She didn’t expect people to love her: she expected them to fear her. To bow and scrape before her. That was why she loved being Cope so much. It set her free, in the same way that not being a woman set her free.
“A duchess,” he said, fury burning its welcome into his heart.
She inclined her head. It was a duchess’s nod. But there was a tear sliding down her cheek.
“You pretended to be other than you are—why?” But he knew, he knew. “I’m not good enough for a duchess. You deceived me, day after day—because of rank?”
“It wasn’t rank. You are—yourself,” she said. “And I am a bird of a different feather, for all I pretended to be someone I’m not.”
“You’re saying I fell in love with an illusion.”
“Something like that.”
“And you? Did you fall in love with an illusion too, Harriet?”
“No. You never lied to me. I don’t think you’re capable of lying, Jem.”
He folded his arms because it was ungraceful to clench one’s fists in polite conversation. Especially with a duchess, one had to presume. “Ironic as this may seem, I would have thought it below myself to pretend to a lower rank than my own. I gave you myself, such as I am.”
“I know you did,” she cried. “You have been utterly honest with me. This is your life, and—and that’s wonderful. You love your life. And—and that’s wonderful. Truly. I—I’m a fool, that’s all.”
“Would you mind explicating the nature of your foolishness?”
She looked at him for a moment, as if she were memorizing his face. His heart turned over. She was really going to do it. She was going to leave him.
“You’re—you’re the only gentleman I’ve ever met who truly doesn’t care about rank.”
“So?”
“I honor that. But I can’t live like this.”
Jem felt his tone hardening before he even said it. He knew why she couldn’t live in a house without rank: she was a duchess, for God’s sake. That would be like giving away her most precious possession. “Like what?”
“In a house in which people just come and go, like some sort of changing play. You don’t even know all of them, Jem.”
“They’re not good enough for a duchess. I completely understand.”
“It’s not a question of good. Well, perhaps it is.” He could see her make some sort of decision. She looked up at him. “I’m a staid person, at the heart, Jem. All I ever wanted, really, was to have some children and a husband who loved me. That was it. I never—”
She turned away but he saw the gleam of tears again and it tore his heart.
“I never dreamed I would be as wild as I’ve been here. Playing primero for huge stakes, having an affaire…It’s not me. But I also—I can’t live with people like the Graces, not for the long term. I don’t want to be in a house that is an inn for itinerant players and drunk jugglers, not to mention the scientists and politicians. Yet I loved every moment of it. It’s changed me, changed my life. I don’t blame my husband for dying any more.”
Ice and anger slammed into his heart. “I am happy that Eugenia and I could be of use to you.”
“Don’t—Don’t—” she cried, holding out her hand. “Don’t leave in anger.”
“You lied to me. I thought you were the widow of a farmer—” He spat the word. “—and all along you were merely playing with the hoi polloi. Amusing yourself with me.”