Constance is finding the quiet unsettling. It leaves her with too much time to think.
A long time ago, before he came, she was glad when her husband had to travel. She was glad of the peace, the quiet, the freedom. Yes, she was lonely, but at least he wasn't there, watching her every move, every look reproachful and demanding at once. She often wished for friends, but most of the women she encountered were so boring that she soon gave up. After a life time of playing with her brothers, talking about lace and stockings can get a little dull.
Of course, Constance likes her adornments as much as the next girl. She loves to do her hair up nicely, decorated with flowers, to choose her earrings, her necklaces. But more than anything, she likes to hitch up her skirts and run, to feel the fresh air in her lungs, the rain on her face. How she misses home.
Since he came life has been more exciting. Perhaps that is the understatement of the year. Insane might be better. She has felt the fresh air again, ridden a horse, run for her life, even shot a man.
So now, when her husband goes away, she is glad for a different reason. It is just the two of them, ensconced in their love, alone with no one to disturb.
But this time, as she bids her husband an un-tearful farewell, he is not there. He is off on a mission, highly secret and incredibly dangerous (obviously), and the house is hers again. Just hers. Now she doesn't enjoy the quiet or the freedom. She sits at the table, looking around her, feeling his absence in every millimeter of her body, longing for his safe return. The emptiness seeps inside her, filling her every cell.
She thinks about all four of her favorite idiots. Moody Athos, flattering Aramis, Porthos always ready with a joke or a story, and her lover, the man she never thought would exist, who has swept her off her feet, not that she'll put it exactly like that, of course.
The days stretch out like never before. She can't seem to fill them. Life is empty without the sounds of their boots thumping up the stairs, their swords swishing, metal clanking. It's so quiet without their laughs, their jokes, their tales of bravado and stupidity.
Part of her wishes she had sent him off with more than a "Be off with you already. And don't come home with any more scars, please, they're not appealing, whatever Aramis might tell you." Part of her wishes she had hung on to him and told him how she loves him like she never thought she could love, how he has to come back to her, begged him not to go, not to risk his life again. But then she wouldn't be her, and he wouldn't be him.