Staring up at him, she could think of no argument, no way to persuade him. It appeared she would not have a loving husband, but she would have a lusty one.
For the first time since she’d overheard his words to her father and realized how horribly he’d betrayed her, she wished he would apologize. She’d not thought it would do any good, but of a sudden, she wanted him to say he was sorry, to admit he was wrong, to ask forgiveness. She looked up at his determined expression and sighed, knowing he never would. He was too caught up in his own pride, his need to be right. A true aristocratic autocrat. He would never be sorry because he could never allow himself to be wrong.
Chapter 14
Several hours later, Michael stood with Jane on the front steps of the London house and waved goodbye to Lucy and Sherbourne and young William as their carriage drove away, headed for Sherbourne’s house in Grosvenor Square. Jane’s brothers had recently taken their leave as well. Michael had not asked the newlyweds’ plans for the day, but William volunteered that they were to go to the park, where he would practice his archery, and afterward, they would go for an ice at Gunther’s. Michael thought it sounded grand, and decided he and Jane would take their son to the park to practice archery, and take him for an ice at Gunther’s afterward.
Just as soon as they had a son.
His father-in-law had pressed a note into his hand as he left and Michael glanced down at it, curious. Turning back to the house, he stepped inside and as Peatrie closed the door, he broke the seal and read Sherbourne’s strong, elegant script. The note indicated poor Mrs. Sherry had expired the moment she heard he was to marry Lucy, that the dear lady felt her existence was no longer required. He would not mourn, he said, because he wasn’t overly fond of her, but sweet Lucy had taken quite a liking to her, said she would always remember their lovely coze. He went on to suggest that Michael take a cue from dear Mrs. Sherry, for she well knew, surprise and spontaneous delights were easily accomplished, and irresistible to women. The ending of the note was of a serious nature. He expressed gratitude for his blessing of Lucy’s marriage, his friendship, and his patience with Jane. Then he reminded him of haylofts and harridans and nasty, mean goats, and urged him to be sincere, that the taste of a wife’s love and esteem was far more pleasing than a dish of pride. He’d given it up years ago, and didn’t miss it in the least.
He tucked the note into his coat pocket and went in search of his wife, who’d taken off to parts unknown as soon as they came back inside. He found her in the kitchen, conferring with Cook about dinner. He excused her, drew her aside and said in a low voice, “I’ve an errand to run, but will be back for luncheon. Afterward, I believe we should make our calls, don’t you?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Calmly. “If you continue to address me in that manner, I’ll insist you practice at the pianoforte two hours, each day.”
“Yes, Your . . . Blixford.”
Turning to leave, he spied the leftover smoked trout and turned back around. “By the by, the cat was most pleased with your selections for the wedding breakfast. Regrettably, we will soon be overrun with rodents, as he is now too fat and lazy to catch them. Might I suggest we not serve smoked trout again anytime soon?”
He swore her eyes were laughing, but her voice was sober when she repeated, “Yes, Your . . . Blixford.”
He left then and went about his errand as quickly as possible, but it took much more time than he anticipated, and by the time he returned home, she’d already had lunch and was cooling her heels in the drawing room, pacing about, clearly anxious and nervous about the calls. He realized she was afraid of her reception, that perhaps people wouldn’t receive her, despite her marriage to him. Deciding not to reassure her, because it would necessarily point out that he was aware of her anxiety and she would hate that, he instead asked if she would ring for tea, and have some mince pie brought up along with it. He was very hungry, having not eaten much breakfast, and missing luncheon. He was feeling a bit out of sorts, but after a cup of tea and the pie, he was in a better frame of mind, ready to go out.
She looked very fetching in a walking gown the color of peaches, with long sleeves and a trim of dark orange about the waist. Her bonnet was simple, but elegant, and she carried a matching reticule, into which she placed the cards he’d ordered for her before they left London. He’d had an odd, very sentimental moment when he went round to the print shop to collect the cards. Seeing her name there, coupled with his, made it all seem much more permanent, and it pleased him.