The hood of the carriage was raised, buffeting her from the winds, so she couldn’t blame them for the tears pricking her eyes. She’d had such hopes for the outing. Now she rather wished that she had simply gone by herself. On the other hand, she wasn’t certain that Albert had ever cut such a fine figure on a horse, and when she wasn’t being unreasonably hurt—for surely she was being unreasonable—she had to admit to taking great satisfaction in observing the confidence with which he rode.
She’d always enjoyed riding, but didn’t dare while she was with child. She wanted this child beyond all reasoning, but she was growing rather weary of all the pampering, especially when it was providing opportunity to put distance between her and her husband.
She wanted to scream. Perhaps she was simply going mad, imagining slights that didn’t truly exist.
He turned up a road, and they followed. She could see the small house in the distance, the sheep dotting the hill. She was familiar with Rowntree and his family. She brought baskets of food to all the tenants at Christmas.
Albert held up a fisted hand and the groom brought the carriage to a halt. Her husband circled his horse around and came back to the carriage. “Stay here,” he ordered, before dismounting and handing the reins to the groom.
Then he was striding to the cottage. Rowntree stepped out. Although he was nearly as tall as Albert, he was considerably wider, but comparing the two men, she could see clearly that Albert was all muscle and sinew, strength and firmness, while Rowntree had begun to acquire a portly look.
Hearing the tenor of their voices, but not the words, she nearly clutched the groom’s hand when it became obvious that Rowntree was becoming belligerent. Suddenly, Albert grabbed the man by the front of his coat and slammed him against the front of the cottage. As Albert leaned in, Rowntree’s eyes grew wide and round. Albert’s voice was so low that Julia could barely hear it, but still it sent a fissure of unease through her. It must have done the same for Rowntree, as he began frantically bobbing his head. Albert released him, stepped back, straightened the lapels of the man’s coat, and patted his beefy shoulder. A few more words were exchanged before the earl spun on his heel, strode back to the carriage and took the reins from the groom.
He held her gaze, brown to blue, and it struck her that he’d never looked at her quite so intently, as though needing to gauge her reaction in order to ensure he pleased her. “Would you still like to go to the village?”
She nodded. “I was thinking a nice cup of tea and a pastry might be a pleasant way to while away the afternoon.”
He gave her a small grin. “I could use some whiling. Let’s be off, then.”
Mounting in one fluid movement that had her heart fluttering, he took off while the groom urged their horse to follow. In their time together, she must have seen her husband get on a horse a hundred times, two hundred, so she had no idea why at that moment she considered it one of the most sensual actions she’d ever witnessed. Perhaps because during his absence her life had been so incredibly chaste. She’d certainly not looked at other men or sought out a replacement for him. She’d never been drawn to another man as she was to him. From the moment he’d been introduced, he had completely captured her interest.
Only once had her attention ever waned and then only for the space of a kiss in a garden that never should have happened.
When they entered the village, he brought his horse to a halt in front of the tea shop, dismounted, and walked the horse back. Holding the reins out to the groom, he said, “You can return the horse to Evermore now. I’ll drive the carriage back.”
“Yes, m’lord.” The cabriolet rocked as the groom exited.
Albert came around to her side and extended his hand. She placed hers on it, felt the strength and sureness of his fingers closing around hers. “I thought—”
She stopped, feeling like such a ninny.
Angling his head slightly, he arched a brow. “You thought what?”
Studying his beloved face, she wondered why she was filled with so many doubts. “I thought you’d chosen to ride the horse because you didn’t truly want to go on the outing with me.”
Lifting her hand, he pressed a kiss to the back of her gloved fingers. “I’m sorry, Julia. It never occurred to me . . . I wanted to portray a position of authority. I thought being on a horse accomplished that better than being in a carriage.”
She touched her fingers to his jaw. “You looked magnificent. It did frighten me, though, when you grabbed him.”
“He wasn’t listening. I had to be more forceful. And to be honest, it pricked my temper when he said I wasn’t the man my father was.”
“What did you say to him?”
“That the land he lived on belonged to the Crown and had been placed in the Earl of Greyling’s keeping centuries ago. He was there by my good graces and my good graces alone. If he didn’t pay what was owed, I would personally pack up him along with his family and cart them off the land. He assured me he would be making restitution within the fortnight and would not be troubling me again.”
“And you believed him?”
“I gave him the benefit of the doubt. If he lied, at the end of the fortnight he’s gone. And nothing on God’s green earth will put him back in my good graces. I’m not the vengeful sort, but neither am I very forgiving when I’m wronged.”
She’d never known her husband to be so powerful, so determined. This was an aspect to him she’d never seen. It quite fascinated her. “I’ve never witnessed you conducting your business before.”
“Perhaps it’s best if you don’t in the future. I wouldn’t want you thinking me a tyrant.”
“On the contrary, I respect how you look after what’s yours. And I am yours.”
He suddenly appeared uncomfortable, was possibly blushing. Or was it merely the chill in the air?
“We should have some tea now,” he said, helping her out of the carriage.
Offering his arm, he led her into the shop. Above the door, a bell tinkled.
A matronly woman trundled over and curtsied. “Oh, Lord Greyling, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Potts. The countess and I are in need of some refreshment.”
“Certainly, m’lord. I have your favorite table right over here.” Mrs. Potts made a sweeping gesture with her arm, and a young lady sitting at a small table in the corner by the window gathered up her cup and plate and hurried off.
Albert pulled out the chair for Julia and assisted in seating her before taking his place opposite her at the small square linen-covered table. The scent of cinnamon, butter, and vanilla hung heavy on the air.
“Will you be wanting your usual lemon tart, m’lord?” Mrs. Potts asked.
“No, actually, in memory of my brother I’ll go with his favorite: strawberry.”
“And your ladyship?”
“I’ll have the same.”
“What sort of tea might I bring you?”
“Darjeeling.”
“Your lordship?”
“The same.”
“Be back in a trice.” She scurried away.
Julia began removing her gloves.
“You didn’t have to go with strawberry,” Albert said.
“It’s my favorite. I love strawberries. In summer when you’re not looking, I gorge. I wonder what else Edward and I might have had in common.”
Looking out the window, he removed his gloves and stuffed them in the pocket of his coat. “Not much else, I suspect.”
Mrs. Potts returned with the teapot and pastries. After the proprietress left, Julia poured tea for her husband and herself. “I love the fragrances in this place.”
“Always makes me hungry,” Albert said.
“I don’t suppose you had many pastries in Africa.”
He shook his head. “Let’s not talk about Africa. What did
you do while we were away?”
“I don’t even know where to begin.” She’d longed to share so many moments with him, but now that he’d asked, words failed her. She took a sip of her tea, gathering her thoughts. “I changed, Albert.”
He angled his head slightly. “Pardon?”
“I’ve worried that you sensed it, that I’m not exactly as I was when you left, and that’s partly responsible for this . . . awkwardness between us.”
“My distraction has nothing to do with you.”
“I know that’s what you say, and I have no reason not to believe you, as you’ve never lied to me, but I am also not as I was. While you were away, I did things . . .”
He narrowed his eyes. “What sort of ‘things’?”
A fissure of annoyance wove through his voice, and she had the sense that he was striving not to erupt with rage.
“For the first time in my life, I answered to no one save myself. First there were my parents, and I had to obey them without question. When they died of influenza, my cousin immediately took control and dictated every aspect of my Season and what was expected of me.”
“What was expected?”
“To marry by Season’s end. Thank God, I met you. I adore you, you know that. I considered myself the most fortunate girl in the world because I was able to marry for love. But I went straight from my cousin’s household into yours—”
“You found your husband to be a dictator?”
“No, of course not, but everything I did was with the intention of pleasing you, making you proud, ensuring you were glad that I was your wife. Suddenly, when you left, I had no one to answer to. No one cared if I slept until the afternoon. I got dressed in the morning and that was it. I didn’t change for dinner or to take a turn about the garden or for afternoon tea. It was liberating.”
“My, my. You behaved quite wildly.”
The heat warmed her face. “You’re mocking me.”
“No.” A corner of his mouth hitched up ever so slightly. “Well, maybe just a tad. Surely you did something a bit more daring than not changing your clothes.”
She took a bite of her tart. “I read Madame Bovary.”
He stared at her as though he didn’t know who she was. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Would you think less of me if I did?”
He laughed, a deep rich sound that seemed to echo through her soul. Reaching out, he skimmed his thumb along the corner of her mouth. When he brought his hand back, she saw the small dab of strawberry jam that Mrs. Potts used on the tarts when she had no fresh fruit. Holding her gaze, he closed his lips around the edge of his thumb. “I would not.”
Her stomach tightened with his actions as much as with his words. “Have you read it?”
“I have.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“I found it . . . provocative.”
“Have you read all the books and magazines in Edward’s room?”
He narrowed his eyes again. “How do you know about the things in Edward’s room?”
“I was bored one afternoon. The maids had left the door open, and I thought if I just stepped inside that I might gain a better sense of him. I simply wanted us to get along.”
“That’s how you knew about the liquor kept in the room.”
She nodded. “He kept it hidden away in a small cabinet. I know I should have respected his privacy—”
“The room is in your residence. He didn’t own it. You had every right to enter the bedchamber. To be quite honest, I suspect he would have taken immense satisfaction in knowing he’d shocked you.”
“But he didn’t. I expected to find liquor about. I half expected a woman secreted in the wardrobe to be awaiting his return.”
He grinned. “Did you, now?”
“He seemed to have a bevy of followers, but then so did you. It still amazes me that you put all that aside for me.”
He turned his attention back to the window. “It was not as challenging as I expected it to be.” Swinging his gaze back to her, he pinned her to the spot. When had he acquired the ability to hold her captive with little more than his eyes? “His reading preferences didn’t make you want to take him to task?”
Slowly, she shook her head. She could admit the truth because this was Albert, and they were always honest with each other. “Just as you stated with Madame Bovary, I found everything quite provocative.”
“You read them all?”
“I had a considerable amount of time alone. I had to fill the hours with something.”
His eyes filled with remorse. “I’d not considered, when I decided on this journey, that you would be lonely.”
“I wasn’t lonely, not really. I missed you terribly, but at the same time, I felt as though I came into my own. I made all my decisions without your counsel. I gained confidence.”
“I never noticed you lacking in confidence.”
“Sometimes I had doubts, but I didn’t say anything, as I didn’t want to appear weak. You’re so strong. You deserve a wife who is your measure.”
He studied her as though she were an odd specimen of insect he’d discovered beneath a rock. “You humble me.”
Once again he turned his attention to life beyond the window, as though she had made him uncomfortable with her confession. “The sun has begun its retreat. We should probably be away.”
When he had her settled in the carriage, he removed his coat and began draping it over her as though it were a blanket.
“You’ll catch your death,” she told him.
“I’ve been colder.” He tucked the edges of his coat between her and the seat.
“Albert, I feel as though I said something wrong.”
Lifting his gaze to hers, he cupped her cheek with one gloved hand, and she desperately wished he hadn’t yet put on the leather. She wanted his warm skin against hers. “You’re not at fault. I’m feeling a bit melancholy. I thought I knew all there was to know about you. I’m discovering I know nothing at all.”
She released a self-conscious laugh. “You know everything. I know I may have changed a bit, but I’m still the woman you married.”
Removing his hat, he pressed his forehead to hers. “If only I were the man you married.”
Cradling his face between her gloved hands, she urged him back until she could meet and hold his gaze. “Our time apart had a greater effect on our relationship than I anticipated. We need only to reacquaint ourselves. Our time together last night, then this afternoon, is a beginning. Before long, it shall be as though we were never apart.”
“Don’t wear black to dinner tonight.”
“I want to give your brother the respect he deserves.”
“Trust me, Edward would be delighted if you wore something other than black. It’s so dreary. He would want you out of mourning, at least when we’re in residence.”
“Are we dining formally this evening?”
“Yes. Perhaps you’re right. The sooner we put the grief behind us, the sooner we’ll find our way back to each other.”
He skimmed his finger lightly over her chin before moving around to the other side of the carriage and climbing in with far more muscled grace than the groom who had been seated there on her journey here. Lifting the reins, he flicked them, causing the horse to take off at a trot.
Wrapping both her hands around his upper arm, she relished the strength she felt there. She knew that things between them would never be as they’d been before he left, but that didn’t mean that different wouldn’t be better.
Chapter 6
She’d enjoyed the reading material he’d secreted away in his room. Standing at the window in the library, sipping scotch, Edward smiled with the realization that Julia Alcott, Countess of Greyling, wasn’t quite as prim and proper as she appeared. Her eyes had darkened with longing when he’d taken the str
awberry jam from the corner of her mouth to his tongue, and while he knew it was impossible, he could have sworn that it was a much sweeter taste having been against her skin.
From the moment she married his brother, he’d been as off-putting and obnoxious as possible, wanting—needing—distance between them so he wasn’t tempted to do something he shouldn’t. Not that he thought she’d ever dishonor her vows, but seeing desire mirrored in her eyes today had been like having a sharp lance piercing the center of his chest. He wanted that desire to be for him, but if he were honest, he was merely serving as a proxy for his brother—and everything she felt, everything she said, everything she did, only came about because she thought she was in the company of her husband. When she learned the truth, her heart was not only going to break with the news, but her hatred for him would increase tenfold. He should make an excuse to avoid her tonight. The tart hadn’t agreed with him perhaps. He was tired, he was weary. He was jealous of a dead man.
He was a fool to think he could spend considerable time in Julia’s company with no repercussions to his own sanity.
Hearing footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder as she walked into the room. What a mistake it had been to encourage her not to wear black. Better to be constantly reminded that he was merely playing a role, one that would garner him no applause or standing ovations when he took his final bow. But he was just so blasted tired of the sadness.
She’d selected a deep violet velvet that dipped low to reveal her collarbone and plump cleavage. Although her hair was up, curling tendrils framed her lovely face. He’d always thought her beautiful, but the few passing years had removed the sparkle of youth and replaced it with the glow of maturity. Serenity. Confidence.
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