She wanted to feel a thrill of protectiveness for her husband, wanted to rage against her sisters for daring to slander him even in jest, but instead, she felt nothing.
A twinge of guilt, perhaps, but nothing to act on.
That was certainly not Thomas’s fault. That could not be laid on his shoulders. That, for certain, was something that only Lily could be blamed for.
For all her issues with Thomas, the reason he married her, and the manner in which he’d behaved since their marriage, her own feelings for her husband and treatment of him were hers.
She could make changes too, not simply expect him to do so. She was just as responsible for happiness in their marriage as he was and had simply accepted the way he had situated things.
She did not want distance. She did not want to live as they had lived. She wanted more. If Thomas were still the man she loved before her marriage, she wanted much more.
And in order to know if he were, she needed to find out.
She needed to try. And try she would.
Chapter Seven
Lily was radiant.
He knew that, of course, but for some reason, looking at her tonight made that fact even more true. Lilac silk encased her slender frame, with fine netting lining her bodice, her sleeves holding a distinctly petal-like shape that gave her the illusion of being a bloom herself. He’d have sworn to anyone that she was, that she had been created with the same delicacy of a flower and should be revered with the same awe an exquisite flower would. Her skirts held decoration of white ribbons that caught his attention every time she twisted or moved, swirling about her pristinely slippered feet.
The glory that was her thick, dark hair had somehow been encased in ribbons and flowers, perfect curls adorning her temples, which had the distracting effect of drawing one’s eyes to her cheeks, which were rosy and bright this evening.
He’d been rendered silent all throughout supper, distracted by her beauty and his own cowardice where she was concerned. He hadn’t been so frightened when he’d prepared to court her years ago. Opportunities to see her were exciting, and he’d felt eager to seek her out; now he was only a bundle of nerves and worried about disappointing her.
How had he come to this?
Marianne Gerrard said something entertaining, making the group of ladies laugh heartily. That was no surprise. Marianne was a beautiful, engaging woman, whose rich blue eyes had captivated many a man before her marriage, and whose nature had been much improved by her marriage. Her husband was far more reserved but had become more at ease since their union.
So the Gerrards were, in fact, the opposite of Thomas and Lily. He didn’t like that idea, but he was sure Lily had also made the connection. Or spoken with Marianne about it, which would mean that Marianne would have given her considerable opinion on the subject, in which Thomas would likely come out the villain.
Still, if Marianne could make Lily laugh to such a degree that her eyes squeezed shut and she gasped for air in mirth, Thomas would allow himself to become a caricature with horns, if necessary.
The group of ladies, eightfold, took no notice of the men in the room, which was just as well, as four of the men had started up a simple game of loo. The other four, Thomas included, stood aside with glasses of port.
“Come now, Granger, you’re not going to do anyone much good standing and staring.”
Thomas glanced over at Monty, leaning as he was against the mantle, somehow still appearing the picture of respectability and gentlemanly honor in doing so. “What would you have me do instead?”
Monty stared back, completely at ease and nonplussed. “Take charge of the moment. Suggest some dancing, or parlor games, or strike up a conversation that will encourage the ladies to join in.”
“Do you know my nature at all?” Thomas asked, laughing to himself at the idea. “Even in my best years, I’d never do anything of the sort.”
“Nor would I, by heaven,” Lord Blackmoor admitted with a visible shudder. “Let them have their own amusements and a more outspoken individual alter the setting.”
Thomas could not agree more.
Whitlock, however, looked at Monty in notable resignation. “I do believe the pair of them are worse than a visit from my physician.”
Monty shrugged. “I rather like my physician. Marvelous fellow. Excellent shot. Impressive collection of spirits.”
“Remind me to come visit you and to take ill when I do,” Mr. Jeremy Pratt chimed in from his position at the card table, apparently listening in on the conversation.
“Visits require invitations,” Monty said without looking at the man. “I have given none.”
Thomas grinned, not knowing Mr. Pratt well at all except through his wife’s connection with Lily’s sister Rosalind, but found him generally a congenial fellow. He’d been a right peacock before his marriage, which only proved to Thomas that every man changed when he wed, and the direction of that change seemed to have neither rhyme nor reason.
“Monty and I share a physician, Pratt. Feel free to visit Rainford whenever it suits you.”
Pratt grinned over at Thomas with a distinctly mischievous light even as Monty groaned. “Much obliged, Granger. I daresay I shall.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Monty pleaded in disgust.
“I’ll second that,” Blackmoor added with a shake of his head, though there was a bit more amusement in his features. He looked at Thomas then, pale eyes intent. “I hear you are seeking a love match with your wife.”
Thomas turned to Blackmoor, sobering slightly. “Is that so strange?”
One dark brow rose. “Not at
