A Rogue of Her Own (Windham Brides #4)(62)

Charlotte’s grip on his earlobe became quite firm. “Are you besotted with her? She is a duke’s daughter, and the sister of a duke. You lose your common sense in the presence of titles, Lucas. I’ll not have you pining for thy neighbor’s marchioness.”

“I was besotted with the idea that Haverford would have to choose between economic ruin or approving of me as a match for his sister. You have not married a saint, Charlotte.”

Her grip eased. “I have not married the scourge of the high toby. Haverford is a duke, and they can leave a trail of aggravation that stretches for miles, one which they seldom notice. Elizabeth will have her hands full with Haverford. You mustn’t be too hard on him, though. He hasn’t had family about in any quantity to help him go on.”

And Sherbourne had?

“That tickles,” Charlotte said. “When you flutter your eyelashes like that.”

“I do not flutter my eyelashes.”

“And yet, you tickled me. We should call on the vicar.”

Calling on the vicar would not clear the mud from what was to have been the high street at the works. Calling on the vicar would not revise the project estimates waiting for Sherbourne in the library. Calling on the vicar would not do a damned thing to solve any relevant problem, though it would give Sherbourne another hour in his wife’s company.

“Why take tea with the vicar? He comes to Sherbourne Hall annually, to secure my donation to whatever fund he pretends to manage for the widows and orphans.”

Charlotte traced her fingertip over Sherbourne’s lips. “If you don’t like how the funds are managed, you pay a visit to the vicar and indicate that your lady wife is in want of charitable projects. I insinuate myself onto the committee that oversees the money and take matters in hand. This is part of why you married me.”

Sherbourne let his eyes drift closed, because he could think just as well that way as with them open. “What is part of why I married you? To run the local parish?”

“To be your eyes and ears in places you do not or cannot frequent. To add to the store of intelligence with which you make decisions.”

“You’d spy for me? Hardly honorable, Mrs. Sherbourne.” Though Charlotte had a point. He had offered for her because she’d open doors previously closed to him. He hadn’t considered that one of those doors would lead to the church committee room.

“I would be mindful of my husband’s interests, because I vowed to honor him. That means giving the dear fellow the benefit of my insights from time to time.”

“You’re putting the dear fellow to sleep.” Sending him into the loveliest, most relaxed doze, better even than the sweet, sleepy postcoital stupor he’d wallowed in earlier for two entire minutes.

And she’d called him dear, albeit half in jest.

“I’m enjoying my marital privileges. You need your rest, Lucas.”

He needed to be in the library. “We can visit the vicar soon, after Brantford has worked his mischief, and the colliery is no longer at sixes and sevens.”

Charlotte said something he didn’t quite catch, about being patient with great lummoxes stuck in the mud of their own making—could she have said that?—and then he was dreaming of a red velvet sofa, one without lumps, that could accommodate a newly married couple in all their intimate enthusiasms.





Chapter Fourteen



Heulwen was particularly subdued as she laced Charlotte up. Perhaps the housekeeper had had a word with the maid about proper decorum where handsome young grooms were concerned.

“This is a very fetching carriage dress,” Heulwen said. “That shade of velvet makes me think of melted chocolate.”

“Velvet is marvelous for keeping warm,” Charlotte replied.

Sherbourne was accomplished at keeping Charlotte warm, moving with her in a cozy rhythm throughout the night. He’d left in the morning before she’d risen, the wretch. At least she needn’t guess where he’d got off to.

Heulwen tied off the laces. “Shall I ask Morgan to bring the dog cart around, ma’am?”

“I’ll send a footman to the stables.”

“It wouldn’t be any trouble at all to pop out to the carriage house, and tell him—”

Did Morgan know how devoted Heulwen was? “You and Morgan can bring the bread and soup around at midday. Dress warmly, Heulwen, for I don’t trust that sun to keep shining.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

Heulwen had taken to wearing a shawl, which might simply be an accommodation the maids were permitted as winter approached, though Charlotte hadn’t seen any of the other maids wearing shawls. Charlotte took a chill easily, which Papa claimed was generally true of redheads.

“The letters on my vanity should go out with today’s post. If you could take them into the village for me, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll just leave them on the sideboard in the front hall, shall I? Whoever goes into the village to pick up the post usually drops off whatever mail we’re sending.”

The girl was either feather-brained or outrageously smitten with her swain. “We have discussed this, Heulwen. I want those letters taken straight to the posting inn. I do not want them lying about on the sideboard visible to any passing servant or caller.”

Or husband.