Something Old by Rebecca Connolly (autobiographies to read txt) 📕

watch her face and try to guess at the reasoning behind various expressions. He had yet to work up the nerve to inquire about them, to see if he was in any way correct, but he hoped that someday he might manage it.

There was no assurance that she would actually grant him the insight into her thoughts, but feeling comfortable enough to inquire would be an improvement.

He frowned slightly as he considered that. He might never be comfortable with asking such a personal question, but it would at least be an improvement to feel safe in doing so.

There was a marked difference between safe and comfortable.

Presently, he was neither.

He felt ill at ease and markedly uncomfortable, in fact.

But that was neither here nor there.

The carriage pulled away from Rainford, and Lily watched the house fall away from their sight as though something dear were within.

What did she see when she saw their home? What did she feel? What did it mean?

Or did it mean anything?

Wrapped up as he was in his determination to start anew in this marriage, he found himself deluged in questions that he hadn’t considered before, hadn’t allowed himself to ask—had barely allowed himself to think before.

But now…

All he had were questions. Endless, pressing questions.

“What do you intend to do in London?” Lily asked before he could say a word, before he’d actually settled on a word or a thought to pursue.

What did he intend to do? He intended to make his wife fall in love with him. That’s what he intended to do.

But in lieu of being blatantly honest, he settled for a different response. “Enjoy ourselves,” Thomas told her vaguely, smiling for effect.

“Enjoy London?” Lily laughed a little, her own smile turning lopsided. “You and I?”

The disbelief stung, but Thomas only folded his hands across his lap. “Is that so unheard of?”

Lily tilted her head in consideration. “No, but it would be unusual. You hate the fuss of the Season, and I’ve run my course as a figure of accomplishment, which makes me fair to be ignored.”

Nothing could have been further from the truth, but Thomas bit back the sharp scolding that had risen up and chose instead to relish the thought that she had not been referring to the pair of them as a couple, but as individuals. As individuals, they were not likely to enjoy London.

Which was true.

“I will have my friends, I suppose,” she allowed, unaware of Thomas’s internal discord, “but they are adored by Society, so I shall feel dragged about.”

“You have several friends in London during the Season,” he reminded her gently. “You needn’t wait for Marianne Gerrard or Lady Blackmoor to do anything. Why not visit Lady Whitlock? The two of you are masterfully accomplished in music, it would be good for you to see her. And with the number of children she has and how active she is in raising them, she may not have as much time for music, which means you could be a reprieve for her as well.”

Lily’s smile brightened. “What a delightful idea! I’ll send her a note when we get to London. And Mary Harris, too.”

“Our neighbors?” Thomas chuckled in surprise, settling more comfortably into the seat of the carriage. “But we see them fairly often, do we not?”

“They’ve been in London a long while now,” Lily reminded him. “And I have missed her. Truly, I believe I owe her for my finding happiness in London at all when I was first out.”

Thomas stilled in his seat, heart beginning to thud unsteadily. “Do you?”

His wife nodded, looking down at her perfect fingers. “I was almost painfully shy at first. The only thing I could do was play, and so I did, often without notice, which was how it had always been for me. I was unsure of how I should act in London, what I should do, and who my friends were. Mary took an interest, which brought Lady Whitlock into my life, and Lady Raeburn.”

“Lady Raeburn knew who you were before Mary adopted you,” Thomas said without thinking. “She’d offer you up to accompany any singer who could not play.”

Lily’s brows rose. “How do you know that? You were hardly in London in those days, were you not?”

It was all Thomas could do not to wince at the question. “I was in London,” he assured her, “and in Society, too. But… there is a reason I have the label I do.”

“You know about that?”

“London is terrible about keeping secrets, especially from those about whom the secrets relate.” He laughed to himself, shaking his head. “‘Everybody’s favorite nobody’, which, in effect, means I have never sinned badly enough to warrant notice and have not been generous enough to earn acclaim.”

“That seems a trifle harsh,” Lily murmured, her tone taking on a scolding edge that sent his pulse skittering.

Thomas shrugged. “It’s true. I was a gentleman, which was enough, and I was adept at cards the way others are adept at conversation. Not entirely honorable, but hardly dishonorable. For some reason, I had gained favor in the eyes of Lady Raeburn, so I had occasion to attend some social gatherings in her home. I took notice when she favored you.”

Lily blinked at this revelation, the motion of the carriage swaying her slightly. “You never said anything. I don’t think I knew you were in London at all until Mary’s evening for me.”

“I should have made myself known,” he agreed with a firm nod. “I have no explanation for it, no reason I can give. As we knew each other a little, it would have been proper, polite, and decent to become reacquainted.”

“I would have welcomed a friendly face.”

The whisper cut through his chest with an icy blade that rendered him speechless. He stared at his beautiful wife who had somehow been so unaware of her magnificence that she thought he’d have been of some help or comfort to her in those days. Before he’d had purpose, before he’d felt clarity, before he’d managed to