To Have and to Hold (Finders Keepers #4)

Chapter Three

Cecily returned home with her nerves fluttering. After meeting William, she had gone shopping with Arabella, who wanted desperately to know what Cecily intended to do about her old beau, but Cecily hadn’t been able to answer her.

The problem was, she hardly knew herself. Yes, he was terribly, dashingly handsome, just the same as always. And she had always assumed that he would be the only man she ever loved. Seeing him again had been like a fresh of fresh air. The situation with Percy being as it was, she might be well be able to have a lover, if she wanted him—and if he would consent to being hers.

The thought almost disturbed her. Certainly, she had flirted often, and with great enjoyment, but she had never considered breaking her marriage vows in that direction.

Then again, she had never been adequately persuaded. And William, she fancied, could be extremely persuasive if he put his mind to it. Just thinking about the way he had treated her upon seeing her again proved that; he was just as much of a flirt as ever, and evidently hoped that he might find himself in favour with her once more. Perhaps he had never fallen out of love with her, and he hoped for . . .

What, was the question. There was no chance of him marrying her now. Would he be satisfied with being her lover?

Would she?

The sight of Percy in the hallway jolted her from her thoughts, and she started. At the sight of her, and her surprise, his lips thinned. “Cecily,” he said, his tone reserved. “Fear not—I was on my way out.”

“Where?”

He raised both brows. “Is it of your concern?”

“No,” she said immediately. Perhaps this was a good thing. Now she would have time to think, and come to a conclusion about what she would do about William. Still, she knew she looked unwell, flushed and bright-eyed and out of breath, though she had done nothing particularly strenuous. She waited for Percy to ask about her wellbeing, to pry until he had the answers from her, ripped from her tongue, no matter how unwilling she was to let him in.

Instead, he merely looked at her face, frowned, then picked up his cane and turned to the door. She froze, her expectancy dissolving into . . . surprise.

Yes, that was it. Surprise. Certainly not disappointment, given that she had no intention of telling Percy about William.

“Will you be out for dinner?” she blurted, and he turned from the doorway.

“I imagine so. I’d say not to wait up, but I know you won’t.” With a nod that felt better suited to a casual acquaintance than to a wife, he left the house.

“Shall I take these packages upstairs, my lady?” her footman asked, nodding to the boxes still in his arms.

Absently, she nodded and followed him up. Once in her dressing room, she sank onto the sofa as the servants put away her new purchases. All around her, the sound of the empty house felt as though it settled into her bones. She thought about Arabella, no doubt home with her handsome captain husband, sharing what Cecily knew to be a very happy life together.

She thought about William, who had seemed so pleased to see her, so ready to enter into a flirtation, and who could never truly be hers.

Then she thought about her husband. The life she’d forged for herself, better or worse.

The ring on her finger almost seemed to mock her. All the times she had wished a different man had put it there, and now he had finally arrived—too late.

Would that he had asked her to marry him instead of kissing her. He should have gone straight to her mother to ask for permission to court her. In fact, it was odd he had not. She frowned, thinking it through. For years, she had placed him on a pedestal, thinking that he was everything Percy had never been to her, but now she considered her memory of him against the man she had met that day.

Every instinct screamed at her to enter into a flirtation with him and succumb to all the feelings that had swept her away when she’d been younger. But a certain level of womanly wisdom bade her wait. He did not seem like a man who had wasted away over heartbreak, and he certainly did not appear as though he valued her above all others.

After all, he had not sought her out when he’d returned to London. That point still stung. The only reason they had met at all was by chance and Arabella’s machinations. And yes, he had appeared delighted to see her, but she could not deceive herself that there was anything of the lover about him. The flirt, perhaps. But if he had ever loved her, he did no longer.

The question was whether he could love her again. And if she wanted him to.

The week passed indeterminably slowly, made worse by the fact that Percy did not join her for dinner for three nights in a row. Previously, whenever he’d been home, he had sat with her and they had made stilted small talk, but now he made no appearance.

It was not strictly unusual for them to eat separately. Often, she was the one to have left in search of more entertaining options while Percy remained at home. With the situation this way around, she found it . . . unpleasant.

Until now, she had never considered what it must have been like for him. Had he eaten here with a newspaper or one of his steward’s reports? She knew he frequently made investments, though she was unsure precisely about what. It had never occurred to her to ask. Did he eat at his desk while working? Or did he lean back in his chair with a glass of port and lead everyone around him to believe he was indifferent to his situation?

After all, he had been a bachelor, living in this same house, before he had married. What difference did a marriage make when they were never with one another?

She pressed her lips together. Coming from a large and busy household, where dinner was sacred and they were all expected to eat together, she found this silence unpalatable.

Then there were the servants to consider. She wanted no one to know of this new arrangement, and she felt their eyes on her, imagined the weight of their judgement that her husband disliked her company so much that he had rather take his dinner elsewhere in the house.

Before she reached the final course, she pushed back her plate. “My compliments to the cook,” she said, mechanically, as she rose and moved to the door. A footman opened it for her, and she took stock of the empty house.

She had no plans for the evening. That was the problem. If she had just found something else to distract herself with, she would never have noticed how many empty rooms Somerville House boasted. A drawing room, a music room, three small parlours, a library, a billiards room, a dining room, a morning room. All downstairs. Percy’s study.

More to the point, Percy’s presence was what irritated her the most. If he’d gone out, she could have excused his absence, but she knew he had not left, which meant he had rather eaten separately than joining her for dinner.

Unacceptable.

The restlessness bubbled over, and she made her way to his study—that indomitably male space she had never thought to breach.

Until now, that was.

If he intended to embarrass her before the servants, he would find she did not take it lightly. Dining together was not asking too much of him, and after all, when she was home, she dined with him. It was only fair he did the same for her.

Just as she suspected, when she opened his study door, he was indeed there, a candle lit before him and a half-eaten tray of food to one side. At her entrance, he glanced up, and his brows rose.

“You weren’t at dinner,” she said by way of greeting.

“Good evening,” he said, laying down the paper he was reading. “To what can I attribute this honour?”

“Where were you?”

“I rather suspect the answer is obvious.”

“You never ordinarily eat in here.”

“I thought we had agreed that things were not to progress along ordinary lines.” His voice was mild, but she heard the dismissal in it, and it infuriated her.

“So you let me sit and eat alone, all the servants knowing you would prefer to be separate from me?”

“I think you’ll find that is hardly unusual.”

“It is unusual for us .”

“Perhaps. But I proposed we live as though we were not husband and wife and you agreed, so what else am I to do?” He picked up his quill, the tip of it brushing his chin. “You did not want a husband. Congratulations—you do not have to have one.”

“And yet I am still a wife. Mistress of this house.”

“Yes. Unfortunately, I cannot change that. Would you rather live elsewhere?”

At the thought of her mother descending on her, she shuddered. “I would rather we kept up appearances.”

“Even inside the house?” The look he gave her now was so gently chiding, it made shame curl in the base of her stomach. “For what purpose? Your pride? My darling, you beat mine into the ground some time ago.”

She knew, logically, that what he was saying made sense. She had never wanted his attention, or his tenderness. He had bestowed both on her against her will. Yet now, forced to confront the realities of that choice, she found she did not relish the idea of a life spent lonely in this house.

“You are still here,” he said when he next glanced up, and there was the trace of irritation in his expression now. “What more do you have to say to me? You cannot have it both ways, Cecily. Either you welcome me as your husband, or you do not. If you do not, then why should I go out of my way to welcome you as my wife? I am not the kind of man to force you when you are unwilling, but you must allow me this freedom.”

She stared at him, an unnameable emotion clawing at her throat. Anger at his dismissal, she decided. At, once again, his intention of making a decision for her.

He turned his attention back to his papers. “My mind is made up. If you would please leave me to enjoy the one room in this house which is mine, I would appreciate it.”

“One room in this house? The entire property is yours.”

He made a low noise in his throat—one that might have been an agreement if she didn’t know him so well. Strange how even in a marriage where she had done her best to ignore him, his habits and oddities had imprinted themselves on her psyche.

Furious, both at herself and him, she whirled and slammed the door behind her. Fine—if that was how he was determined to act, then so be it. She would not stoop so low again. Forcing her to ask him to join her for dinner was the outside of enough.

Next time, she would merely not eat at home. This was no home for her.

She slammed every door on her way to her bedchamber, but instead of bursting into tears, which was admittedly tempting, she stormed to her vanity. What was it about Percy that brought out the very worst in her? And why, when she had never wanted his affection, never sought it, did his refusal to give any leave such a bitter taste in her mouth?