As she was about to step inside, Hugh drew her back.
“What is it?” she asked, feeling likely to shatter, but still battling to behave like the carefree creature who had sneaked out into the moonlight to steal a few kisses.
He looked deadly serious, his dark eyes searching. He didn’t look like the lighthearted man who had swept her into his arms half an hour ago either. “I meant it when I said you make me happy.”
She tightened her throat against a sob. This was her night. The new Lady Garson had triumphed, however crushed vulnerable Jane Rutherford might feel. She couldn’t face his friends with tears in her eyes. There had already been more than enough gossip about her husband and his romantic entanglements. And the thought of anyone else saying they felt sorry for her made her retch.
It took her a moment to remember she still had the right to touch him. She raised a tentative hand to his cheek and dredged up what she prayed was a reassuring smile. His skin was warm through her delicate satin glove.
“Thank you, Hugh.” She guessed he was waiting for her to proclaim a reciprocal happiness, but the words jammed unspoken in her throat.
He placed his hand over hers and pressed it into his face. “You do make me happy.”
His tone sounded as if he countered some argument, when she hadn’t said a word to disagree. In its way, what he said was probably even true. He’d certainly enjoyed her body, and she couldn’t mistake his pride in her tonight.
He waited for a response, but she remained silent, staring up at him as if she’d never seen him before.
In a way, she hadn’t. Odd how those moments in the darkness had resulted in her taking a clear view of her situation at last. She swiftly slid her hand away from his face and buried it in her skirts.
“Shall we go down to supper?” he asked, his gaze still concerned.
“Yes,” she said, wishing her answer wasn’t a muffled croak. She turned away, before he read too much in her face. A fortnight of marriage had taught her to beware his powers of perception.
He offered his arm, and they went inside the ballroom. Jane squared her shoulders. So what if people were talking about her husband’s devotion to another woman? Nothing new in that.
But something had changed. Something momentous.
Because this evening, Jane had done more than act like a giddy girl in love, silly as that might be. When she’d listened to the Frames talking about her, she’d soon realized that she’d gone disastrously past what she’d promised her husband when she married him.
God help her, no acting was involved anymore. The giddy girl had fallen in love with a man who would never love her back.
And she didn’t know how she could endure it.
*
Chapter Twenty-Eight
*
It somehow made matters worse that the first people Jane saw in the supper room were Susan and Frederick. She’d caught a glimpse of her sister through the crush earlier and meant to seek her out, but her procession of eager partners had kept her busy since then.
Jane didn’t want to deal with her sister right now. Susan had a bad habit of saying “I told you so.” The fact that she’d predicted unhappiness for this marriage made her a far from ideal companion tonight.
But the room was crowded, and Susan and Frederick’s table had two spare seats. Jane gestured toward the corner. “Susan’s over there, and she has space.”
She glimpsed Anthony signaling for them to squeeze in on a table with him and Fenella, but Susan had caught her eye now and it was too late.
“Whatever she says to you, don’t listen. You’ve made a splash, and you’ll be the talk of the Town tomorrow,” Hugh said under his breath, as he approached his new in-laws with a reluctance Jane hoped was visible only to her. “I’ll wager she’s pea green with envy that her mousy little sister has turned into a peacock. She’ll tell you your dress is too daring, and your hair is too wild, and you’re a shame to the Norrises.”
Jane had a sinking feeling he was right. Susan had always reserved the older sister’s privilege to criticize the younger. As they approached, Frederick stood with every appearance of pleasure on his unremarkable face. She’d always liked her sister’s husband, although his good nature meant Susan and her horrid children bullied him unmercifully.
“I wasn’t a mouse,” she said, more for form’s sake than because she meant it.
“Not for the want of trying,” Hugh muttered, before he turned to Frederick with what she’d come to think of as his social smile. It went no deeper than the surface of his eyes, whereas when he really smiled, she saw every inch of his generous soul.
“Good evening, Bacon. Nice crowd here.” He bowed to Susan. “Susan, you’re looking a picture.”
Susan simpered at him from where she sat in the corner. “Thank you, Hugh. Are you and Janie planning to stay in Town? I thought you were going to Derbyshire.”