over his knees, gazing at them as if hoping to find the story there.
‘Six years ago, Aunt Lydia, I seemed to have everything that a man could desire. Although I had lost my parents some time ago, and missed them deeply at times, I was a grown man with a beautiful young wife and a large estate. I lived comfortably, as you know, and I was happy. At least, I told myself that I was happy.’
He found himself yearning to look over in the direction of the window seat again. He wanted to see if Isabella was watching him but he fought the urge to turn. He must deal with matters here, between himself and his aunt.
‘Go on, James,’ Lady Watson urged, her own hands clasped together beneath her chin.
As he inhaled, preparing to continue, his head turned involuntarily and he found his eyes drawn straight to Isabella’s face. She was watching Miss Pembrey sketching, not him. But at that moment, as if sensing his eyes upon her, she glanced up and held his gaze. This time her cheeks did not flush with colour. Instead, she appeared calm and inquisitive. It unnerved and aroused him in spite of his current turmoil.
‘James?’
‘My apologies, Aunt Lydia. This isn’t easy.’
‘Of course not, my dear,’ she replied gently.
‘I thought I was happy, especially when Genevieve told me that she was with child. After all, isn’t that what every man wants? To have an heir to his name and fortune.’
‘One would think so, James.’
‘But as her belly grew, so did the distance between us. It was ironic that as the babe began to fill her body, we both realised exactly how empty our lives were. Pregnancy disagreed with her and she grew crotchety and unkind. I am ashamed to admit it now but, in return, I became intolerant of her. What had endeared us to one another in the beginning ‒ when we stepped cautiously around each other with the shyness of newlyweds ‒ became irritating and I realised’ ‒ he raised a trembling hand to his brow ‒ ‘I realised finally and with startling clarity, that I did not love her. In fact… I never had.’
He wondered if his aunt thought him an awful man for his confession but all he found in her eyes was compassion.
‘Oh my dear boy. You have nothing to feel guilty about. You are not the first man to marry, then regret your choice. Do not berate yourself.’
‘But I should, and do, feel guilty.’
The old lady took a shaky breath and James seized the opportunity to sneak a glance at Miss Adams again. What would she think of him if she knew what he was about to divulge to his Aunt Lydia? Would she be shocked at his ungallant actions? Were his crimes worse than hers? Not that he really thought she had committed any crimes. What he had gathered from the story relayed by Lady Castlereagh suggested that Isabella been an innocent debutante taken advantage of by a complete rogue. It did happen, though the upper echelons of society would prefer to bury their heads in the filth and mire and pretend that it did not. How could a young woman be blamed for succumbing to the seduction of a seasoned rake?
‘Oh, my dear James.’ Lady Watson sagged in her chair, her face suddenly haggard.
James continued. ‘After a particularly ferocious exchange of words, I stormed out of our house and fled to London. I could not bear to be under the same roof as Genevieve. I had to escape, to think. She had confessed to me that she had never loved me. She had been forced into the marriage, under the threat of being disowned and becoming a social outcast, but she loved another and always had.’
‘Oh James, I am sorry.’
‘I was shocked, of course I was, but I did not know what to do. I did not feel jealous because I did not love her in that way but I felt that I should be jealous. It made me feel inadequate in some way, that I was lacking as a man. After all, she was carrying my child and every day that child was growing bigger, its date of expected arrival getting closer. Yet it seemed that this knowledge, which for so many is filled with excitement and eager anticipation, was placing an unbearable pressure upon us.’ His stomach rolled over at the memory. ‘Then, in what must have been a placatory attempt to stem the damage, Genevieve sent a letter to me in London, claiming that she had not seen her beloved since our wedding day, when he had begged her to elope with him.’
‘And why didn’t she?’ the old lady whispered.
James tried to swallow but his mouth was bone dry and his tongue felt swollen, too big for his mouth. The memories were still so painful. He muttered, ‘She could not face the scandal.’
‘So she married you and kept silent.’ The old lady looked down at her hands.
‘Yes aunt, as you well know.’ His words were laced with venom that he had not placed there deliberately. Lady Watson recoiled but then quickly regained her self-composure, restoring her concerned expression.
‘Many women do, James. In our society few women expect to marry for love ‒ though it does happen occasionally for the very lucky.’
‘But not for poor Genevieve, Aunt Lydia,’ he spat out the words, unable to conceal his anger any longer. ‘You could have saved us both from much heartache.’
He glared at the frail old lady, years of anger and resentment welling up and filling him with fury. Then he noted her trembling and the tears in her eyes and he felt his heart soften, his anger melt away.
‘I am so sorry, James. I meant well, my dear, I really did. But I made a mistake when I pushed the girl into marrying you. It was wrong of me and I realised it soon after but it was too late then. I had so hoped that you would be happy with her. I really only ever wanted your happiness.’
‘I know that, Aunt, I know.’ He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. ‘I know that you meant well but when she came to you and asked for help…’
‘I should have helped her, not turned her away.’
‘I have often wondered about it,’ he said. ‘What it was about her that made you decide that she had to be the one.’
Lady Watson shrugged and took a shaky breath.
‘She was pretty, rich and well connected, James. I thought that she would be the ideal mate for you and hoped that she would bring you health, wealth and happiness.’
‘But when she told you of her former attachment and begged you to speak to her father and let her be… why did you not listen?’
‘I have asked myself that question a thousand times, dear boy.’ His aunt nodded, causing the loose skin beneath her chin to wobble. ‘I deeply wish that I had saved you both such heartache.’
James exhaled slowly, letting go of the past, aware that further recriminations were unnecessary. His aunt had clearly tried hard since to put things right, taking in young girls and offering them her protection was evidently her way of trying to make amends.
‘There is more Aunt Lydia. When Genevieve confessed all to me in that letter, the details seemed to push me over the edge and in London I found myself in a tavern…’ He paused, rubbing his chin roughly then he thumped his balled fists upon his knees. ‘I should have gone straight to a gentlemen’s club to seek solace in the company of men of my own class but instead I fell into… I tumbled into… I…’
‘Please, James. You can go on.’
‘I found myself… in a tavern, one frequented by women of ill repute.’
‘You will not be the first man to do so my dear,’ Lady Watson reassured him, ‘nor will you be the last.’
‘But it was uncharacteristic of me, Aunt Lydia. I had never frequented such a den of iniquity before, though I know that this does little to pardon my visiting such a place then and it does not excuse my behaviour. There is no excuse for what I did.’ His head sank into his waiting hands and he pressed hard against his temples.
‘James, please…’
He shook his head, he could not