Thomas gave him a hard look. “I’ve set myself the task of winning the love of my wife, which I may never have had, after marrying her for money and leaving her alone for five years rather than actually living in our marriage. I think enthusiasm is a bit much to expect.”
“The miraculous act is never simple, else it would lack any miraculous aspect.” Whitlock downed the rest of his drink, then pushed up from the table.
“You think I need a miracle?” Thomas asked, making no move to rise himself.
Whitlock looked down at him, straightening his coat. “You’re the martyr, Saint Granger. You tell me.” He waited, clearly expecting an answer for his jab.
Thomas thought of Lily, thought of the awkward evenings they’d shared in London, thought of silent meals where he had longed for the clock to move faster, thought of hours upon hours spent in his study at Rainford Park poring over reports and financials in the hope that he would not forever lean on the dowry he had bought with marriage.
The flame of hope flickered, then went out.
He sighed, glancing up into the face of the powerful, popular marquess. “Pray for me, Whitlock.”
A wry snort emitted from his companion. “You don’t want my prayers, Granger. The Almighty might smite you out of spite for me. We’ll get Monty to pray, he’s a better sort.”
“Might need a whole parish of prayers.”
“As it happens, I know a clergyman.” Whitlock held out his hand to Thomas, shaking firmly when Thomas took it. “You start paying attention, Granger, to your wife, not your guilt, and see if you can’t see something. I’ll see you shortly.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
As though that amused him, Whitlock chuckled and turned from the table, nodding at a few others he passed on his way out of the club.
A marquess, a viscount, and an earl were all being recruited to help him win the love of his wife. Powerful men with loving wives.
Would any of it do any good?
Chapter Six
Silence in London was no different than silence in Hampshire, yet it seemed to ring louder for Lily.
There had been utter silence last evening at supper, and there had been silence at breakfast, and she was so tired of silence when she expected something more.
Why had he brought her here if nothing was going to happen?
Why had she agreed to come?
A walk in the park was supposed to do her good, and the fresh air was pleasant enough, but her thoughts had refused to settle in one direction or another, leaving her completely helpless in the face of their onslaught. Thomas had been so changeable in his behavior lately, so varied between one nature and another, that she could not even think of determining what his true purpose in bringing her to London was, or why he had been so eager to have her join him.
There was nothing delightful in anything they had done, only the usual activities that London afforded. He hated the theatre, and that had continued to be evident when they had gone with the Whitlocks. He had been warm and engaging that day in the music room at Rainford, but she had seen very little of that man since they’d come to London.
If she were only to endure the same sort of independent schedule of her husband and expect silence when they were together, she’d much rather do so at Rainford. There, at least, she could go for long walks in the countryside, could call on Beth for conversation or amusement, could tend to the needs of her tenants, could shop in the village without having to fuss with an escort or be jostled about in the bustling streets. If she were going to continue to be moderately ignored by her husband, she’d rather be ignored where it mattered less.
“Lily, dear, your expression isn’t showing contentment.”
She shook herself from her stupor and looked at the woman walking beside her. “My thoughts hold very little contentment to them, Aunt,” she admitted without shame. “I am troubled.”
The older woman frowned, her dark eyes shielded by the brim of her hat. “Troubled, my dear? About what?”
“Likely that boring husband of hers,” Eloise chirped from behind them.
“But he’s certainly worth looking at,” Emma added, giggling with her usual silliness.
Augusta stopped in her tracks and whirled to face them. “There is nothing attractive in tasteless remarks, girls. Shame on you! I expect better of my nieces, especially when under my care.”
The girls looked appropriately
