“I’m hardly the one to complain,” Simeon said, “given as I do not conform to all the customs of an English gentleman.”
“Obviously.”
“My mother tells me that I greatly underestimated your complaint regarding Nerot’s Hotel and that, in fact, ladies stay in such establishments only while traveling outside London. I had no idea from your protest that the experience was prohibited for women.”
“Is it my fault, then? I should have been more vehement?”
Simeon opened his mouth. Paused. “I should have listened to you?” he suggested.
There was a hint of a smile on her lips. “You must have worn a cravat at Eton.”
“Of course I did. But that feels like a lifetime ago. I am who I am because of the places I have been. And Eton is just a tiny kernel of my past. I’m fond of English seasons. There were times in the midst of the desert when I almost cried to remember how beautiful our rain can be. But the core of me was shaped by the deserts of Abyssinia, by the sands of India.”
She sighed.
“I know,” he said, nodding. “That’s why I thought it was better to bring up the question of annulment rather than let it fester silently between us.”
“Why don’t you wish to marry me?” she asked bluntly, looking up at him.
He opened his mouth but she raised her hand. “Please don’t tell me once again that you are offering me an annulment for my sake. I know precisely the weight you put on my opinion; it was eloquently expressed by your absence in the past years.”
He deserved that. And she deserved the truth.
“I am beautiful,” she added with a pugnacious kind of honesty that suggested it was second nature to her. “I am a virgin. And we are married. So why would you wish to annul that ceremony?”
“The desert changed me.”
She waited, and he had the feeling that it was only by a masterful effort of self-control that she didn’t curl her lip. Well, it did sound insane. Put that together with his virginity…“I met a great teacher named Valamksepa, when I first traveled to India. He taught me a great deal about what it means to be a man.”
“Ah,” she said. “A man is obviously not defined by his wig or his legs. So do tell me, what is the measure of a man?”
Her voice was calm, but underneath were banked fires. He was right to annul the marriage.
“A man is measured by his ability to control himself,” he said, not allowing the scorn in her eyes to shake him. “I wish to be the sort of man who never falls prey to his baser emotions.”
She looked a little confused.
“Anger,” he told her. “Fear. Lust.”
“You want to avoid anger? How will you do that?”
He grinned. “Oh, I feel anger. The key is not to act on it, not to let it affect me or become an intrinsic part of my life.”
“But what has this to do with me?”
They’d reached the stickler. “I was taught,” he said carefully, “that a man comes to his life with many choices. Only a fool believes that fate gives him his hand of cards. We make decisions every day.”
“And?”
“Marriage is one of the most important. If you and I were to marry—really marry—I would want to undergo the marriage ceremony with you because it marks that important decision. It was something I should never have left to a proxy. Those are my vows to make and to keep.”
“Or not to make at all,” she said flatly. “The fact is, Cosway, that your decision after meeting me is not to make those vows. Am I right?”
“I—”
“You were initially happy to go through with a wedding ceremony,” she said. “Yet now you talk of annulment.”