The Reasons for Marriage (Regencies 5)

Defeated, Jason stood as she rose. With a regal nod, she passed by him, gliding gracefully to the door.

Lenore paused with her hand on the knob. “Goodnight, my lord.”

“Goodnight, madam wife.”

His tone was cold, distant, very far from the warmth they had once shared. Stifling her sigh for what she knew she could never have, Lenore closed the door behind her.

Jason slumped back into his chair, covering his eyes with one hand, the other clenching into a fist on his knee. For a long time, he sat motionless, his mind aimlessly scanning the recent past, forming and discarding possible futures. Eventually, he sighed deeply and sat up, running his hands over his face. What to do?

Hours later, he climbed the stairs with no answer to hand. Undressing and donning his robe, he automatically headed for Lenore’s room but pulled up short, eyeing the door. She was pregnant—and had all but declared she expected him to leave, his duty done. That was certainly not his inclination but unless he was prepared to stake a claim to something more—to declare his wish that their marriage should be more than the cold-blooded arrangement he had originally sought—did he have the right to demand more of her? If he went in, would she welcome him to her bed? Or simply accommodate him rather than make a scene?

With a smothered groan, Jason turned away from the door, drifting to the window to stare out at the dark. Lenore had left him with a decision to make and make it he must. What did he really want—of marriage, of life, of Lenore?

He had thought he had known, that his habits were set, yet she had changed him, changed him so much he could not recognise himself. And no longer had any confidence that he knew where he was headed or what was best for him. After thirty-eight years of unmitigated hedonism he felt like a dithering fool, unable to shake free of his confusion and take a firm step forward. His uncertainty paralysed him, destroying his usual decisiveness, making him vacillate when his temperament called for action. The tangled web of his emotions was tearing him apart.

Perhaps he should leave. Lenore clearly did not want him, regardless of whatever he might want of her. He had wanted a bride who would fulfil his reasons for marriage—he had got what he had asked for; he could not complain.

But he could minimise the pain he now felt. There was nothing to prevent him taking her up on her offer to release him from waiting on her here in the country. In London, there would be plenty of women eager to warm his bed—there always had been and, if he knew anything of women, his marriage would only whet their appetites.

Glancing down at the shadows on the floor, Jason thought of the scene when he told her he was leaving. What would she do? Smile brightly and scurry off to get her list of books?

With a smothered curse, he shrugged off his robe and climbed into his bed. He would leave tomorrow morning. Early. Without her wretched list. She could send it on. At least, that way he would not have to endure her smiles as she waved him goodbye.

* * *

VACUOUS CHATTER engulfed Jason the instant he set foot in Lady Beauchamp’s salon. After two nights in less elevated circles, he was back in the bosom of the ton. Wandering aimlessly through the crowd, nodding to acquaintances sighted through the crush, he wondered, not for the first time in the past three days, just what he was doing here. He had arrived at Eversleigh House to find a stack of invitations waiting on the desk in his library; this was the third night of stale air and loud voices he had endured in his search for… His expression hardening, Jason forced himself to continue with the thought, the one he had grown adept at avoiding. He was searching for relief from his fascination with his wife.

He knew no other word for it, the emotion he felt for Lenore. The poets had another, but he was not comfortable with that. Frustrated fascination seemed damning enough to have to admit to.

“Ho! Jason!”

Jason turned to see Frederick pushing through the bodies towards him. They shook hands, Frederick thumping his shoulder.

“Where’ve you been? Looked to see you long before this.”

“The Abbey,” Jason replied shortly.

“Oh.” Frederick glanced more carefully at him, then looked about. “Where’s Lenore?”

Having expected this question, Jason had no difficulty keeping his expression untroubled. “She remained at the Abbey.”

“Oh?” Frederick looked worried. After some hesitation, he asked diffidently, “Nothing amiss, I take it?”

Jason opened his eyes wide. “She prefers the country, remember?”

“Well, yes, but newly wed and all that, y’know. Thought she’d have come up with you this once.”

“She didn’t,” Jason replied curtly, feeling his mask slip. Abruptly, he asked, “What’s all this I’ve been hearing about Castlereagh?”

After ten minutes’ intense speculation on the latest political scandal, Jason left his friend to move among the brightly clad, exotically scented matrons who had for years provided him with the opportunity for scandal of a different sort. Not that any of his affairs, conducted as they always had been with discretion, had ever been the subject of a duel, nor even much more than speculation. While casting his eye over the field, he met Agatha.

“There you are, Eversleigh. ’Bout time, too.” Agatha fixed her nephew with a shrewd eye. “So you’ve finally managed to drag yourself away from the amenities of the Abbey, have you?”

To his chagrin, Jason flushed and could find nothing to say.

Agatha chuckled. “Where’s Lenore? I haven’t sighted her yet.”

As his aunt glanced about, trying, from her far from sufficient height, to see about her, Jason stated bluntly, “She’s not her