Lord Garson’s Bride (Dashing Widows 7)

While she was convinced that a few weeks in the country would dissolve the threadbare truce that kept her marriage together.

But Hugh was right. The way they went on was untenable. She rapidly ran short of both pride and endurance. Something had to change—and if change meant utter destruction, right now, she almost welcomed that.

Her touch on the back of his neck was tender with unspoken love, all the more poignant for being forbidden. “Yes, let’s talk about it tomorrow.”

*

“Lady Garson, your ladyship.”

As Jane stepped into Fenella’s airy morning room a couple of days after the Kenwicks’ ball, she found her friend playing with her children, Henry and Emily. A tan and white beagle puppy gamboled toward her with a high-pitched yelp and a madly wagging tail.

Clearly she’d interrupted some private family time. Flustered, she turned away, eager to leave. “I do beg your pardon, Fen. You’re busy this afternoon. I can come back another day.”

Fenella rose from her chair, the book she’d been reading to her seven-year-old daughter dangling from one hand. Dark-haired Emily had inherited her dynamic father’s striking looks, whereas Henry had his mother’s classic features and golden coloring.

“No, Jane, come in.” The blonde woman raised her free hand to smooth the stray strands of hair escaping her simple knot. Jane had never seen Fen less than perfectly turned out, but today her pink muslin gown was crushed and showed traces of puppy paws and a nursery tea. She gestured to the toys scattered across the priceless Aubusson carpet. “As you can probably tell, we weren’t expecting company, but it’s always lovely to see you.”

“I was just passing, and I thought I’d call in.” Not true. She’d set out, hoping to catch Fenella on her own. She liked all her new friends, but she felt a particular affinity with Fenella. Perhaps because unlike her stubborn clodpoll of a husband, Fenella had learned to love again. Or perhaps because Fenella’s quiet strength was something she desperately needed right now, as she struggled to find a way forward in her marriage. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll see you this evening at the Jamesons’ musicale.” She struggled to sound enthusiastic about yet another party.

“No, please stay. The children will play in here, and we can go through to the drawing room.” She sent nine-year-old Henry a minatory glance. “The first sign of a quarrel between you two, and it’s back to the schoolroom and Latin translation. And don’t let Milo chew the furniture, or your father will hit the roof.”

“Papa likes Milo,” Emily said, darting forward to pick up the squirming puppy and clutch

him close to her chest.

“He won’t, if every chair in the house is only fit for firewood,” Fen said sternly, then turned to Jane with a brilliant smile. “Jane, take me away from this madhouse.”

Jane soon found herself clutching a cup of tea and sitting beside Fen on a green brocade sofa. She looked around the pretty room and struggled not to sound too envious. “This is such a happy house. You can feel it.”

“Thank you.” Fen smiled and nibbled at a sugar biscuit. Jane’s biscuit balanced on the edge of her saucer. She hadn’t touched it. Lately food stuck in her throat. Her glamorous new dresses all hung too loose on her. “When I married Anthony, everyone except my closest friends was convinced it was the mismatch of the century, especially as we’d only known one another a few weeks. It’s been nice to prove all the old biddies wrong.”

“You’re lucky,” Jane said, staring down into her cup.

“Yes, we are.” Fenella’s emphatic tone was surprising, coming from someone who looked as fragile as a Meissen shepherdess. “People predicted disaster for Anthony and me, just as they predicted it for you and Garson.”

Jane’s eyes flashed up in shock. “We trot along all right.”

Fen looked skeptical, as she took the cup and saucer. “Give me that. You’re just playing with it. I’m really glad you came to me today, Jane. I’ve wanted to talk to you for weeks, and it’s hopeless trying to find a private moment at any of the crushes we’ve attended.” To Jane’s relief, she began to sound a little less militant. “Am I wrong in thinking you need a friend?”

Jane hadn’t arrived with any plans to confide her troubles. She’d just felt a craving for some undemanding company to distract her from endless brooding on her hopeless and destructive love.

“I believe we’re friends,” she said cautiously. The ton was a hotbed of gossip. Much as she liked Fenella, she wasn’t in a hurry to share her secrets.

As if she read her mind, Fen sent her a straight look. “You can tell me to mind my own business. Usually I do. Interfering is much more in Caro or Helena’s line. Anyway, I expect I can guess most of the trouble.”

Jane frowned. “I didn’t say there was trouble.”

Fen’s glance was unimpressed. “You don’t have to. If you lose any more weight, poor Hugh will have to buy you a whole new wardrobe, and you work too hard showing everyone you’re having a good time to actually be having a good time. You look more brittle than that delicious sugar biscuit—which I might point out you didn’t deign to taste.”

“You…you’re very frank.” Jane stood up, her knees shaky. This attack wasn’t what she’d sought. “I can see I shouldn’t have come.”

“Don’t go. Please.” Fen caught her hand, before she could turn away. “You think I’m rushing in where angels fear to tread. But I hate knowing you’re unhappy.”

Jane was so close to breaking, the friendly gesture had her blinking back tears. “Is it obvious?”

“No, not at all. Most people wouldn’t have a clue.” She tugged Jane’s hand. “Sit down. Have some more tea.”

“I’ve spent my whole life hungering for some excitement,” she said, subsiding back onto the couch. “I envied Susan so much because she had a season, while I missed out.”