Andrew Lord of Despair(66)

“I could live with that,” Astrid said. “Provided we don’t spend a great deal of time here. I could be happy at Oak Hall, or at Linden, for that matter, if you could content yourself at either location.”

Andrew drew back, resting his hips on his desk and looping his arms around Astrid as she stood between his legs. “I am thinking of selling Linden.”

This was not strategy. This was… Andrew being hard to understand and not confiding in his wife.

“That was your home, Andrew. You chose that property for yourself, and you’ve held it, what, almost ten years? I thought you loved it there.”

Andrew regarded his wife, as if he were weighing how much of some inconvenient truth to share with her.

“I enjoyed that property, Astrid, at an age when I spent little time with my mother and brother, when I needed… independent quarters. I did not conduct myself at all times like a model squire. Some in the Linden vicinity would as soon see the land change hands again.”

How many angry papas and disappointed damsels did Sussex boast as a result of Andrew’s tenure there? “You were a rascal.”

Andrew’s laugh was dismal too. “Douglas called on Gareth a few weeks ago to inform him, should I attempt to gain guardianship of your child, he was prepared to ferret out every misdeed I ever was rumored to commit. I committed more than a few of them at Linden. Besides, I have both Oak Hall and Enfield to fret over, and those are entailed properties. I cannot get rid of either, and both are closer to Town, and to Willowdale.”

Cuddling up to Andrew was delightful, despite the topic. Being near him soothed her, and Astrid felt drowsiness stealing into her limbs as she stood in his embrace.

“You must do as you see fit, Andrew. I certainly will not complain if we reside only five miles from my sister and her children, though if I had my pick, I would choose Oak Hall rather than Enfield.”

“Why?”

Astrid nuzzled at his shoulder. How did he manage to always smell scrumptious? “Oak Hall is the property better suited to raising horses.”

“And this is relevant because?”

“Of all the projects Gwen has put before you, you are most enthusiastic about raising horses suited to becoming ladies’ mounts. You don’t sit up late at night, drawing plans for further irrigation; you don’t look out over the land, wondering where you might erect another hothouse; you don’t wander down to the home farm to check on the lambing. You do, however, consider at length re-fencing certain horse pastures; you ponder where you might lay out a practice oval for flat racing; and you fret nightly over your broodmares. The crops, produce, home farm, and cottage industry are all well and good, but for you, the passion is the horses.”

His hand went still, midpat on her derriere. “You are right.” A silence ensued, and he did not resume stroking her fundament. “I enjoy the country, but I love the horses.”

He said this as if something obvious to all who knew him was a revelation to himself. And then another pat, brisk and businesslike.

“I know one little broodmare who needs to find her bed,” he said, straightening and grabbing a branch of candles from his desk. “It’s late, and you should be asleep.”

“I should,” Astrid said, stifling a yawn. “I was coming to tell you I’m retiring. Will you join me?”

“I’ll light you up to your room,” he replied, offering his arm. “I have yet more reading to do.”

Astrid made no protest, but with increasing frequency, Andrew had reasons not to find their bed until she was fast asleep. He woke at first light, and only came in to join the ladies for dinner. Thereafter, he repaired to his study or returned to the barns and stables. Slowly, inexorably, he was creating distance between himself and his wife, and he was too astute a man for this to be simple happenstance.

Astrid waited until they gained the doorway to their bedroom, though she should have waited until Andrew had escorted her inside. “Could you not do your reading some other time?”

He kissed her forehead, something in the gesture besides marital affection, something troubled. “I’ll be up soon enough.” He entered the room only long enough to light candles for her, then left and closed the door behind him.

Astrid got her clothes off, and brushed out and rebraided her hair before climbing into the bed. She wished she had Felicity to talk to, but that would mean ten miles of travel, round trip, and burdening her sister with her petty troubles. Felicity wrote frequently, and Gareth had been over twice since Astrid had come to Enfield, but he spent his time with Andrew, and that meant Astrid had seen little of him.