It was helpful to have someone else there when the visitors started coming. Adelaide was going to have to decide which days she was going to be at home because the constant flow of callers was making her feel frantic. What did all of these people want from her anyway?
Today Miranda was sitting with her, and if Adelaide hadn’t already figured out what the Hawthornes were doing, Miranda’s arrival would have tipped her off. She didn’t have an excuse to be there. She’d simply come.
Miranda had come armed with several decks of cards and even a container of dice, determined to teach Adelaide all the latest games so she wouldn’t feel out of place at her next gathering. Between visitors, they went through the rules of faro, basset, and a new game called skat that Miranda had learned from some visiting German dignitaries.
After one particularly long conversation with a caller, they had tea brought to the drawing room before returning to their practice game of piquet. Adelaide had just finished dropping three lumps of sugar into Miranda’s tea and an equal number into her own when Fenton announced that she had another visitor.
Adelaide was thankful she’d been practicing her smile all morning, because it threatened to droop when he announced the visitor was her mother.
They’d seen each other at two of the places Trent had taken her that week, but their encounters had been blessedly brief. She spent enough time fretting over the progress of Trent’s strange courtship, and she didn’t need her mother’s constant advice on how to hurry it along. She’d yet to hear anything that didn’t sound more detrimental than helpful. Small wonder her father tended to stay in the card room all night.
Miranda took a large swallow of tea. “Show her in, Fenton, but if she’s still here in twenty minutes have Mrs. Harris invent an emergency.”
Adelaide blinked. Why hadn’t she thought of such a thing? Mother would catch on if it happened every time, but for days when she really didn’t want to see someone, the method was genius.
“As you wish, Your Grace.” Fenton bowed and left to collect Adelaide’s mother.
Adelaide and Miranda moved the tea service away from the card table and over to the grouping of seats upholstered in the outdated green-and-white stripe. Adelaide had finally decided the room really needed new furniture and had chosen not to reupholster the pieces that were here. Determining what furniture she wanted was delaying the entire process, though.
Miranda sat herself next to Adelaide on the sofa, not leaving room for a third person to join them. Mother would have to sit in one of the chairs facing the settee.
Mother’s lip curled as she came into the room and took in the faded wall coverings and drapery-less window. Adelaide had finally had the pile of curtains removed, but she hadn’t yet replaced them. Choosing room decor was turning out to be much more difficult than she’d thought it would be, though that was possibly because she was trying to make every room as special for Trent as his bedroom was, and that was difficult when she was only just now getting to know the man.
“Haven’t you done anything with this place yet, Adelaide? The duke has plenty of money, you know.”
Did her mother not realize that Miranda was in the room? Did she care? Adelaide was torn between simply letting her mother prattle on like she normally did, or exerting herself and her wishes the way Miranda did. Since she couldn’t let the reference to the duke pass with Miranda in the room, she tried to find a response that fell somewhere in between. “I didn’t marry the duke, Mother. I married Lord Trent.”
“Yes, yes, but he’s the duke’s brother, so I’m sure you could get him to give you enough to redo this room. Probably even enough to move to a nicer location.” Mother sat on the chair and gave a pointed look at the tea service before looking at Adelaide. It was the first time she’d actually looked her daughter’s way since entering the room, which might explain why she hadn’t noticed the presence of another person. Miranda had been sitting unusually still for the entire exchange.
Mother had the tact to look a bit embarrassed. “Your Grace, my deepest apologies. I should not have spoken so boldly.”
Adelaide poured her mother a cup of tea with a liberal amount of milk and passed it across the low tea table, trying not to cringe as she waited for Miranda to berate Lady Crampton with the bluntness Adelaide was coming to expect from the duchess. It never came.
“Perhaps not,” Miranda said calmly, “but I shall overlook it. The room is in rather desperate need of refreshing. It was in need of it when Lady Raebourne lived here as well, though she didn’t have access to any funds at the time. Now she does, of course, since she married the marquis, but the house had already passed on to Trent by then. Rest assured we have no intention of letting anyone in the family retain such shabby accommodations. We’ve been trying to trap Trent into agreeing to redecorate it since he moved in, but you know bachelors. They can be so elusive about such things.”
Miranda gave a smile that projected camaraderie before lifting her teacup to her lips.
Adelaide looked down into her own cup. So that’s how it was done, then. In a single minute Miranda had put Adelaide’s mother in a very uncomfortable position without saying anything overtly rude or cutting. In fact the words themselves were congenial and even friendly. Yet her mother’s tight face proved she hadn’t missed the underlying meaning. The reminder that a nobody like Amelia had stolen the marquis away from Helena, that everyone in the family knew Adelaide and Trent had been forced to marry, and even that they knew Lady Crampton intended to use the marriage for her own gain. There had even been the subtle hint that Adelaide was part of their family now and they had every intention of protecting her. All of that without stepping a foot from the parameters of cordial, ladylike behavior.
Adelaide gaped at Miranda in a bit of awe, thankful now that she’d been given Miranda’s blunt observations instead of being subjected to this polite warfare.
Still, whether awed or not, she’d rather not have her new relations battle her old relations in her drawing room. “Mother, have you settled in? What are your plans for the Season?”
“What are my plans? Honestly, Adelaide, what else does a woman plan for during the Season?” Mother frowned into her tea and set the half-full cup on the table. “You must convince your husband to let you purchase a better quality of tea, Adelaide. This is terrible.”
Given that Adelaide hated all versions of tea, she hadn’t noticed whether or not this one was particularly worse than the others. She nodded though, the same as she’d done all her life, already making plans to ask Mother’s London housekeeper what type of tea Mother took so that she could keep some on hand. If Trent liked their current tea, Adelaide wasn’t about to change it, but she would make sure her mother didn’t complain about it next time.
Miranda sighed and smiled into her own cup with a sort of reverence for the tea within. “My deepest apologies. I brought over my own special blend. I’m afraid I’ve become rather accustomed to it, and Adelaide was indulging me. We didn’t know you’d be joining us.”
It was enough to make Adelaide smile. Almost enough to make her laugh. Until that moment Miranda had been disturbingly honest, so she did have to wonder if Miranda had actually brought over her own tea. “I’ll be sure I have different tea next time, Mother.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure this is one I could become accustomed to. It’s just an unusual blend.”
The trio fell into silence. Mother was obviously expecting Miranda to leave soon, assuming the duchess was here on a normal call. They exchanged pleasantries about the weather and complaints about the pollution. Mother must have decided she was tired of being there because she finally came to the point of her visit. “I do hope you are planning to attend the Sutherland ball tomorrow night.”
“As a matter of fact, I am. Will you be there as well?” The idea of being pulled around another ball by her mother made her want to come down with a sudden debilitating headache.
Mother shifted in her seat, looking extremely uncomfortable as she
perched on the edge of the chair, as if she were afraid the worn upholstery might contaminate her new gown. “Of course I will. Your father is even going to be there.”
It would be nice to see her father again. Adelaide hadn’t seen him since the wedding, though she had received a letter from him telling her when they could be expected to arrive in London.
Mother turned to Miranda. “Will you be in attendance, Your Grace?”
“Oh, yes, we never miss the Sutherland ball.”
Adelaide’s eyebrows drew together. The duke and duchess had been married a mere year. How could they have anything they never missed yet?
“Yes, well, I’m sure we’ll all see each other, then. If you have time, Adelaide, do see if you could mention your brother-in-law to your husband. He’s having a difficult time locating a sponsor for Boodle’s. Good afternoon.” Her mother gifted Miranda only with a curtsy before taking her leave, apparently unwilling to completely snub a duchess.
Silence fell until the thud of the front door echoed into the drawing room.
“Sweet mercy, how did you not turn into a shrew?” Miranda plunked the teacup she’d been sipping at down onto the table. She’d been working on the same cup the entire visit, taking a small drink after every sentence she spoke.
Adelaide gathered up the rest of the tea things so that the tray could be returned to the kitchen. “I never saw much of her growing up. She was too focused on Helena. It was always her turn to go first since she was the oldest.”
“Did she think you were just going to stay a baby until she had time to raise you? Well, I wouldn’t normally say this, but I think you’re better off for the negligence.” Miranda frowned at the tea. “But she is right about the tea. I can’t believe you’re still drinking it.”
Adelaide stood to ring for Fenton to come get the tray. “You didn’t like the tea either?”
“No. It’s a wretched blend. That’s why I brought it over to Trent. He drinks anything. Half the time he lets it sit and get cold. I thought he’d have used it up by now. Didn’t you notice it was awful?”
“I assumed Trent liked it.” Adelaide frowned down at the tea. Had they been serving this same blend to everyone for the past few days? Why hadn’t anyone else said something?
Miranda stuck out her tongue and made a strange coughing noise. “He wouldn’t know good tea if it hit him in the face. We’ll go by my favorite tea house tomorrow, and you can give the rest of this away.”
“But isn’t tea expensive? There can’t be that much of it left to use up.”
“Trent still hasn’t talked about household budgets with you, has he. You can buy some new tea. But to make you feel better, we’ll tell Mrs. Harris to keep serving Trent this horrid stuff.”
It didn’t sit right with Adelaide to deliberately tell the housekeeper to serve Trent disgusting tea, but it didn’t seem right to get rid of it either. She supposed she could forgo her coffee for a while until the rest of this tea was used. How much of it could they possibly have?
Masculine voices drifted into the drawing room from the front hall, drawing the attention of both Adelaide and Miranda. One belonged to Fenton, but Adelaide couldn’t place the other one.
Miranda frowned. “That’s not Trent.”
Adelaide crept to the door, but she couldn’t see anything. Curiosity was making her shake, though, or perhaps it was Miranda’s bold nosiness that was motivating her. All afternoon Adelaide had been doing her best to keep up with Miranda’s energy and enthusiasm. Regardless of the initial spark of motivation, Adelaide was devoured by curiosity to know who had come by the house.
Her house.
In which she was free to walk through the front hall, if she so wished.
“Miranda, would you care to see what I’m thinking of doing in the bedchamber?” Adelaide gestured Miranda toward the drawing room door.
The duchess sauntered forward with a grin. “You mean the bedchamber we would have to climb the stairs in the front hall to go see?”
Adelaide’s mouth curved into an answering smile. “The very one.”
“I’d be delighted.”
The two women strolled into the front hall to see Fenton in discussion with a handsome young man who seemed very disappointed until he saw them over Fenton’s shoulder. “Your Grace, my lady.”
Miranda looked as if she might be ill, but she made the introductions anyway. “Lady Adelaide, this is Mr. Givendale. Mr. Givendale, Lady Trent Hawthorne.”
Adelaide wondered at Miranda’s use of the more formal name, but she stepped forward to greet the man with a smile anyway. “Yes, we’ve met. Good afternoon, Mr. Givendale. Is there a problem?”
“Not at all, my lady.” Fenton took a side step toward the door. “The gentleman was seeking an audience with Lord Trent, who I’m afraid is unavailable.”
The man held up a calling card with Trent’s name printed on it and a date and time scrawled underneath the name. Adelaide glanced at the clock. The current date and time. “Were you to meet him here?”
Mr. Givendale nodded, his dark blond waves barely moving with the motion. “Yes, I am certain. It was a rather pressing business discussion about his estate in Suffolk. Are you sure he’s unavailable?”
“Quite.” Adelaide felt badly for the man to have made the point of coming to an appointment that the other party hadn’t seen fit to be in residence for. That alone was enough to make her irritated with her husband. The fact that he was doing business with the estate she’d brought him and yet was still unable to bring himself to live under the same roof simply firmed up the feeling.
Whenever gentlemen left her father’s study disappointed with the results of the meeting, her mother had consoled them with tea saying it was bad for a family’s reputation for anyone to leave the house unhappy. Knowing the currently brewed tea blend was bad almost made her send the man on his way regardless, but if her mother was right it would mar her already fragile public opinion. “I’m afraid we’ve just finished taking tea, but there is probably some left if you wish to have some before you leave.”
“You’re too kind, my lady. I do so hate to impose, but the dust is quite dreadful today.”
He was already moving toward the drawing room Miranda and Adelaide had just left. The ladies returned to the drawing room with him to partake of yet another awkward cup of tea. To his credit he didn’t stay long, but the conversation flowed with incredible ease, even with Miranda’s unusual silence.
Adelaide couldn’t help wishing that—despite the banal nature of her conversation with Mr. Givendale—she and Trent could sit and talk in the same easy manner. While she and her husband generally talked of things other than the weather and the beauty of some of the local architecture, it always seemed to take them a while to get going. Perhaps they should start with the same inane conversation Mr. Givendale had.
As the man took his leave, Miranda stood, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot until the closing of the front door echoed through the house once more.
“Do be careful with that man, Adelaide.”
Adelaide paused in the act of cleaning up the tea tray for a second time. “Why? Mother always said not to let anyone leave your house unhappy because it was bad for your reputation.”
Miranda scoffed. “Well, my mother says ladies should always be on guard for a scheming man, and this, my new dear sister”—Miranda held up the calling card Mr. Givendale had left behind—“is not Trent’s handwriting.”
Chapter 23
Adelaide couldn’t keep the smug little grin off her face as she hopped into the curricle with the barest amount of assistance from Trent. Thanks to their nearly daily rides, she was growing quite comfortable with the vehicle. She was even considering asking him to teach her how to drive it.
Not that she’d have anywhere to drive to while they lived in the city. But perhaps later, when there were children—and she was beginning to believe that one day there would be children—they would spend more time in the country. T
hen she could drive herself places, perhaps even get her own wagon, like her mother used.
But for now, she was satisfied with the fact that she no longer gripped the seat in abject terror or spent the whole ride worrying about falling out or catching her skirt in the wheel.
She didn’t even blink at the curricle’s rocking and swaying when Trent climbed in the other side.
As the wheels began to roll, though, the comfortable familiarity disappeared. Every day they’d gone to Hyde Park, rolling down Rotten Row to see and be seen. Adelaide knew every inch of the road to the legendary pathway, and this most certainly wasn’t it. “Where are we going?”
Trent grinned like a little boy, cheeks creasing into deep dimples as his nose crinkled in obvious glee. “Somewhere new. I truly can’t believe we haven’t done this yet. I can only blame my nervousness over the entire courting situation.”
Adelaide blinked at him, forgetting all about watching for clues as to their new destination in favor of examining her husband for signs that their relationship was changing. Never before had he said anything so personal, so closely connected to something relating to feelings. “You’ve been nervous?”
His eyes were wide as they glanced her way before returning to the traffic. “Haven’t you been?”
“Well, of course, but I didn’t think you were. I assumed this marriage was a mere inconvenience that you were trying to decide what to do with.”
One hand twisted to take both reins, freeing his other hand to run through his hair and across the back of his neck. “I suppose it was, at first. I can’t deny that I wished more than once that it would simply go away.”
“That I would go away.” Adelaide dropped her gaze to her lap, where her fingers were tightly laced together.
An Uncommon Courtship Page 20
