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Olivia hesitated, because she did not want this conversation to become another disagreement between them. "Nothing is wrong with the decision itself. I simply would like to be involved in these decisions before you make them. Felix is my child too."

James's expression changed at that, though Olivia could not quite determine how.

"You are involved," he said calmly. "Raising Felix is mostly your responsibility. I have never intended otherwise."

Olivia looked at him in disbelief. "That is precisely the problem." She took a breath and forced herself to speak carefully. "You treat our arrangement as though we have separate duties. You handle certain things, I handle others, and then we report the results to one another. You make decisions about Felix, I make decisions about the household, and somehow we are expected to function as a family without actually being involved in one another's lives."

James was silent.

Oh, dear. Have I said too much?

Still, now that the words had begun, she could not seem to stop them. "I wish we could be more involved in each other's lives," she admitted, lowering her voice. "As friends, perhaps. It would be nice if you were more involved in Felix's life. It would be nice if you took more interest in the household in general, and if you consulted me when you made decisions that affected the fam ..."

She stopped herself, suddenly embarrassed.

Family.

She had almost said family. The word felt far too hopeful for the sort of marriage James had agreed to.

She looked down at her hands. "I simply think we should discuss things together," she finished quietly. "We are going to be in each other's lives for a very long time, after all." James studied her for several moments, and Olivia prepared herself for another cold answer, another reminder that their marriage was merely an arrangement. Instead, he surprised her.

"We can work on that," he said, his voice measured.

Olivia lifted her eyes. "We can?"

"Yes." James moved toward the fireplace, his expression thoughtful. "We do have a mutual responsibility. And I do not dislike your company."

Olivia's heart gave another foolish little flutter. "So perhaps we can work on being ..." He paused, searching for the word as though it were foreign to him. "Friends."

Olivia smiled before she could stop herself. "That is all I want."

The words came easily, but she knew immediately that they were a lie.

It is not all I want. I want a true marriage, not an arrangement that could be neatly divided into tasks.

I wish for a husband that wants me, not simply tolerates me.

She wanted children of her own. She wanted a family that was real, warm, noisy, imperfect and permanent, and somewhere in the deepest, most foolish part of her heart, she wanted James standing in the middle of it with her.

But she said none of that.

"Then we shall start there," James said, and Olivia nodded. "Goodnight, Olivia."

She drew her shawl around herself and offered him a small smile. "Goodnight, James."

She turned toward the door, leaving him standing beside the fire, and when she stepped into the corridor, she closed the door gently behind her. Only then did she allow herself to exhale, pressing one hand against her chest as she walked back toward her room.

Friendship would have to be enough, but I have never been very good at wanting only what she was given.

Chapter Nineteen

One afternoon, Olivia sat in the drawing room with several folded advertisements spread across the table. She had gathered them from notices and recommendations concerning wet nurses, and she had written small notes beside several names so that she would remember which women seemed promising.

James entered carrying a cup of tea, glanced at the papers, and pulled out the chair opposite her.

"I assume that is the collection of candidates," he said, setting his cup down.

Olivia nodded and pushed several sheets toward him. "It is. I have narrowed it down considerably, though I fear I have become rather particular."