Free The Marriage Bed by Laura Lee Guhrke Page A

always flicked him on the raw and brought out the most sarcastic side of his nature, because that demeanor was so uncharacteristic of the laughing, passionate girl he had married. That girl had given him some of the most enjoyable pleasures of his life, but she was little more than a hazy memory to him now. He hated the judgmental creature who had taken her place, especially because he knew he was partly to blame for the transformation.
    He studied his wife as the carriage made the slow crawl up New Oxford Street . She was staring out the window, refusing to even look at him, and as he thought about the change in her that time had wrought, he felt no anger this time, just an odd emptiness. He had lost something valuable when that girl vanished eight years ago. Something beautiful and fragile. Something he could never get back.
    Her unwillingness to see his side of what had gone wrong was something he did not know if he could ever break down. Charm and wit had worked to win her so long ago, but things were different now, so much damage had been done by both of them, and he did not know if he could ever charm her enough or be witty enough to coax her back.
    He knew he had put on a good show the other day, but the blithe confidence he displayed to her was pretense . He wondered as he looked at her smooth, expressionless profile if he could ever make her want him as she once had. Two days ago he'd almost made her laugh. There might have been a tiny hint there of the girl he had married so long ago, but today that hint was gone. She had kept him waiting in Tremore's drawing room for half an hour before coming down, and had not spoken a word to him since then. A truce, a passionate wife, and a son all seemed a long way off.
    The carriage pulled into Bloomsbury Square and came to a stop before his door. The footman opened the door and unfolded the steps. John exited first and held out his hand to Viola. She hesitated, looking not at him but at his gloved hand. After a moment, she placed her own hand over it, allowed him to help her down, and they went inside.
    Compared to Enderby , their villa in Chiswick, this house was plain. He had only a few servants, for he never entertained here. It had some furnishings, a few carpets and paintings, and plenty of books, but little else.
    As he watched her take in her surroundings, he felt compelled to speak. "You see? It is quite sparse. That is why I thought you might wish to purchase some things for it."
    She did not reply. She pulled out her hat pin, took off her hat, shook it to release the droplets of rain that clung to the straw, then wove the pin through one side of the crown.
    She had always hated wearing hats, he remembered, watching her. That was something he'd always liked about her. When a woman had hair like sunlight, hiding it under a bonnet was a tragedy.
    She studied the limestone floor of the foyer, the polished walnut staircase, and the butter-colored walls, then without a word, she started toward the back of the house, carrying her hat in one hand.
    He gave her a tour of the rooms on the ground floor, then took her through the kitchens and the servants' quarters. The entire time, she said nothing.
    "We could find a bigger town house next season," he told her as he led her to the drawing room. "This one is a bit small for entertaining."
    She did not even bother to nod, and his pessimistic thoughts during the carriage ride began to deepen into downright gloom. His reference to next season got no rise out of her, and it ought to have. When he could spark her feisty side, when she was quarreling with him, he knew what he was dealing with, knew she felt something. This cold silence was what he loathed, and though he wanted to break it, he did not know how.
    "The drawing room is here," he told her as he gestured to a set of open doors on the first floor.
    She started into the room, then stopped so abruptly he almost ran into her from behind. "Heavens above, I don't believe it," she