It took some doing, but she eventually succeeded in pulling the chemise over her head without letting go of the counterpane. When she emerged from the material, she found Connor regarding her with baffled amusement.
“Was that really necessary?”
“Yes.” Refusing to feel foolish over something as perfectly natural as modesty, she dropped the counterpane and worked her arms through the sleeves of her chemise.
“You might have asked me to turn my back,” he pointed out. “Or for a robe.”
“Well, if you’re seeking to help, you may assist me into my gown.”
He obliged, helping her into the dress and working the buttons up her back with the deft efficiency of a lady’s maid. Adelaide thought it might be best not to dwell on how he came by such a skill.
She rubbed her palm along the muslin at her waist. It was the same gown she’d been married in, and the same gown she’d been wearing the first time she’d seen Connor in the light of day. It felt strange to be wearing it now.
“Connor?”
He brushed her hair over her shoulder and pressed his lips to the base of her neck. Her skin prickled and warmed.
“Hmm?”
“Why did you marry me?”
His mouth stilled against her neck. “You know why.”
“You told me it was for revenge. And you’ve told me you wanted me.”
“So I did.” His breath was warm and moist against her skin. “So I do.”
“Either one of those . . .” She licked her lips, and wondered if it was the sensations he was stirring in her or her own nerves that had caused them to go dry. “Both of those could have—”
“Been had another way,” he finished for her. The heat of his mouth disappeared from her neck, leaving the spot he’d kissed damp and chilled.
“Yes. It would have been just as devastating to Sir Robert if you’d made me your mistress.”
Taking gentle hold of her arm, he turned her about to face him. His eyes searched her face, but betrayed nothing of what he was thinking. “Would you have agreed to become my mistress?”
Not initially, she thought. But once she’d learned of Sir Robert’s true nature . . . If it had been the only way to save her family . . . She didn’t know.
“No,” she said, simply because she thought it was expected.
He nodded once, his expression inscrutable. “There you are.”
She wasn’t sure what answer she’d been hoping for, but clearly “there you are” wasn’t it. A large, uncomfortable knot formed in her chest. The cold at her neck spread, seeping under the skin.
Forcing a smile and brisk tone, she stepped away from him, needing distance. “Well, that makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“Adelaide—”
“Do you know, I think perhaps I’ll take a stroll in the garden this morning. We’ll not have such fine weather for much longer and it seems a pity not to take advantage of every—”
He caught her arm before she could reach the door. “Are we having an argument?”
She closed her eyes on a sigh. She didn’t want to argue anymore. She’d had enough anger and ill will to fill a lifetime. He’d not lied about his reasons for wanting marriage, and there was nothing to be gained from condemning him for those reasons now.
“No.” She turned on her own and met his eyes. “There’s nothing to argue about. I want a walk, that’s all.”
A crease formed between his brows, but he nodded and let his hand fall away.
Adelaide made herself smile once more before taking her leave.
For nearly an hour, she wandered about the grounds of Ashbury Hall, taking in what progress had been made in taming the lawn and gardens and allowing the easy exercise and soft morning air to settle her worries, or at least brush them away for a time.
A gardener was already in residence, and she knew an architect had been hired and plans were being drawn up for the gardens. They were large plans, elaborate plans. Ashbury Hall was a grand manor and it would have the grounds to match.
She walked along the south side of the house and found that a small section of the garden had already been cleared of weeds and turned over. There was enough room for a small fountain. A few stone benches would be lovely there as well, she mused. The light was perfect for dahlias. She’d never tried to grow them before, but—
Connor’s voice pulled her from her musings. “Do you like the spot?”
She glanced over her shoulder and smiled, pleased to discover her walk had been effective in relieving her of her odd mood. “I’m sure it will be a fine garden.”
“It’s yours.”
“Yes.” She looked around her, studying the grounds. She was mistress of Ashbury Hall now, though that fact seemed distant and surreal to her. “There’s quite a bit for the architect and gardener to see done, but—”
“No, I mean . . .” He gestured at the tilled earth. “That. On this side of the house. It’s yours.”
“The dirt?”
Connor lifted a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. Then he tugged a bit on his cravat. Then he caught his hands behind his back as if suddenly aware that he was fidgeting.
She stared at him with wonder. My goodness, she thought, was he embarrassed?
“I had work begin on it yesterday,” he explained. “When I returned to retrieve the carriage. I thought you might like to have a part of the garden all your own. To do with as you liked.”
The last of the chill that had come upon her in their chambers melted away. She wasn’t sure if Connor was trying to spoil her, bribe her, make amends, or all three. But she was quite certain she liked it. Whatever his past misdeeds, and whatever his motivations now, he was trying to make things comfortable between them. She rather thought that ought to count for something.
She stretched up and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He slipped a hand around her neck and pulled her mouth to his for a long, searing kiss that left her breathless and overheated. “Thought it might be wise to take advantage of our privacy, while we still had it,” he said when at last he released her. “I’ve sent a carriage to fetch your family.”
“Oh.” She blinked, trying to see past the haze of passion. It didn’t work.
But then she heard Connor say, “Wolfgang means to come.”
Which was quite effective in dousing her ardor.
“Oh.” She managed a half smile when Connor chuckled. “How can you be certain?”
“I spoke with him about it at the prison.”
“What did you say?”
“That a move to Ashbury came with an allowance.”
“Bribery again?” That didn’t surprise her as much as why the bribe had been made. She’d have thought Connor would pay good money to keep Wolfgang out of his home.
“A compromise,” Connor countered. “He needs funds. I want to keep a close eye on him until we can be sure he’s spending those funds wisely.”
“You didn’t tell him that, did you?” She could only imagine her brother’s reaction to such a slight.
“Give me some credit, love. I told him his family needed him.” He kissed the top of her head and toyed with a lock of her hair. “And that he’d find his childhood home a mite inhospitable once repairs began on the roof.”
“Repairs?”
“They begin next week. The parlor doors are to be replaced immediately.” He gave her a pointed look. “And that cherrywood chair is going into the fire.”
She broke into laughter, and thought, oh, yes, he was trying. “I should have guessed you’d known what I was about. We can’t burn it. It’s an heirloom.”
“The attic then,” he agreed easily and bent to give her another quick kiss. “I’ll leave you to your walk.”
She almost asked him to stay but bit back the request at the last second. She no longer wanted a walk, or needed to clear her thoughts, but she did want just a moment more of solitude.
After he disappeared into
the house, Adelaide made a slow survey of her surroundings, seeing it all in a different light. This was hers. The house, the grounds, the plot of dirt, and the fifteen thousand pounds in the bank, they were all hers.
For years she had been weighed with the worries of what would become of her family. For weeks she had faced an unknown and unexpected future. Now that future had arrived . . . And it was wonderful. She was safe. They were all safe. There would never be a poorhouse, never be another creditor at her door. Isobel would have new gowns, new books, a world of opportunities opened to her. George would have a proper nanny, the finest tutors when the time came, and all the biscuits he could eat. And Wolfgang . . . Wolfgang would come around. She was sure of it.
For the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt free—well and truly free. A giddiness washed over her. She heard her own laughter echo back from the woods across the lawn. And like a small child at play, she threw her arms wide and spun in circles.
Connor watched Adelaide spin in the garden. From his position in front of the window in his second-floor study, he could make out the twirling folds of her skirt, and the strands of auburn that sunlight wove into her hair. The soft lilt of her laughter filtered through the glass and soothed the tightness in his chest.
The night before had been his every fantasy come to life, but the morning had not gone quite as he’d hoped.
There you go.
In retrospect, that had not been his finest display of charm. But holy hell, the woman liked to press.
How had he been injured? How had he gone from impressment to shipping? Why had he married her? Why had he not made her his mistress? The questions, and the patient way she had pressed for answers, had unnerved him.
She wanted him to share.
Unfortunately for the both of them, sharing was not something he did well. Connor made it a point to avoid contemplation of his shortcomings, but of his myriad forms of selfishness, he was perfectly aware. He was generous with money and goods because he could afford to give them away without risk or inconvenience to himself.
But Adelaide, he was afraid, wanted him to give a piece of himself. It was an expectation he wasn’t sure he could fill, or fake.
He didn’t know how to be generous in that way. It had never been required of him. He’d not been raised with siblings. His parents, though he knew they loved him, had been reserved in their affections. The mistresses he’d had over the years had been content with his time and expensive trinkets. And his men . . . Well, they were his men. Mostly they spoke of women, drink, and their desire to stick Sir Robert’s head on pike.
No one had ever asked more of him than he’d been comfortable giving.
For now, Adelaide seemed appeased by his gift of the garden. And perhaps that would be the key to keeping her happy, keeping them both happy—bribery, distraction, and careful distance.
He hoped it would be enough. He hoped she’d not ask so many questions.
Because, God’s truth, he wasn’t sure she’d like the answers.
Chapter 22
If Adelaide’s wedding night had been a whirlwind of discovery, the first week of marriage was an education.
The day after the Wards’ arrival, Connor took all but Wolfgang—who chose to remain in his chambers—into town so Adelaide could fulfill her wish of spoiling her nephew and sister with sweets and art supplies. As Adelaide had predicted, George fell asleep before he could make himself ill. Isobel took her paint and easel outside and, for the next six days, spent every hour of sunlight in the garden, hunting for blooms to paint.
Adelaide found pleasure in her own hobbies. She began the delightful task of planning her own garden and, in a moment of rare spontaneity, she asked the stable master to teach her how to ride. But with so many other duties requiring her attention, it wasn’t often she found time for herself.
Major repairs on the house had been completed, but there was still some work to be done, and the decorator seemed to need her approval for every new drape and scrap of wallpaper he wished to order. The staff required the more mundane, but no less time-consuming, sort of directions always needed for the daily management of a large home. New clothes had to be purchased for the entire family. Letters had to be written to Lilly and Winnefred. A nanny had to be found for George, and she’d hoped to draw Wolfgang out of his bad temper by involving him in the process, but he demonstrated a distinct lack of enthusiasm for the task.
“What the devil do I know of nannies?” was his response. They were, in fact, the only words he spoke to Adelaide in the course of the week. He kept to his chambers in the day, and the town’s tavern at night.
At Connor’s urging, she let the matter go without argument. If Wolfgang wished to lick his wounded pride with a bitter tongue, he was welcome to do it alone.
And really, George didn’t need a nanny right this moment. He was thriving in his new home, and there were no shortage of people willing, even eager, to watch over him in the interim.
The staff and residents of Ashbury Hall were enamored with the child, none more so than Michael, Gregory, and Graham. They lavished attention on the boy, and seemed especially fond of picking him up and tossing him in the air like a sack of flour. Adelaide nearly fainted the first time Gregory did this, but the old man caught George without so much as a grunt for the effort, proving he was stronger and quicker than he appeared.
It was strange sharing a house with grown men to whom she was not related, and who were neither staff nor guests. Connor treated Michael and Gregory like family, but while Adelaide came to enjoy the men’s easy smiles and gentle bickering, she still didn’t fully trust them.
The air of secrecy surrounded them. And Connor. And a good portion of everything they did.
Connor spent hours every day behind the closed doors of his study. Sometimes he preferred his own council, but typically he met with his men and the low murmur of male voices would drift into the hall and down into the front parlor. For reasons she neither understood nor cared to examine too closely, Adelaide found the sound agreeable and often created excuses to sit in the parlor when the men were above stairs. Though their words were unintelligible, it was easy to distinguish who was speaking when. She listened for the distinct and familiar cadence of Connor’s deep voice.
Adelaide wondered if she would not be so inclined to listen for the sound of him, if only he were more readily available in the flesh. And by that, she did not mean available for concerns of the flesh. Connor was certainly accessible for that. Every night, as it happened. And every morning. She was fairly sure he’d become available during the day given half the provocation. He was, in that regard—and to her unqualified delight—unfailingly attentive.
In fact, he was attentive in all regards . . . when he was around. He rarely missed breakfast or dinner, but often the noon meal and tea. If she stopped him in the hall to ask a question, or brought a concern to his attention before bed, he listened carefully and offered thoughtful answers or sound advice. If she wanted to ask him a question while he was with his men, however, she had to wait. Connor didn’t expressly ban her from his study, nor forbid her from interrupting, but given his tremendous need for revenge, she imagined any disruption would be poorly received.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about the arrangement. She had no reason for complaint. Connor wasn’t neglecting his duties as a husband, and yet she couldn’t help but feel a sliver of discontent every time he disappeared into his study with his men. And the grim smiles of satisfaction she saw on his face when he emerged again only increased her unease. Because, really, “grim” was not a word that should be applicable to any aspect of a marriage in its first week.
But more than that, she was afraid for him, of what risks he might be taking. How far was he willing to go in his hunt for revenge, and what if the search led him back to prison or, God forbid, to the gallows? What if it led to nothing at all? How long would he dedicate his life to vengeance, to the exclusion of nearly everything else . . . including
her?
She tried reminding herself that she’d known from the start where Connor’s priorities lay. She’d entered into marriage knowing full well what to expect. But none of these were effective in softening the troubling truth.
For the first time, in a very long time, she hoped for something more.
Marriage to Adelaide was all that he had hoped.
Connor arrived at this conclusion as he walked down the second floor of the family wing.
In fact, marriage was more than he had hoped. He’d imagined it would be a pleasant and satisfying state of affairs. What he’d not expected was the sheer convenience of it all.
What color fabric did he want for the sitting room drapes? Ask my wife.
Should it be lamb or beef for dinner? Ask my wife.
A dispute between the maids? A problem with the gardener? A yen for a beautiful woman in his arms? They were all issues Adelaide was available to address at a moment’s notice.
Bloody brilliant institution, marriage.
In truth, his one and only disappointment was that Adelaide’s accessibility had failed to improve his ability to concentrate. He needed only to catch a hint of her scent in a room or hear the lilt of her laugh through a wall and his thoughts veered toward the extra hour he’d enjoyed in bed with her that morning, or the delights of the night to come, or the possibility of an afternoon steeped in pleasure—he’d not tried that particular convenience as yet, but he did like thinking about it.
He began to think of it now, and had just arrived at the particularly agreeable bit in which Adelaide crooked a finger at him, when a soft sniffle and small movement in an open doorway caught his attention. Turning, Connor spied George sitting on the floor in one of the extra family bed-chambers. His eyes and nose were red, and fat tears slid down his cheeks.
An Unexpected Gentleman (The Haverston Family Trilogy Book 2) Page 22
