Free Lord Romney's Exquisite Widow by Jenni James

more curious to see how much you are promising him to act in your favor."
    In sudden shock, he asked, "My favor? Me? Are you certain Lord Atten has been speaking of me this whole time? Whyever would he do such a thing? And no, I do not have some horrid blackmail to hang over his head. I had no notion he would take a pretty girl for a drive and then prattle on about a friend instead of himself."
    She lifted one shoulder and cooed to the kitten for a bit. "Mayhap it is like I said—he is bored, and using me as an escape."
    Several things did not sit well with this conversation, but mostly, it was an undeniable impression of sadness that seemed to overwhelm the tone of their meeting. And it was not only his sadness, but clearly Lady Romney's as well. He could not help but ask, "What are you are not speaking of? Why are you hinting at melancholy? Are you well?"
    She petted the kitten for some time before answering, "No. I am afraid I am not well."
     
     

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
     
     
    Every fiber of George's being shouted at him to tread cautiously. In his experience, ladies rarely admitted to being unwell, and naturally would only tell a true friend what was ailing them. "Would you like to speak of it?" he asked softly.
    "No." She sighed. "Perhaps. But not comfortably, not really at all. I wish to curl away in the library and read a book and forget all about everything around me."
    He knew exactly how she felt. Some days were meant to be spent curled up away from the world. Then you had less of an opportunity to damage those you loved. "Do you feel this way often? Is it grief?"
    "Yes, ironically, though not the grief you suppose it to be."
    "What do you mean?" George held his breath. Here it was—the precipice of decision placed before them. Would she open up and share her fears, or laugh them off and change the conversation to safer subjects?
    She settled the kitten into her lap and allowed one finger to trace gently from its ear, down its back, and up to its ear again. The mesmerizing motion captured them both until she finally broke the silence. "I learned a lot whilst I was married."
    "Did you?" he pried when it seemed she would not continue.
    "Yes." He could not see her face as much as he would like—her focus was still upon the cat—but he wondered if he saw the slight beginnings of a frown on her lips. "I learned mostly that it was a very good thing that I married an older gentleman."
    "And why is that?"
    "Because I was not fit for anything else."
    He waited a little longer before breaking the silence. "Catherine?" Whatever could she mean?
    Her mouth was most definitely turned down as she continued to talk, this time looking away from the kitten and focusing on an object to the left. Her sweet profile in brave agony pained him greatly. He could see that each word she spoke tore at her like a savage beast. "I was not as accomplished as I thought I was, and marriage was quick to remind me of that. I have many faults, many inconsistencies—indeed, I was not worthy of keeping a house or planning a party. My stitches were extremely sloppy in my sewing, my voice not as pleasing as one could hope, and my stature was too small, too slight. My brain was too dull for proper conversation, and my features were my only redeeming quality.”
    What nonsense was she speaking of?  Sloppy stitches?  Stature? Voice? Who cared about those things? What had this to do with marriage?
    “I was not to speak during family dinners, or participate in the menu, as I was not privy to or accustomed to my husband's ways. My piano playing was dismal, and I was told every night to play and then halted during the midst of my song to be berated over the choice of music, the timing, and the missed notes from frazzled, nervous fingers.
    "My bearing was not elegant, my speech not so refined, and my person as a whole so fully lacking in any social graces as to be an upset and discredit to my husband."
    His hand clenched the side of the sofa, desperate to