Andrew Lord of Despair(15)

“You must not.”

“Shall I ring for sandwiches?” Felicity interjected. “And, Andrew, what have you done with my spouse?”

“I am here, my lady,” Gareth said from behind Andrew’s back. He cuffed Andrew aside and came into the room, raising a dark eyebrow at Astrid. “No greeting for me?”

“Gareth.” Astrid approached her brother-in-law with the intention of kissing his cheek. She found herself enveloped in a hug instead.

“I am done neglecting you,” he growled softly. “I will force you to stay with us until your spirits are restored, or Felicity will take stern measures with me.” When Gareth let Astrid go, he bussed Felicity’s cheek. “When is luncheon, Wife? Chasing my brother all over the shire has worked up my appetite.”

“And when aren’t you hungry?” Felicity asked, smiling as Andrew snitched two tea cakes off the tray and passed one to his brother. “We can eat a proper meal within the hour, but first we will let Astrid get settled and unpacked. And both of you fellows could use a bit of freshening as well.”

“I can take a hint,” Andrew said, snitching another cake. “I will join you all at table and endeavor to sit upwind of my fragrant elder brother.”

Astrid tried not to watch Andrew’s retreating backside, though Herbert had never cut such a dash in his breeches, for all he considered himself quite the sportsman.

“I had best go start on my unpacking,” Astrid said, knowing the maids would have already hung up her dresses. Gareth’s voice stopped her before she made it to the door.

“I meant what I said, about restoring your spirits, Astrid. While you are with us, you must do what pleases you. If we could do your grieving for you, we would. In the alternative, we offer you whatever use of our home and our company you need.”

He made this well-intended speech with his arm around what remained of Felicity’s waist, forming a two-person marital bulwark of goodwill and good cheer.

“Thank you,” Astrid said before fleeing the library. She was in tears within moments of shutting her bedroom door, though she couldn’t have said why exactly she was crying. Rather than dwell on that question, she took off her slippers—were they also becoming a trifle snug?—eased down onto the bed, and curled up under a quilt.

Something tickling her nose awakened her. She batted the annoyance away, only to have it return moments later. When she opened her eyes, she found Andrew smiling down at her, a long stem of wild aster in his hands. He brushed her nose with it once more, bringing Astrid fully awake.

“Dratted man…” Dear, dratted man. Astrid struggled to sit up, her efforts impeded by Andrew sitting on her blanket. He lifted his hips enough for her get into a sitting position, then continued to study her.

“So, Astrid, how are you?” He gently bopped her nose with the aster.

“Sleepy.” Though Andrew Alexander on her bed was waking her up nicely. “What are you doing in my bedroom?” And why must you look so delectably handsome even when you’re being silly?

He only smiled at her and bopped himself on the nose with the flower. “The bedroom door is wide open, your highness. Felicity asked me to fetch you down for luncheon. I called from the hallway, but you did not rouse, so I came in here, and was considering how best to wake you, when a toad came hopping along and stole my best idea. He left you this token of his thanks.” Andrew waved the flower.

“You are ridiculous.”

“And you are smiling, but also dodging my question: How do you feel, princess?”

Astrid scooted around on the bed until she was sitting beside him, hip to hip. She’d purposely put herself at his side so she wouldn’t be faced with his direct gaze, lest the kindness she glimpsed there have her weeping again.

“I tell myself I am doing better, Andrew, because I am not moping constantly. But it’s like swampy footing. You think you’ve found a solid patch, and then without warning, you are on your backside and struggling not to go under. I shift instantly from anger to sadness to indifference to relief to… anything you can think of.”

He took her hand in both of his and gave her knuckles a kiss.

“You keep looking for those solid patches, princess, but it can’t be easy, trying to deal with both the loss of your husband and the changes that come with bearing a child. You were smart to come out here, though.”

She gave in to the pleasure of leaning into his solid warmth. Andrew had promised her, long ago, she would be safe with him. She still felt safe with him.

Damnably so.

“I am—was—an awful wife. I’m angry with Herbert, and not just for dying.” She could see now that she’d been angry with her clodpated husband for most of their marriage, though his death had added sadness to her ire.