Something Old, Rebecca Connolly [ebook reader for laptop TXT] 📗

“I don’t,” came the quick retort. “I only know how to regret certain things in the two marriages I have had and have learned how to change accordingly. The first marriage, I changed in the wrong ways. The second… well, there is no comparison for the second. I was not supposed to be this happy, you know. I was certain I could not be. That it was not in my nature or my fate. Yet my life with Gemma has given me joy, and the changes I have made as I have learned how to love her better have ensured that it will last.”

It was a sobering testimonial from the man, considering the rumors that had abounded about him before the marriage to Gemma and his naturally reserved, almost sullen nature. Personal association with him, however, would soon prove him to be witty, intelligent, surprisingly generous, and remarkably observant. Society generally conceded that he had an agreeable wife, and that he was well situated financially, as well as in his connection to the Rivertons. Never any praise for the man himself. Only an abject curiosity.

He supposed one could say something similar about himself, though he had never carried the great amount of rumors Blackmoor had, nor indeed their content, as Blackmoor had been reprehensibly rumored to have murdered his first wife. At least Thomas did not have that to overcome.

Small mercies.

A loud burst of laughter drew the attention of them both across the room, where Rosalind stood with her friends, Will Riverton at her side, beaming amid the laughter of the rest.

Thomas shook his head, smiling reluctantly. “Why in the world did you agree to host this extravaganza, Blackmoor? You can hardly expect me to believe that you enjoy such things.”

“You know very well I abhor them,” Blackmoor exhaled, the sound filled with his present pain at being in this room. “My aunt convinced my wife that it would be a better venue, and my cousin’s wife turned the thing into a bleeding festival. I only know half of the people in this room, and only half of those people could even be remotely worth my time.”

Choking a laugh, Thomas managed a smile at the man who was determinedly not smiling at this moment. “And what amount of those people worth your time do you actually like?”

Blackmoor gave him a dark look. “Twelve. Total.”

Now Thomas grinned outright. “And you’re considered one of the Rivertons now, in a way. I’ve never been more delighted by a paradox in my life.”

“Glad to amuse.” Blackmoor sputtered a groan, suddenly seeming to settle on something. “If anyone asks, you haven’t any idea where I’ve gone.”

“Fine,” Thomas replied without concern. “Do I have an idea where you’re going?”

“No.” With a firm nod, Blackmoor swept away and headed for a door that must have led farther into the house.

Thomas had never been especially close with Blackmoor, but their wives were true friends and devoted to each other, so they were occasionally thrown together. Suddenly, Thomas felt a greater determination to become better friends in their own right and not only for their wives’ sake. It could be a meeting of like minds in more ways than one, and when he was not seeking advice on how to court and keep his wife, Thomas could enjoy having a man like Blackmoor as an ally and friend.

Left alone once more, he scanned the room of dancers and guests, looking for the one person he truly cared to see amid the rest.

She was easy enough to spot, dressed in a glorious shade of green that seemed plucked from nature and could not have found a more perfect wearer. With white flowers in her hair and small, white flowers everywhere along the gown, she could have been a nymph from myths and legends, and she certainly possessed the mystic beauty of one. She could have been a siren of the seas, calling him gleefully to her with a song only he could hear, though instead of being dashed to his death upon rocks, he would have found himself carried away to a never-ending bliss.

He’d found the words to compliment her appropriately before they had left their house that evening, assuring her that the words were not enough, and found himself batted for his efforts, which was oddly endearing.

It would seem his wife did have a flaw after all.

She could not and would not accept compliments, even if they were true. She would always consider them unnecessary flattery. It was a testament to her nature and character, an admirable thing to not require attention or praise to find worth in herself. Of course, it was no excuse to keep from giving her attention and praise, and to do so effusively, but she would not seek it out.

Remarkable creature, his beautiful bride.

He frowned to himself as he watched Lily with her friends, though the sight shouldn’t have given him any cause to do so. She was smiling with Marianne Gerrard and Gemma, Lady Blackmoor, which was a common enough sight for her when in London, and he greatly approved of both ladies, though they would not have approved of him.

It was that he’d referred to Lily as his bride. She had not been his bride for some time. Five years they had been married, and surely she could not be considered a bride after more than one year of marriage.

Yet it felt as though they were only just wed. This event might have been for her sister, who was a relatively new bride, but it could just as easily have been for the two of them. They’d had a quiet wedding, without frills or fuss, and without a celebration of any kind even between themselves.

They should have celebrated somehow. They should have been reveling in their marriage from the very first day. He should have felt exhilarated that she was his bride every day since they had made their vows.

But none of that