Page 39 of Sensibly Wed

“You know Latin?”

“Not much, but I know some.”

“Well, you will have Luna tomorrow. She is more docile. Solis is young and believes himself smarter than his rider.”

“How kind of you to consider my preferences,” I said. I had not been used to someone doing that. I was usually the person who had to make sacrifices for another’s comfort.

He looked over my shoulder and noticed the book on my dressing table. “Have you found the library to your liking, then?”

“I have not visited it yet, actually.” My cheeks pinked. “I could not find it earlier.”

He indicated the book. “You’ve brought some of your own, then?”

“No, that was from Henry, actually. He recommended it to me.”

James’s smile grew tight. “I am glad you have found someone to speak to about your books. I would be a dreadful bore in that conversation, surely.”

“You are about as talented at speaking of books as I am at riding?”

He laughed softly. “I suppose, except that riding is a skill that can be taught and perfected. Reading is simply tiresome.”

His decree stung, but I did my best not to show it. If he viewed reading that way, did he view me in a similar manner? The thought reminded me of my objective.

“James, I had the fortune of meeting a friend of your mother’s while we were shopping in Bakewell today. Lady Whitstone and her daughter, actually.”

“Oh? I am not sure I would call them friends of my mother, exactly. They had a bit of a falling out last year and things between our families have been tense.”

“What was the nature of the disagreement?”

James cleared his throat and looked behind me, gazing at the different things in my room, his attention not resting on any one item for long. When he settled his gaze on me, he looked slightly apologetic. “Me.”

As I’d thought. Drat. “Miss Whitstone was the woman who did not suit, then? I wonder, if the relations between your families are so tenuous, why you would believe that she and I would become friends.”

“I think Miss Whitstone is a kind enough woman to look past the strife between our mothers, and I believe you would have something in common with her. You remind me of her a little, if I am being completely honest.”

“Given that she is blessed with dark hair and looks nothing like me, I can only assume the similarities you see are in temperament.”

“Yes,” he said, his eyes brightening. “In temperament, indeed. You will surely find a friend in Miss Whitstone.”

Or I would perhaps learn what it was about her that was so distasteful James would not marry her—someone who was much like me. Unless . . . “Was it the Whitstones who did not desire the marriage?”

“No, quite the opposite. That is the reason they have gained something of a competitive relationship with my mother. I nearly married the girl only so Mother would not lose her dearest friend, but that is not a strong enough reason to shackle myself to someone for the rest of my life.”

Like he did with me.

I could not hold his gaze, not when he spoke so cavalierly about someone so similar to myself. My eyes settled on the contours of his chest visible through his open shirt, watching them rise and fall in conjunction with his breathing. How could James not see that our situation was no different except that he’d been stripped of the ability to choose? I had taken that choice from him when my reputation came under scrutiny and he felt it his duty to save it.

He took a step closer and hooked a finger beneath my chin, directing my gaze to him. “What is it, Felicity? What did I say to bother you?”

“Nothing.” I tried for a bright smile. Speaking the truth now would do nothing useful and would only make me appear as though I pathetically begged for reassurance. He could not reassure me, however, when I had the facts laid out so plainly before me.

No, this was not a problem for James to solve. It was mine. I needed to make myself into a wife he would enjoy, not a wife who would bore him. “I look forward to riding tomorrow.”

Not a lie, exactly. I did look forward to spending time with James, just not the aspects relating to horses.

“As do I. I think you will like what I have to show you.” He looked beyond me into my room again. “I do not wish to end our evening. I feel our time together is so fleeting.”

“That will change,” I promised. “Surely, I will not need to spend all my days with your mother.”