Miss Winthorpe's Elopement (Belston & Friends #1)(15)

‘With pay, of course,’ he added, and she could feel the staff relax again. ‘We will be dining out. You need do nothing on our behalf until breakfast.’

The gasp had turned to a murmur of excitement, as the staff realised their good fortune.

‘Three cheers for his Grace and the new lady of the house.’ The butler made an offer of ‘huzzah’ sound subdued and polite, but she accepted it with pleasure, as did her husband. ‘Thank you. And now, you are dismissed. Enjoy the rest of your day.’

As quickly as they had gathered, the staff evaporated.

She looked at him, waiting for some indication of what was to be done next.

He glanced around him, seeking inspiration. ‘Perhaps, a tour of the rooms would be in order. And then we will refresh ourselves, before a trip to your bankers.’

She nodded. ‘An excellent plan. Please, your Grace, lead the way.’

He flinched. ‘Remember, I am to be Adam to you. And you shall be?’ He cocked his head to the side. ‘Do you prefer Penelope, or are you a Penny?’

‘Penny.’

‘Then Penny it shall be, and whatever small endearments I can muster. Come, Penny.’ There was a hesitation, as though he was struggling with a foreign language. ‘Let me show you your home in London.’ He led her down a short corridor, to doors that led to a parlour, which was grand; and a dining room, grander still, with room to seat twenty people. At the back of the house were a study, and a morning room.

‘And this shall be yours.’ He gestured into the sitting room, hesitating in the doorway as though he were afraid to enter.

She could understand why. Whoever had decorated the room had been the most ladylike of ladies. The furniture was gilt and satin, with legs so delicately turned that she was almost afraid to sit on it. If she chose a second sandwich at tea, the settee might collapse from the additional weight. And the desk, which would need to hold her books and writing materials, looked as though it might faint dead away, if expected to hold anything more serious than social correspondence. The other tables in the room were too small for anything larger than a rosebud, which would have to be candy pink to match the horrible silk upon the walls. The total was so sweet it made her teeth ache to look at it.

She looked in disgust at the ormolu clock on the mantel, which was supported by tiny gold goats and overflown with cherubs.

In response to her glare, the clock chimed the quarter hour, if such a stubbornly unobtrusive bell could be considered a chime.

She looked to her husband and struggled to speak. The correct response should have been ‘thank you’. But it was quite beyond her. Eventually she said, ‘It is very—pretty.’

He nodded in apology. ‘We can find you furniture more suitable for work, and install additional shelves.’ He pointed to a rather foolish collection of porcelain shepherds that graced a corner of the room. ‘The bric-a-brac and nonsense can be dispensed with, if you wish.’

She looked dubiously around her.

‘The room itself is large enough, is it not?’

She tried to ignore the design, and focus on the dimensions. It was larger than the one she had been using. She nodded.

‘Very good, then. Redo it to suit yourself. I expected nothing less than that, from whatever woman I married. The rest of the house as well. If you see something that does not suit your tastes, it is well in your power to change it.’ He paused. ‘Except for my rooms, if you please. I would prefer that my bedroom and study remain as they are now.’

‘I think that is not an issue. For I have seen nothing so far that needs alteration, and have no desire to change everything for change’s sake.’ She neglected to point out that, since any cosmetic changes to the house were to be made with her money, it hardly seemed like a sensible use of the funds. ‘But this—’ she gestured into her new work room ‘—must go.’

‘Thank you.’ He seemed relieved as well. There had a been tension in his back that eased as she said the words, and she suspected the first marital hurdle had been jumped with ease. He made no effort to open the door to his study, and she suspected that he wished some areas of his life to remain unviewed as well as untouched.

Fair enough.

‘Let us go upstairs, then, and see the bedrooms.’ He led her up the wide marble staircase and turned to the left, opening a door for her. ‘These will be your rooms. There is a bedroom, a dressing room and a small room for your maid.’

None of which had been aired, she noted. The fireplace was cold and empty, and there was an uncomfortable chill in the unused room.

He noticed it as well, and wrinkled his nose. ‘Well. Hmm. It seems I spoke too soon, when sending the staff away for a day of celebration. I have left no one to light you a fire.’ He stepped across the room and opened a connecting door to his suite. There was a nervous pause. ‘And I see the servants have brought your things to my room. They assumed…’ He looked back at her, helplessly. ‘This is not as it appears.’

What upset him more? she wondered—that she might think he wished to bed her, or that the servants had assumed that he would? ‘It is all right. We will work things out between us, somehow.’

He nodded. ‘Do you wish to change? You are welcome to use my room. There is a basin of fresh water. And clean towels. I could send for a maid to help you… Oh, damn. If you need help, I suppose, I…’