Goddess of the Hunt (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #1)(78)

Nothing would ever be the same. Not her life, not her home, not her relationship with Henry. And that circle of friendship that had formed each autumn, surrounding Lucy with security and affection—it was broken forever. What did she have left?

Nothing, save the smallest, most irrational glimmer of possibility. She shut her eyes, recalling that instant during the wedding ceremony when Jeremy’s hand had closed warm and strong over hers, and she’d felt a strange flutter inside her chest. A winged bit of optimism, rising up through despair.

She thought it might be hope.

Lucy opened her eyes and sighed. She’d never had any talent for hoping. But this seemed the time to learn.

The roads were dry, and they made good time on the second day of their journey. Still, the days being short in late autumn, it was full dark by the time they reached Corbinsdale Abbey.

The assembled house servants greeted them with polite applause. The housekeeper, Mrs. Greene, stepped forward.

“My lord,” she said, curtsying. “My lady. Welcome to Corbinsdale.” Jeremy watched the matronly housekeeper eye Lucy with curiosity. He cleared his throat. Her gaze jumped back to him, a bit guiltily. “The chambers are all prepared, my lord.”

“My lady’s aunt has come to stay with us.” Jeremy indicated Aunt Matilda. “You may put her in the Blue Suite. She will require two nursemaids.”

Mrs. Greene’s eyes widened, but she composed herself quickly. “Very well, my lord. Dinner is ready to be served whenever you wish.”

“In one hour, then.” He dismissed the housekeeper with a nod.

Jeremy ushered Lucy and her aunt up the stairs. As they gained the landing, a score of footmen leapt into action below, hurrying to carry their trunks and belongings up the service stairs. By the time they climbed the last of the steps and turned into the corridor, a maid awaited them at the entrance of the Blue Suite. Aunt Matilda’s trunks were already lined up by the door. A footman snapped the last dustcover from a settee as they entered the room.

“My goodness,” said Lucy. “How efficient.”

With hands clasped and turban level, Aunt Matilda inspected her new surroundings. The windows were hung with dark blue velvet draperies, and the furniture was upholstered in blue-and-white toile de Jouy. Screens painted with pastoral scenes of nubile shepherdesses flanked the large hearth. “Lovely.”

Jeremy offered Lucy his arm and steered her across the corridor. “These are our chambers,” he said, ushering her into the sitting room. A fire crackled in the fireplace, throwing a muted amber glow over the French mahogany furniture and medieval tapestries. “This sitting room is shared. My apartment is to the right, and your chambers are through there.” He indicated the door on his left. Lucy nodded, wide-eyed. “I’ve had a lady’s maid hired for you. The best available in London.”

“I see,” she said quietly. Jeremy scarcely recognized the expression on his wife’s face. If he didn’t know it to be impossible, he would say Lucy looked overwhelmed.

He ushered her toward her chambers. “Why don’t you take some time to refresh yourself and change for dinner? You must be hungry.”

She smiled, looking a bit herself again. “Hungry isn’t the word. I’m famished.”

He laughed. “Well, then. Be quick about it.”

Forty minutes later, Jeremy emerged into the sitting room, bathed and dressed in a black evening suit. He stood in the doorway, gazing at his wife. Lucy sat in an upholstered armchair, staring absently toward the fire, her chin propped in her hand. She wore a gown of pale yellow silk, and her hair had been brushed and twisted into a simple knot. In this attitude, unaware of her observer, she looked lovely and unguarded and utterly forlorn.

A wave of anguish surged in his chest. This was their first night in their new home as husband and wife, and the medallion-shaped carpet between them might as well have been an ocean. For the first time in his life, Jeremy wished he possessed some facility for charm. He couldn’t help but imagine that a few well-phrased words, spoken in a smooth, conciliatory tone, would put everything to rights. But Jeremy hadn’t a clue which words those might be.

He sighed. Toby would have known.

Lucy noticed him then and stood, a forced smile tightening her face. With a mute nod, Jeremy offered her his arm. He was glad he could offer her that much, at any rate. The security of marriage, a well-appointed home, a fine meal. Not everything a wife might wish, but things any woman needed.

He escorted the two ladies downstairs to the dining hall. As they entered, Lucy swallowed audibly. The long, rectangular table was laden with silver, china, and gilt-edged crystal. A half-dozen liveried footmen lined either side of the room. Jeremy steered Lucy toward the end of the table. A footman drew back her chair. As she began to sit down, the servant pushed the chair toward the table. Lucy collapsed into the seat with a startled yelp. She flushed bright pink. The footman faded back into the wainscoting.

Jeremy decided to help Aunt Matilda into her chair himself, situating her at Lucy’s left elbow. He then traversed the length of the table to take his seat at the opposite end. He nodded to a servant, and the soup was served.

“What sort of soup is this?” She dipped a spoon into her bowl warily. “I didn’t know soup came in this shade of red.”

Jeremy tasted it. “Lobster bisque,” he confirmed.

He watched as Lucy took a cautious sip from her spoon. She swallowed slowly, running her tongue over her bottom lip. Then she looked up at him, true delight shining in her eyes for the first time that day. “Oh,” she sighed in a breathy voice. “Oh, Jeremy.”