"It's nice to meet you, Calvert," Regina said with the first hint of a smile he'd seen on her lips all day. Good. He'd hoped she'd find at least a trace of humor in his description of the aging butler.
One by one, Edward went down the row of servants, introducing her to each one of them.
"To your tasks," Edward instructed as he made his last introduction.
"Would you like me to give Lady Watson a tour of the townhouse?" Mrs. Rourke, the housekeeper, asked, her keys rattling on the large hoop she wore around her wrist.
Edward swung his gaze to Regina. "Actually, no. I think I should like to show her about."
"Yes, my lord," Mrs. Rourke said.
Edward offered her his arm and forced a smile. "You don't mind taking a tour do you?"
"No, not at all."
He started down the hall. Which room to show her first? To the left was his library. She wouldn't be interested in anything in there. It'd bore her to tears. Next, his study. He scowled. Even he hated going into that room. Ah, the drawing room. "This is the drawing room," he murmured, opening the door.
At his urging, Regina stepped inside to look around.
"It might need some redecorating," Edward said sheepishly. Gads but this room was in desperate need of repair.
What was left of the sunlight flooded the room through threadbare drapes held up by a brass rod with a large bend in the middle that might suggest someone had pulled the curtains for all their worth. Under the window, was a game table and chair. The top of the game table was worn and cracked; a small book was shoved under one of the legs. The chair next to it had been so sun-bleached, it was impossible to know if the original color had been blue or green. The footstool that matched it was positioned on the opposite side of the game table. And it was little wonder a stool had been used in place of another chair, since there wasn't another chair in the room. The only other piece of furniture was a settee that was in such bad repair, not only was the fabric faded, but it was transparent in places. The wooden floor, which was scuffed and badly in need of several large rugs to hide its faults, was the best looking thing in the room. Even the walls were lacking with their peeling paper and a wall sconce every six feet as decoration.
"It's very-"
"Bare," he supplied for her.
"Modest," she corrected.
"Now that you are the lady of the house, you may decorate this room and any of the others however you wish," Edward said softly.
Regina bit her lip and nodded. "Thank you, but I don't need to redecorate."
"Of course you do. It's a privilege you were granted at the wedding."
Regina cocked her head to the side and tapped her index finger against her jaw. "I don't remember hearing anything about decorating in our marriage vows."
"Ah, then you must not have been listening very well." He lifted his brow and twisted his lips in mock contemplation. "If I recall correctly, there was some sort of mention about it being your duty to see after my health, wellbeing, and to decorate my eerily barren house. Yes, yes, that's what it was."
She shook her head, her lips curling up into the slightest hint of a smile, but not fully there. "I remember no such thing."
"As I said, perhaps you just weren't listening." He rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling. "Now that you've admitted to not listening to our vows, I wonder what else I might convince you that you agreed to..."
"You're incorrigible."
"No, not incorrigible, just determined." He turned to face her and wrapped his hands around hers. "Regina, as lady of the house, you are welcome to change whatever you wish at Watson Townhouse and order whichever decorations you'd like."
"Surely you wouldn't like for me to redecorate the entire house."
Edward looked around at the bare furnishings in the room. "Surely, I would." He gestured to the fading, threadbare settee. "If you're afraid that I have some sort of attachment to the furniture in this house due to my ancestors resting their arses upon them to the point of making the fabric transparent and the stuffing visible, rest assured I do not. I cannot be certain, but I do believe my father once told me that his grandfather used to tell him stories of being caught jumping on this very settee as a boy. He mentioned something about getting his muddy boots all over the newly delivered furniture."
"Perhaps it could use a little redecorating."
He bit his tongue before he could suggest that he show her to another room that could use a little redecorating, specifically in the form of her gown in a fallen heap on the floor. He thrust that thought from his mind immediately. Considering how she'd reacted to him last night, a sentence like that might make her never want to accept him into her bed again. "I trust that you'll decorate it beautifully."
She looked at him; a queer look on her face.
He coughed and turned his head. "Would you care to see any other rooms?"
"Just my bedchamber."
Was that her polite way of telling him she'd like to part company or was it an invitation? "Very well," he said, trying to keep his voice even so not to embarrass either of them.
He led her from the drawing room that could be mistaken for a tomb to the stairs. An unusual sense of emptiness overtook him as he led her down the darkened hall. Other than a lighted sconce every four or five feet, the wide hall was devoid of any other decoration. No rug, only endless planks that made up the hardwood floor. No wall hangings, small decorative tables holding vases, or miniatures lined the walls as he'd seen in several of the other townhouses he'd visited.
Perhaps it wasn't necessarily that the house was empty that created this eerie feeling while showing it to his new bride, but why it was empty. He twisted his lips. That must be it. Mother and her lack of love for anyone but herself was the reason for the lack of decorations, love, and life in this house. Her hatred for Father had turned her cold to everyone around her and left their house as empty as her heart.
With a mental shrug to rid himself of the memory, Edward opened the door to the baroness' bedchamber.
Regina winced at the loud creaking of the oak door swinging on its hinges.
"Sorry about that. I'll have Calvart order these oiled first thing in the morning." He gestured for her to enter then followed her inside and lit the candles in the sconce closest to them.
A low glow filled the large room.
This room was just as empty as the last.
Standing side by side, they both studied the furnishings of the room. The bed was what could be termed simple, at best, covered with only a solid red counterpane and one white-cased pillow in the middle. Each of the four corners had a square post that extended only three inches above the mattress. Next to the bed was a crude table with a surface not even large enough for both a water pitcher and a basin. As it was, the pitcher was sitting inside the basin with a good two inches of the basin hanging past the end of the table.
Along the wall that had the connecting door was a small vanity and above it a mounted mirror with a series of cracks that resembled a spider web. These walls were just as empty as the walls in the hall had been.
Other than the bed, the rest of the furnishings included: one faded, threadbare chair positioned in the corner, that ancient, heavily scratched bedside table, the equally unattractive vanity, a scuffed and cracked wardrobe, and a wobbly old secretary.
"As I said, you're welcome to redecorate the entire house, if you'd like."
"Perhaps I'll just make changes in this room, for now," she said as her eyes continued to travel over the forsaken room.
Edward shrugged. "If that's what you want to do. But don't be concerned. There isn't anything you can do to any room of this house that could possibly make it any worse."
~Chapter Ten~
Edward's pacing would wear a hole in the rug were there actually a rug separating his bare feet from the wooden floor, that is.
His eyes drifted to the adjoining door. Should he knock? Even with the day's sour downturn, she had allowed him entry into her bedchamber last night. But she'd not been quite the same as she'd been other nights. She'd seemed cold and guarded. It was as if she'd let him come in because it was his right, and he hated that.
He speared his fingers through his hair and sighed. He'd never know her response if he didn't knock on her door.
Pushing aside any feelings of doubt and screwing up every ounce of courage in his twenty year-old body, he rapped on her door.