“I hope you did not go to so much trouble on my account,” he commented.
“I certainly did not.”
“But your cousin commented on your appearance. It is not your habit to take such care, I gathered. I can only assume—”
“Wrongly, I assure you. What conceit.”
He smiled, not at all insulted. She had changed her appearance because she was to see him today, he was sure of it.
She dismissed the topic with a sniff. “We should be arriving shortly, although there is never any telling. There is sometimes a glut if everyone happens to arrive at the same time.” She glanced at him. “Are you nervous?”
“I . . .” He hesitated. “I am not in the habit of attending religious services.”
“Afraid you will go up in a puff of smoke?”
He swiveled his head, giving a small nod to acknowledge the quip.
“Cassandra seems to have appointed herself your great friend. She will see to it you are well received. She is quite popular, you know, and well thought of by everyone.”
“Yes, indeed, she is impressively well-connected, as I have already seen in this past week. Thanks to her as well as your aunt’s diligent work on my behalf, the ton seems to have forgotten all about my past.” He spoke in a bored tone. “Or as Iris refers to it, ‘The tragedy,’ ” he added with a snort.
“Do you mean your wife?”
“I cannot think you are ignorant of the details.”
Jenny flushed. “I do not listen to gossip.”
“Yes. I suppose that would be beneath you. Or perhaps you are simply not interested.”
“Was it so bad?” she asked, and he was surprised to find her voice gentle, her gaze intent. She was not uninterested, then.
“It was ghastly,” he said flatly. He scowled, letting out a long breath. “As most things done in haste are, it was a mistake, ill-fated from the start. I was in a rush to marry her, thus I did not think the thing through.”
“Then it was a grande passion.”
He snorted. It was lust, plain and simple. “It was somewhat less than that. My motives, I now see, were not quite as admirable. When the . . . feeling between us died, we found we did not suit at all. She hated the country, hated the life I led. She came to hate me. We had a strange existence in those years. It seemed our goal was to shock and maim the other’s pride.”
“That is wretched,” she said sympathetically, as if she really was sorry.
He looked at her oddly. “I am not a martyr, Miss Alt. I made my bed, as they say, and I was prepared to lie in it. However, since she died and I still have no issue, I must take the plunge again.”
“I am sure you will make a better choice.”
“I intend to take great pains to do so. Marriage is a contract, an arrangement not unlike any other partnership.”
She glanced out the window.
“You do not agree?”
“I am not in a position to say,” she answered, “but surely you realize not all marriages result in that sort of situation you experienced.”
“I hope not,” he replied dryly.
She turned suddenly to face him. “You know, Cassandra has a lovely voice. Has she sung for you?”
The abrupt change of subject disconcerted him for a moment. He decided to follow her lead. “No, she has not.”
“You should ask her to. When we are at dinner parties, she is often pressed to showcase her talent. It has won her many admirers, as you might have already noticed.”