It was just one of the rules.
Bringing it up was the surest way to send him stomping out of any conversation. He had come away with his life and limbs intact, while many of his friends had not, so he refused to acknowledge any hint of pain; still, a wife knew. It was no mystery to her why he preferred to bury himself in work—and other, more recent diversions.
At the moment, however, all that difficult business was tucked away. He flashed one of his dazzling smiles and flicked a piece of lint off his sleeve. “Do you know the last time I donned this uniform, our son asked me if I was off to fight a battle?”
She glanced adoringly at him in spite of herself. “Aren’t you always?”
He sent her a twinkling look and shrugged, conceding this point. Intentio altus. Aim high—the Archer family motto. He started to walk away, then suddenly stopped himself, turning back with a snap of his fingers. “That reminds me.”
Oh, Lud, she thought, here it comes.
“Tonight, if the opportunity should arise to chat with the Regent or the Queen, do try to drop a hint if you can—about my post.”
Elle’s smile turned brittle.
“Just say that I’m very interested and willing to take on the responsibility—well, you know better than I do how to put it.”
“By all means, my lord, perhaps you should write me a script.” She smiled politely. “I could memorize it in the coach.”
He raised a brow in astonishment; Elle swallowed hard, scarcely knowing herself where the barb had come from. She lowered her lashes, cleared her throat, and went about her business. She shut her Chinese box of colors and stubbornly avoided his gaze.
Why the hell did you just bite my head off? his puzzled stare seemed to ask. “This is important to me, Ellie. I thought you understood that.”
Important to your ego, you coxcomb.
“Paymaster of the Forces is one of the most consequential posts in the government. If it goes to Northrop Hayes, God only knows how much he’ll siphon off to line his own pockets. The money is to be used for the good of the troops.”
She pursed her lips together.
“What?” he demanded, cocking a fist on his lean waist.
“You do realize we are going to a wedding, darling, not to some select committee meeting in the Lords?”
“Of course I know it’s a wedding! Though one is sure to be equally dull as the other,” he grumbled with a fleeting, aggravated scowl.
“Two people in love are going to pledge to spend the rest of their lives together. We must be happy for them. While it lasts,” she couldn’t help adding under her breath.
At that, he shot her a searing look that reminded her she wasn’t the only one disillusioned about their match of late. “I’ll try to keep that in mind,” he muttered. “Please hurry. We’re due at Carlton House in half an hour.”
He pivoted and marched toward the door, then stopped abruptly, turning back to her. “I wish I knew why you’ve been so cross with me lately.”
She stared at him in the mirror. Because you’re cheating on me. “Nonsense,” she replied.
He looked at her, at a loss.
Finding himself unable to break through her icy veneer of self-protection, Archer dropped his gaze and turned away. “Fine. I’ll fetch the carriage.”
He stalked out.
Elle measured out a silent exhalation, willing away a ridiculous threat of tears. The black on her lashes would make her look like a masked bandit if she succumbed to hysterics. True, more and more each day she felt like she could explode—but what was the point?
For a man of Archer’s rank to take a mistress was inevitable, to be expected. Men of the upper classes cheated: It was a fact of life, like death and taxes. There was nothing to be done but to accept it, ignore it, endure it, and try to carry on.
And he wondered why she did not like to speak about her feelings.
But if it helped him deal with his experiences in the war, then . . .
She sighed, very near her wits’ end. Nevertheless, she thrust her private suffering aside. Once again their duty must come first. The Sovereign, Society, the public waited. So what if her heart was dying?
She rose, arrayed as the Countess of Archer in all her frosty glory, smoothed her skirts, and whisked her train out expertly behind her. A steely look came into her carefully painted eyes.
Time to go.
Cheering crowds thronged the streets of London as Lord and Lady Archer’s coach-and-four rolled under the grand portico at the front of Carlton House.
They were stared at as they arrived, but Elle was prepared for this, which was why she had chosen a gown to complement his uniform. Her dark blue robe was made from Spitalfields silk—ever the patriotic choice—adorned with rich gold thread and scarlet embroidery work at the hem. It had short sleeves and a long train over a white satin slip, and was fastened in front by a gold brooch of diamonds and rubies.