Page 35 of A Counterfeit Engagement

At last, Sophie reluctantly acknowledged the worst of it: weeks into their marriage, when Jonathan had confirmed not just that he did not love her, but that he did not believe he ever could, she knew it was utterly impossible for her to ever do the same.

She loved him deeply, consumingly, with every fibre of her being, and she always would.

It was a bitter truth, Sophie thought. She might have pleased him more, if she could have loved him less. Then it would have been the easiest thing in the world to accept his friendship and companionship and wish for nothing more.

But as matters stood, what could she offer him that would not be a lie?

Sophie remained in her room for some time, unmoving.

Her thoughts seemed to loop, offering the same possibilities over and over again, only to be met by the same impossibilities.

When the hour for supper grew near, she roused herself to go down to the dining room.

It would not do to make the others wait or worry over her.

Her efforts were rewarded by a meal that was almost pleasant, and would have been delightful, if it had not been for the undercurrents swirling about the room.

Cook had put forth her best effort, as though she wished to cure everything that had gone wrong with a dish of soup and a perfectly done roast. With a slight effort, Sophie ate some of everything and spoke enough compliments that some would be sure to be carried back to the kitchen.

It was not Cook’s fault that she had tasted none of it.

Sarah talked so brightly that the slight quietness of the others went unnoticed, particularly as Jonathan seemed to be making as great an effort as herself to keep their mutual unease from weighing on everyone else.

He was all consideration, replying thoughtfully and seeking her opinion as much as ever.

In the warmth of his smile, it seemed almost possible to forget.

After dinner, Sarah saved them from an awkward silence by proposing that she go to the pianoforte.

Their acceptance was quick and eager, and for once not merely for the pleasure of hearing her play.

Though the music was as beautiful as ever, Sophie did not attempt to fix her mind on it.

She was absorbed in considering whether she ought to speak to Jonathan about the arrangements he had made — about what Mr Davis had revealed, and the generosity he had attempted to conceal.

On the whole, she thought she ought to. They must come to a kind of equilibrium in the marriage eventually.

Even if love was beyond her grasp, and her own easy acceptance of a loveless marriage impossible to give to Jonathan, they must find some way of living together.

Life is long, after all, and arguments are tiresome.

Surely it could only be to the good if she were to express her appreciation and respect.

At last, Sarah brought her hands to rest on the keys, letting the last notes hang in the air before she lowered the fallboard and turned to them.

“You are good to listen to me for so long,” Sarah said, with an attempt at cheerfulness. “I hope your patience has not been tested too far. It has already grown quite late.”

“Quite the contrary,” Sophie said in perfect truth. “I would not have wished you to play any less.”

Sarah gave her an appreciative smile. “I thank you for the compliment. But as I have grown rather tired, I think I shall go to bed now.”

Jonathan nodded. “As shall I. Thank you for the music, Sarah. It was beautiful.”

Sophie’s heart pounded, but she reminded herself that her decision was already made. Accordingly, she stood up as well. “It was lovely, indeed. Goodnight, and sleep well.”

Jonathan gave her a slightly surprised look as she followed him out of the room, but he said nothing before his sister. He did not speak until they were in the corridor leading to the duke’s suite.

“You are tired as well, Sophie?”

She shook her head. “Perhaps a little, but I confess I wanted to speak with you. After…after meeting with Mr Davis today.”

He looked at her a little warily. “About the arrangements I have made?”

Sophie only nodded. She cast about wildly for a way to begin, but her mind seemed strangely blank.

Jonathan waited courteously for a long moment. As the silence threatened to stretch out, he took in a deep breath, as though to steady himself, before finally asking, “Do you approve of them?”

“Very much so,” Sophie said hurriedly. “Indeed, I do not see how anyone in my position could fail to approve of them. They differ from what I might have expected only in being perhaps too generous.”

Jonathan leaned against the wall, looking at her intently. “No, Sophie, that they are not. I refuse to give my duchess anything less.”

He surprised a small laugh out of her. “I had not intended to object, only to thank you.”

He waved it away. “No thanks are necessary, I assure you.”

“Necessary, perhaps not,” Sophie began, “but all the same, I should like to thank you. And to tell you, I suppose, that I was not surprised. Not surprised by you, at least, even if by such large figures. It is of a piece with everything you do. Since the beginning of our acquaintance, I have admired your consideration for others.”

Sophie stopped abruptly, half surprised that she had said so much.

Yet she could not regret it, for it was nothing more than the truth.

For his part, Jonathan looked at least as surprised to hear her compliments as she had been to give them.

And there was something in his eyes, something she had not seen since the night of their quarrel.

“Then let me thank you in return,” Jonathan said, his voice so low that she stepped closer to hear it. He took her hand, lightly squeezing it for a moment. He did not let go, even as he looked into her eyes. “I should rather have your good opinion than anyone’s, Duchess.”

It was silent all around them. Sophie became aware all at once of the lateness of the hour, the emptiness of the halls, and the proximity of the bedroom doors, hardly a step away.

First her own room, still faded and badly in need of new furnishings, and then the duke’s bedchamber, where she had stayed until that fateful night when it had all fallen apart.

The warmth in his eyes, the hand that still held hers, said that he might lead her into that bed chamber after him.

Sophie knew at once that she would not object, even if she could not follow him with the same whole-hearted joy of the days when she had loved without restriction, and thought herself loved in return.

He was still her husband, after all. If Jonathan asked it of her, wordlessly or otherwise, she would not put any greater distance between them.

She would give him everything — or at least, everything she could.

Abruptly, he let go of her hand. “Goodnight, Sophie,” Jonathan murmured. “Sleep well.” Before she could make any response, he had hurried into his bedchamber, closed the door behind him, and disappeared.

Sophie looked after him, feeling strangely desolate.

It ought to have been a relief, and yet it was not.

There had been something precious between them, utterly foreign to her experience before becoming Jonathan’s wife, and yet undeniably beautiful.

For a moment, she had thought that he would beckon to her, that at least this part of their marriage might stand.

But he had not. Jonathan had chosen to go to a cold and lonely bed, even when touched by desire. She could interpret it in no other way than as a rejection of the intimacy they had shared.

And if that, too, was broken, she did not know what was left.