A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(43)

But she did not voice her opinion. Why should she give him advice he would not heed?

Once they were comfortably seated in the coach, Lady Bainhurst asked, “Where will the two of you live in London?”

It all depended on her money.

Cassandra deferred to Soren. He was more adept at fielding money questions than she was. And besides wasn’t that what good wives did? They let their husbands speak for them? After the night they’d shared, she believed she could tame her natural inclination to speak up.

“We haven’t discussed the matter yet,” he said. “If you will let us off at the Pulteney, we’ll stay there until we reach a decision.” He referred to a well-known hotel. “Of course, soon, I will need to return to Cornwall.”

“But we will live in London?” Cassandra quickly pressed.

“We will need a London address,” he assured her.

“I’ll stay in London,” Cassandra told him, “whenever you visit Cornwall.”

“If you wish,” was his answer.

She did wish. She smiled, certain that when it came to husbands, she had the very best one. They had just had a discussion and had reached a reasonable solution. The skeptical lift of Lady Bainhurst’s eyebrow didn’t bother Cassandra at all. Her Ladyship should look to her own affairs instead of judging theirs. She slid her gloved hand into the crook of Soren’s arm.

The coach arrived in town in the early afternoon. Cassandra had never stayed in a fine hotel. There had been no need to do so. She’d rarely been in a country inn. It was rather exciting to walk into the Pulteney’s reception on her husband’s arm.

Had the gossip preceded them that they had married? Did people stop and stare? She didn’t know. There had not yet been an announcement posted in the papers. Soren would do that on the morrow, once they settled the issue of her fortune.

Besides, she was too busy taking in this new experience, and Helen wasn’t there to hiss at her to “school” her eyes.

She held back a few steps while Soren approached the desk to register.

“Lord Dewsberry?” the clerk repeated when he saw Soren write his name in the book.

“I am.”

The man appeared flummoxed for a moment. He pulled the registration book toward himself as if he feared Soren would run out the door with it. Another officious gentleman noticed the action and hurried to confer with the clerk.

Something was wrong.

Usually when she went into a business establishment, clerks and owners bowed and scrapped in front of her. She’d never experienced this wary restraint.

Then she overheard the manager say the words, “Holwell Heiress” and the clerk’s attitude changed.

Now came the bowing and scraping to Soren. A key was given to him with a flourish, and the manager himself offered to escort them to their room. A porter was called to carry their meager luggage.

Her husband was very quiet as they followed the manager. The man was most solicitous as he showed them the appointments of the room while the porter set down their luggage. Soren pressed a coin in each hand and they could not bow low enough.

However, once the hotel staff had left, he said, “I believe I will call on your father now.”

He’d said he had intended on seeing her father once they reached London, but something in his voice gave her pause. She removed her bonnet and set it on the table. He’d not moved from his post by the door, his hat in his hand. She began pulling off her gloves. “Is our financial situation truly dire?”

Soren did not lie to her. “Worse than. I just gave the last coins in my pocket to those two so they won’t go downstairs and announce they were right about me in the first place.”

“Has it always been like this?” She’d not thought people would openly question whether one had money, although it was a common topic among the upper classes. She realized the staff of a hotel such as this would be very aware of their clientele’s importance.

“You don’t need to worry about it.” He reached for the door. “I will return shortly.”

“No, wait. I’m going with you.” Here was her opportunity to prove herself to him in front of her father.

Soren had been more than generous to her. He’d been her protector at the dowager’s house party. After the way they had been last night, she could already be carrying his child. In fact, she could be in love with him—

The thought came to her out of the air. She could be in love . . .

Funny how she’d not considered love in relation to Soren until this moment, but here it was, swirling around her.

Of course, she could love him.

Without her being aware, he’d come to embody every romantic notion she’d had about men. And he’d always been there. It had all started in their childhood when he had insisted the others include her.

That seemed like a factual and rather humdrum definition of love. Poets, she now realized, wrote about their carnal natures. The passion flower of ecstasy and all of that. She’d certainly experienced every bit of it with Soren, and hoped to do so again this night.

And, yes, he was entirely too human. The state of his affairs embarrassed him. However, she had faith in him . . . because she loved him.

“We will find our way through any difficulties,” she said aloud. “Whatever I have is yours, and Father will understand how right this marriage is once he sees us together.”