He was not surprised to see Catherine crossing the evenly cut grass with long strides, her blond hair cascading down her back in a riot of curls and her small hands clenched in angry fists at her sides. With her back to him he could only imagine the curses she was filling the air with, and a smile rose unbidden to his mouth.
Even before their marriage Catherine had been vexed with a hot temper that flamed instantly and cooled quickly. Her favorite method for dissipating a bad mood was to go for a vigorous walk. There had been a time when they used to walk together hand in hand, teasing and laughing and saying all the things new lovers said.
Now, Marcus thought, his lips twisting bitterly at the irony of it all, she walks alone cursing my name and I remain in my study cursing hers. What a conventional marriage we have.
Brooding, he sat back behind his desk and turned over the next ledger.
As her husband suspected, Catherine was cursing his name as she stalked across the front lawn at a feverish pace.
“What an arrogant, pig headed, dim witted bounder!” She crossed the stone drive and turned right; skirting the stables to head towards a trail in the woods she had walked many, many times before.
Beneath the canopy of broad green leaves, flickering rays of sun, and chirping songbirds she could finally let down her guard and take a deep, relaxing breath. Raising her hands above her head she pivoted in a slow, lazy circle, stretching out the muscles that had tightened in her back and neck from holding herself so stiffly in Marcus’ presence. The man brought out the absolute worst in her.
If she was completely honest with herself Catherine would be the first to admit the last thing she wanted in the entire world was to divorce her husband. It would be a long process, fraught with gossip and speculation. His reputation would be tarnished and hers ruined completely. But she simply could not stand it anymore. The months of separation, the sparring words they exchanged whenever they were forced together, the way he insisted on ordering her about as if she were one of his poor servants instead of his wife. How different it had been when they first met.
Marcus had been charming, attentive, and loving; everything she ever dreamed of finding in a husband. After their initial introduction she had been consumed by a whirlwind romance of dancing, long strolls through Hyde Park, and secret, passionate kisses. When he proposed four months later she readily accepted. Both of their parents had approved of the match, as had the entire Ton.
It had been, Catherine reflected as she leaned against a towering oak tree and hugged her arms to her chest, the perfect fairytale. Until everything changed.
She could not say exactly when they had begun to grow apart. Perhaps it started when Marcus had gone across the Atlantic to Boston for six months, despite her pleas for him to stay. He had left her alone in Kensington and she remained for as long as she could, but she had still been a young woman of eighteen and with nothing to occupy her time, had returned to London within the month to enjoy the rest of the Season sans her husband. She knew there had been rumors, and accepted the blame as her own for she had done nothing to dispel them.
She now accepted that a small part of her had been hoping to lure Marcus home with her lascivious behavior, but if he received any of the letters she wrote him, hinting in not so subtle detail at her exploits, he gave no sign.
When he finally did return he was aloof and standoffish; nothing like the man who had made love to her the night before he left and vowed to think of her every moment of every day until he returned.
That had been, Catherine thought with a sigh, three and a half long years ago. Since then they had only seen each other once or twice a year, and then only in passing. Because of their lengthy separation she had thought Marcus would be delighted at the idea of a divorce, and quite frankly she could not imagine the reason why he wasn’t. She even knew he had a mistress, a red haired widow who stayed with him in London and whom he visited often in the country. He thought she had one as well, but she didn’t. She had certainly entertained the idea, as it was not uncommon amidst the Ton for married women to share a bed outside of their husbands. In fact, it was often quite encouraged. But when it had come down to it, Catherine simply could not make herself. She may have been a flirt, but she never had been – and never would be – an adulteress.
“I need to be free of you Marcus,” she whispered, only daring to say what she truly thought out loud in the privacy of the woods where nothing save the birds and the squirrels could hear her. “I cannot remain married to a man who despises the very sight of me.” I cannot remain married to a man I love. The words echoed in her head, but she could not force them past her lips. Some things could not be spoken out loud, even in seclusion.