Chapter Eight
In the weeks that followed, Harrison Reece escorted me to several parties, and called on me at the house for several lengthy evenings of gentle conversation and walks about the grounds of my husband’s home. My eyes rested quietly on his genteel form every time I was greeted by his manly firmness. I seemed to melt my fragile sensitivity into his mellow one, speculating on the inconstant nature of my feelings for my husband’s proxy. Unsure. Guilty. But forewarned that I was in his care, my only response to him would be a favorable one. This should have eased my conscience, but those old grizzly bears of self-doubt and high-minded ethics didn’t disappear as easily as I would hoped they would, given my husband’s well thought out scheme for my welfare.
Strangely, after my sessi
