An Infamous Marriage by Susanna Fraser

they had any to offer him. Now that his leg no longer pained him with the slightest exertion, he ached to prove himself worthy of the major-general’s rank and knightly honor that had been conferred upon him after Queenston Heights.
    He was promptly and courteously received by Sir Henry Torrens, the current Military Secretary, but as he had feared, the army had no employment for him. Sir Henry all but assured him the next time there was a vacancy for an officer of his rank in Canada, the command would be his. But since he didn’t foresee such a need in the next year or two, he urged Jack to go home and see to his house, lands and family, which he surely must have missed during so long an absence.
    When, less than an hour after walking in, Jack stepped out into a cold winter’s morning, he finally allowed himself a sigh. His last hope of delaying his return to Selyhaugh and Elizabeth was gone. Having no other choice, he returned to his hotel and turned his mind to his home and his marriage.
    He wished he understood what had gone wrong. While he and Elizabeth had not made a love match, it had given every early promise of being a civil and friendly one. He had enjoyed her letters for the comfortable assurance they gave that all was well at home. While Elizabeth was a somewhat awkward writer, there was a wry humor that came through the stilted sentences and made him grow fonder of her. So he had exerted himself to write back as amusingly as he could, to make as much as possible out of the occasional moments of drama that had enlivened the often dull world of a regiment in an isolated frontier post in what had then been an uneasy peace.
    But then that letter announcing his mother’s death had come. Such a dreadful, inexplicably cold little missive! After Jack had got over his initial hurt, he had concluded she had been too busy to write more, or that she was one of those types who when faced with death didn’t know what to say and said too little for fear of saying too much. She had kept her grief over Giles contained, though Jack could tell that wound had been deep. So he’d written his own brief letter—though he’d hoped his was warmer than hers—and awaited the resumption of their usual friendly correspondence.
    It had never come. Her next letter had arrived months after the war began, and had only contained the briefest good wishes for his safety during the conflict. She might have written exactly the same words to the merest acquaintance. She’d enclosed an account of the horses and sheep, as dry as a clerk’s ledger. Jack had taken the hint and responded in kind, and the pattern of their correspondence was set from there.
    Jack had once considered asking Elizabeth if anything had gone amiss—if she’d heard some dreadful story about him—but what could it possibly be? There was no way Elizabeth could have found out about Bella Liddicott, either their affair in 1799 or their one night in London five years ago, just after his marriage, while he waited to sail back to Canada. He wasn’t proud of that night, and he’d often guiltily wished they had never crossed paths again.
    But other than Bella, he had no indiscretions that should seem unforgivable. He hadn’t been entirely chaste since his marriage, but how many men away from their wives for several years were? He certainly couldn’t imagine any gentleman of his acquaintance keeping faith to an unconsummated marriage. And how could she have even learned of the Mannering scandal, or of his liaisons with Hannah Mackenzie or Sarah Boyd? She had no acquaintances in Canada.
    He must stay in London for a few days yet, he consoled himself. He needed to visit his banker, not to mention a tailor, since he hardly owned any clothing that wasn’t a uniform.
    Perhaps while here he might select a gift for Elizabeth, something to help him win his way back into her good graces. They were married. That could not be undone, and if he were ever to have heirs, she must be the