Captivated By Her Convenient Husband. Bronwyn Scott
afternoon with her sisters-in-law and return to Blandford in advance of Fortis to make sure all was prepared for dinner and to change her dress.
Her days, like Fortis’s, were full and that should be enough for her. His re-entry into her life had gone smoothly thus far. She should not ask for more of his homecoming. She should accept the pleasant, if superficial, pattern of their days. She should not poke the sleeping dog of their short but miserable past, nor question the internal workings of their current marriage. She should simply accept, as Fortis seemed to have done.
He seemed perfectly happy to simply go on from here and she ought to take her cue from him. If he did not wish to discuss the intimate status of their marriage, she should let it be. If he did not wish to share with her any of the last seven years, she should let that be as well. After all, this new version of Fortis was an improvement over the groom she’d known. Yes, this new Fortis still rode out every morning and was gone all day. But this new Fortis also waited for her to rise before he rode out. He consulted her, he took an interest in making her family home their home. He took an active part in estate life and was winning the respect of their tenants day by day with every roof he thatched. This new Fortis empowered her to keep looking after the estate business. This new Fortis still went to bed without her, but he also looked on her with a blue-eyed intensity that said he was aware of her, that he found her beautiful. It was these differences that fed that tenacious little spark of hope. While much was the same between them, much was also different.
That difference made her greedy. It made her wonder—if things could be this good with having expended very little effort, how much better could things be if she and Fortis broached the difficult topics that lay between? How much fuller would her life be if she had a husband in truth like her sisters-in-law? Men with whom they shared everything, men with whom they did not lead separate lives while living under the same roof? But such a wondrous thing came at great cost. In truth, Avaline was not sure she was ready to pay that cost. She did not want Fortis to break her heart again, yet the temptation dangled like a carrot before a reluctant horse, urging it onwards as the week went on. It was hard to not like her husband and she feared liking would soon become something else if she gave in to the former.
Avaline turned into the drive at Bramble and tossed her reins to a groom. A well-trained servant stood by to retrieve her sewing kit and show her to the sitting room where the women were already assembled. ‘I am sorry I’m a little late, I took some extra time to enjoy the morning.’
‘We’re sure you did.’ The women exchanged knowing smiles that made Avaline blush at the implication. Heavens! They thought she’d spent the morning in bed with Fortis.
Avaline smoothed the skirts of her riding habit. ‘It’s not what you think!’ she gasped. ‘I was just admiring the scenery.’ But that only made it worse.
‘As you should be, dear Avaline. You’ve had little scenery to admire for years and you have quite a handsome “landscape” on which to feast your eyes.’ Anne laughed.
Helena took mercy and patted the seat beside her on the cosy sofa. ‘Then we’re disappointed for you. Come, have some tea before we sew and tell us all about life at Blandford now that you and Fortis have had a week to settle in. I hear he’s been working hard.’
Helena pressed a painted china cup in her hands and she gave them the sanitised version of the week, very similar to the version she’d told herself on the ride over. But in the telling, in hearing the words out loud, she was achingly cognisant of all that was missing. She made no mention of the nightmare, or of Fortis’s reticence to discuss anything that wasn’t estate related. He’d dismissed her from his bedroom and not invited her back. It was the only blemish on an otherwise amicable week.
‘It sounds as if you’ve established a very pleasant pattern between you,’ Anne offered encouragingly. Did she imagine pity beneath Anne’s encouragement? She didn’t want their pity. ‘A very pleasant pattern’ seemed to be a polite euphemism for something empty. Sitting with these women who were in love with their husbands shed a different light on the definition of her days. She’d been so sure she could live with ‘pleasant patterns’, up until now. Those patterns wouldn’t force her or Fortis to acknowledge a distasteful past. But in exchange for that peace, there was a limit to the future they could have.
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