At that, she tipped back her head to stare up at the sky and made an ironic-sounding laugh. “Not after last night, that’s for certain.”
He ignored her comment, intent on her earlier question about why Westerley hadn’t seen fit to hover over her protectively. To be honest, he didn’t quite understand it himself. “You aren’t a flirt, Bethany. You never have been.”
She released a heavy sigh. “Not for lack of trying.”
Another surprise. Truth be told, he’d half-expected Bethany was going to be… uninteresting.
But now she was telling him she’d tried to flirt before? She hadn’t flirted with him. Who had she been flirting with?
And how had they gotten around to this subject anyhow? Oh, yes, she’d asked him if he was in love with Miranda.
“Are you in love with anyone that I ought to be aware of? Do you intend to—” Good heavens, he hadn’t considered this either.
“Heavens no! Why would you say that? Why would you think I was in love with someone?”
“Because you told me you’d been flirting.”
“I said I tried flirting. But it’s never worked for me.” She scowled. “I failed at flirting. How pathetic is that?”
“With who?” It would have been an interesting sight to behold.
She didn’t answer.
“Anyone I know?” he persisted. “Mantis? Stone? Not Greys?”
“As if!” she scoffed.
Now that he was curious, he wanted to know more. “What technique did you try? Show me how dismal your flirting can be.” He was only half-joking.
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“Just because you’re married doesn’t mean an ability to flirt won’t come in handy.”
He had no doubt that if he was to glance over, he’d see her lips pinched together in disapproval. Perhaps he could teach her a thing or two…
“I’ve fluttered my eyelashes,” she admitted just when he thought she intended to ignore the question. “And I’ve tried waving my fan about.”
“Ah. Superficial tools.” He stopped both of them again and turned her to look at him. At this rate, he absently noted, they wouldn’t arrive at Byrde House until nightfall.
Without releasing her arm, he reached up with his other hand and skimmed it along her face.
“What are you doing?”
Indeed. Not only were her lips pinched, but her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed as she stared at him.
“Soften your mouth and stop clenching your teeth,” Chase suggested as though introducing her to a new dance. For added measure, he cradled her jaw. “One cannot flirt if one is feeling uptight.”
“I’m not uptight.” If anything, she’d tensed more beneath his hand.
“Soften,” he repeated, gently brushing his thumb along her lower lip, meeting her anxious gaze with his own. What was she afraid of? Not him, surely?
“Here.” He caressed the soft skin of that plump lower lip and felt some satisfaction when she finally exhaled, letting go.
His breath hitched unexpectedly. What would she do if he kissed her now? He swallowed hard.
“But—"
“Much better when you don’t look so disapproving.” He used the tip of his finger to trace the bow of her upper lip and a small tremor rolled through her.
“I’m not disapproving.” She flicked her gaze away from him, moisture from her mouth grazing his finger when she spoke.
“If you are not disapproving than why…?”
She raised her shoulders almost to her ears and then dropped them. “I… suppose I do it when I’m anxious.”
That would mean she’d been anxious for most of the past decade.
“What are you anxious about?”
She turned her head, and he dropped his hand back to his side. “Can we just keep walking?”
He paused only a moment but then granted her request.
“Surely, I don’t make you uneasy?” It would be a discouraging beginning to their marriage.
“No. Yes. I don’t know.”
He’d take that as a yes.
“How do you relieve your tension?” she asked. “You are at ease all the time. Even when you oughtn’t to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“You weren’t uncomfortable at all for the ceremony. Even though you were late, you sauntered in as though you were the guest of honor at a close family gathering. How does one achieve such composure?”
“But wasn’t it?” he teased. “A close family gathering? And wasn’t I, in fact, one of the guests of honor?” He couldn’t help but add, “And I arrived with a full minute to spare, if you remember correctly.”
“But it was a wedding, you buffoon. People are supposed to feel agitated at their weddings.” She took up walking again.
Chase rolled his tongue along his teeth, adjusting his stride to hers. “Honestly, Bethany, I simply don’t comprehend that succumbing to one’s nerves achieves any legitimate purpose. It accomplishes nothing. Being unaffected… now that’s much healthier.”
“Then you ought to live at least one hundred years… likely more.”
“I’ll agree with you on that.” When he wasn’t needed by his mother or his responsibilities over on Farm Street, he made the most of his free time.
He drank. He smoked. He…enjoyed physical pursuits.
Chase glanced over again. She wasn’t pinching her lips now. In all the years he’d known her, he’d never once considered kissing her.
When he’d been a randy youth, she’d been a child. And once he was older…
A vague memory nudged him. There had been one occasion. About three or so years ago.
Yes. There had been a time when he’d considered her attractive. She’d looked very pretty on the evening of her come-out—which Westerley had insisted they all attend. Her brother had also insisted they all claim a dance with the debutante.
Spring of ’26, just before her father was killed.
“You’re lucky to possess such an advantageous talent. Is this it?” She’d stopped and was staring up at his townhouse. So engrossed in their unusual conversation, he’d hardly realized they’d passed Grosvenor Square and turned down South Audley.
“I suppose it is.” He hated that he wasn’t completely comfortable with the prospect of her meeting his mother.
“Am I allowed to be uneasy for this?” One hand on the balustrade leading up to the door, she smiled weakly, brows raised.
“If you must.”
As they entered his home, however, Chase realized he’d not gotten any sort of answer regarding how to proceed later tonight.
Apparently, the decision was up to him.
For the time being, that was.
Because with women, one could never be certain.
Chapter 11
Byrde House
The butler assisted Bethany out of Chase’s coat, leaving her surprisingly bereft at the loss of his scent.
“Welcome to Byrde House, My Lady.”
“Thank you.” Bethany nodded.
“Bethany, may I present Mr. Ingles, my esteemed butler? Ingles, my wife and my baroness, Lady Chaswick.”
Chase went on to present his housekeeper and two other manservants. Before he’d completed those introductions, three housemaids and the cook arrived to make their curtseys as well. Every one of them greeted her cautiously but with respect. It was immediately apparent that they all regarded the master of the house warmly.
Hugging her elbows in front of her, she traveled her gaze around the foyer as the servants returned to their duties. High ceilings, Intricate moldings, and tasteful artwork lent the entrance an elegant ambiance.
Baroness… Everything happened so quickly that she hadn’t even stopped to think that she was now the Baroness Chadwick. Ironically enough, years ago, she’d practiced writing it as her signature. Bethany Louisa Corbet, the Baroness Chaswick.
“And my mother?” Chase queried Mr. Ingles.
“I’m afraid she won’t be coming down for dinner
as she’s retired for the evening.”
“Thank you, Ingles.” Chase nodded.
By both of their demeanors, Bethany guessed this was not an unusual occurrence. In all the time she’d known Chase, she’d never really considered his family. She vaguely remembered Westerley attending Chase’s father’s funeral. She’d barely entered her teens at the time.
She glanced up the stairs and suppressed a shiver. What if Chase’s mother didn’t like her?
This was to be her home now. She resisted wishing she could return to her familiar chamber on Adam’s Row tonight. She was a married woman—not a child.
Chase touched her arm. “You’re looking anxious again.” His voice teased but his words had her touching her hands to her lips.
A-n-x-i-o-u-s. Seven-letter words. Who wouldn’t be?
But he’d said she looked disapproving. She did not want to appear disapproving. It made her think of a bitter spinster or stern companion. Someone like Mrs. Crabtree.
Bethany pinched her lips together and then softened them. She hated to think she was like Mrs. Crabtree!
“It will just be the two of us tonight.” Under any other circumstances, such a statement might almost seem suggestive. Those butterflies danced in her belly again.
When they’d halted along Grosvenor Square, she’d wondered for a moment if he’d considered kissing her. But he had not. Her imagination had gotten the best of her.
She needed to learn to tamp down on these emotions. They may have taken marriage vows, and she was now his wife, but none of this was real. She needed to remember that.
He’d told her flirting came in handy for married people. And he hadn’t answered her question about Lady Starling… Or about mistresses.
“Excuse me, My Lord.” One of the maids returned to the foyer and dipped into a curtsey. “The Westerley servants have arrived to deliver her ladyship’s belongings and are carrying them upstairs to the baroness’s suite. Mrs. Maples asked if a lady’s maid will be arriving soon? If not, I could…”
“Oh.” Bethany jumped. A detail she’d failed to consider. She couldn’t exactly send for Emily. That would leave Tabetha to fend for herself. “No. Polly, isn’t it? I’ll go unattended just now.”
“If it would please you and his Lordship, I’m more than happy to offer my assistance upstairs.”
Bethany met Chase’s stare and he nodded. She’d always known that if she married, she would take over her husband’s household. It was tricky with his mother in residence. She didn’t want to act presumptuously.
“That will be fine, Polly,” Chase answered. “Please draw her ladyship a bath. We’ll dine in an hour?”
“Yes. Yes. That will be fine.” Bethany felt stilted with him again. She had just set foot in what was now to become her own home and yet she had no idea where the dining room was, or her chamber, or the privy, for that matter.
Chase simply stood watching her, his hands behind his back. Oh, but this was awkward.
“I’ll show you the way, My Lady,” Polly comprehended her predicament and led her up two flights of the rounded staircase and then through a short corridor before turning toward the papered wall. This chamber entrance was barely discernable, as the wainscoting and trim effectively camouflaged the jib door.
Bethany studied it curiously. The door blended into the wall perfectly but for the seams.
The room itself was… interesting. Although not decorated to her tastes, it obviously had been freshly cleaned, a hint of lemon oil in the air.
Lavishly outfitted, the furnishings and drapery gave Bethany pause to wonder if it was simply outdated and hadn’t been renovated for decades, or if the prior occupant, Chase’s mother, had intentionally dressed it in a Georgian style. The apricot, tangerine, and coral fabrics, although well-worn, were bright and… unsettling.
The trunks she’d helped pack earlier that day had been placed at the end of the canopied bed. Seeing them in this unfamiliar room jolted her. Home was not home anymore.
This was her home now.
She twirled around slowly and tried to imagine herself comfortable here. Thick velvet tangerine swaths of material were attached to the ceiling and draped elegantly to the floor. Silk ropes of gold tied at the halfway point attached them to the bedposts.
“I’ll fill your bath, My Lady.”
“Thank you.” Bethany nodded vaguely and strolled across to a vanity even as Polly slipped out of the room through a second obscure door. Perhaps once Bethany established herself, she would ask Chase about redecorating. It was as though she’d stepped back in time or into a garish museum.
Catching sight of her reflection in the mirror, she leaned forward and stared at her mouth. Did she really look disapproving? She frowned but reached up to touch her lips. Firm and straight.
Soften, he’d said.
She puckered her lips and intentionally made them go slack, but it was difficult to keep herself from tightening them again.
B-r-e-a-t-h-e. Seven letters. How could anxious and breathe both be made up of the same number of letters?
She inhaled and then exhaled, pouting and wriggling her shoulders at the same time.
Could easing her inner thoughts change her appearance? The idea had never occurred to her. Seeing the same person she’d always been, she shook her head.
Impossible.
The door Polly exited from a moment before flew open and Bethany jumped guiltily away from the mirror.
“It’s ready.”
“That was awfully fast.” The water must have been heated ahead of time.
The young maid grinned. “His Lordship had special pipes installed two years ago, right after I came on. It’s a luxury for all of us, for sure—when it functions properly. We’re lucky today.”
Bethany followed the cheerful maid into the room where steam drifted up from a filled copper tub set beneath spigots that protruded from the tiled wall.
“If you don’t mind turning, My Lady, I’ll assist you out of your gown.” Chase had suggested she wear her yellow muslin to the church—foolish man. Instead she’d selected a pale gold satin with puffed sleeves and a cinched waist. Her wedding may have been rushed but she’d still hoped to feel pretty.
Polly draped the dress over a divider and turned back to unlace Bethany’s stays.
Never in a thousand years could Bethany have imagined how drastically her life could change over the course of twenty-four hours.
“I’m not used to the jib doors,” she commented. “Do you find it difficult to make your way throughout the house?”
“At first. I’m used to them now. Lady Chaswick insists on them so as to leave the wall coverings undisturbed.”
“Do all the rooms have them?” Bethany lowered herself into the hot water, slowly, and then slid down so that it covered most of her.
“Not at all. Here’s the soap, My Lady. Should I wash your hair? I’ll have Collins light the hearth and if we are quick about it, we can have it dried in time for you to go down. Such a lovely shade, ebony with hints of gold.”
Reaching to take the scented caked bar, a sparkling flash caught and held Bethany’s gaze.
The ring was possibly the most beautiful piece of jewelry she’d ever seen and likely a hundred times more valuable than anything she’d ever owned.
The fact that he’d thought to bring one, let alone something so incredible, so utterly spectacular, sent warmth spreading through her chest.
“Do you want to remove it while you bathe?”
“No.” Bethany submerged her hand into the water. “Thank you.” It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the maid, it was that she could never forgive herself if she lost it.
“The baroness’s room has all jib doors, and of course, the dining room… I believe the front drawing room and a few of the guest chambers.”
“Do you assist Lady Chaswick—His Lordship’s mother—often?” It was somewhat disconcerting that her mother-in-law hadn’t roused herself on such a momentous occasion for her son. T
he explanation he’d given her regarding his mother’s foibles had left her brimming with questions.
“Care of Her Ladyship falls mostly on her nurse. Mrs. Finch. His Lordship’s mother is lovely, really, but… just different. She never leaves the house, or has guests, or even corresponds with anyone. She suffers from the occasional bad day, but on her good days, she’s nice as can be.”
It sounded like Chase’s mother was prone to more than a few eccentricities. And he was an only child. Despite her resolve to not give into tender feelings for him, a wave of sympathy rose up in her.
He’d coped with his mother’s illness alone, with no siblings, since the death of his father.
Bethany closed her eyes, tilting her head forward so the maid could undo the simple knot at the back of her head, and then held her breath when warm water poured over her.
This new knowledge showed him in an entirely different light. He was not the carefree gentleman she’d considered him to be. Good heavens, he had hidden depths. How on earth was she supposed to not be affected by that?
She closed her eyes as another pitcher full of water cascaded down her back.
Before an hour passed, Polly proved more than up to the task of lady’s maid, dressing Bethany in one of her newer gowns, an evergreen silk. Although her hair remained partially damp, Polly had pinned several delightful braids into a stylish chignon atop her head. She’d insisted on leaving a few curling tendrils to drape along Bethany’s face.
Bethany stared at the mirror and purposely released the tension in her lips.
Soften, he’d said.
Chapter 12
A Romantic Dinner
“My wife is a vision.” Chase rose from where he’d been sitting as she entered the anteroom that separated her chamber from his through a third jib door she’d discovered.
“I’m not.” Bethany smoothed the material of her skirt, aware that Chase could hand out compliments as easily as she poured tea. Even so, the knowledge wasn’t enough to steal her enjoyment upon hearing it. Was this because he was so very charming or because she was that besotted?
Cocky Baron: Regency Cocky Gents (Book 2) Page 9
