After a time, she whispered sleepily, “Good night, Michael.”
“Good night, Jane.” He held her more tightly, closed his eyes and decided he liked the sound of his name on her lips, in her low, sultry voice.
He was almost asleep when she murmured, “Thank you for marrying me. You really are a most remarkable man.”
He didn’t think he was remarkable, but then, much like her mare, she could have done a lot worse. He’d look after her, all the days of her life, and pray God she would weather childbirth without undue incident.
Sighing heavily, he tried to blank his mind and return to sleep, but his memories continued flashing mental pictures. There she was, stepping close to him while Miriam clung to his neck, sobbing about her child, and his ‘cruel’ marriage to another. No doubt most women would swoon in horror, or vent rage at his head. Not Jane. She calmly took Miriam in hand and solved the dilemma without theatrics of any kind, even going so far as to express sympathy for her husband’s previous mistress.
He recalled her halting, sad tale of her abuse at the hands of her cousin. It had pained her greatly to tell him, but she had, and later, she opened herself up to him with complete trust that he wouldn’t hurt her.
Perhaps most unsettling was her revelation at the window after he inquired the reason for her grin and deep blush. Never in his life would he expect a woman to say such a thing. In his experience, women considered the aftermath of lovemaking distasteful, always hurrying to clean away his seed, as if it were dirty. Not Jane. She told him she found it tantalizing.
In the dim light of the banked fire, he smiled while he listened to her deep, even breaths. What a curious woman he’d taken to wife. He’d not had such an enjoyable day as this one in years. Perhaps never. He found himself anticipating the next day, wondering what further surprises she might have in store for him.
Genuinely lovely surprises.
***
Until she had an opportunity to make calls and let it be known she was in town and staying at Blixford’s Cavendish Square house, Lucy was alone for the evening, with naught to occupy her. She’d sat with William during his supper, then read a bit to him before tucking him into bed. He liked the house, and the nursery, but he was understandably excited and a bit on edge, thanks to the different surroundings. He wanted to continue whittling a stick with his new pocketknife, as Sherbourne had demonstrated for him, but she told him there’d be time enough for that tomorrow. Just as Sherbourne had predicted, William cut his hand within minutes of receiving the knife. He’s tried not to cry and failed, and she bandaged it, kissed it, then scolded him, and he subsequently handled the instrument with newfound care and respect.
It appeared to bother him that Blix was not in residence. When Lucy told him his uncle had married and gone to Beckinsale House for a wedding trip, he’d asked if they could go as well. He remembered Blix taking him out in a boat, rowing him across the lake, and he thought it would be a capital notion to visit and go about in the boat again. When she told him they couldn’t, he wanted to know why. She finally said newly married people didn’t know one another very well, and their wedding trip was a chance to become friends, which was accomplished much better without the intrusion of others. Then she talked about all that they would do while in London and he promptly forgot about Beckinsale House and Blix’s jolly boat, eventually settling down to sleep.
Downstairs, she piddled about in the library a bit, until Peatrie announced dinner was served. At home, she typically took all of her meals in the morning room, and allowed William to breakfast with her, that she could teach him table manners. She hated eating by herself in the dining room, because it seemed to shout a reminder that she was very alone.
She wasn’t comfortable requesting dinner anywhere but the dining room at Blix’s house, so she went in and took a seat at the head of the long table. She almost forgot herself and asked after Peatrie’s wife, until she remembered herself and remained silent. One didn’t speak to servants while at table. Seemed utterly ridiculous, but there it was. She’d undoubtedly upset Peatrie if she broke stricture anyway, so it was just as well.
Eventually, she was done, and rose to retire to the drawing room for tea and a book she’d selected to peruse until she could retire for the evening. Peatrie had only just left after presenting the tea cart before he returned to the doorway and said stiffly, “A Mrs. Sherry here to call on you, Lady Bonderant. Shall I tell her you’re out?”
Lucy didn’t know a Mrs. Sherry, or, at least, she didn’t think so. Perhaps she had met her previously and forgotten? She was terribly bad about that, wasn’t she? Her mind was sometimes not on the matter at hand, especially when meeting new people. In any case, she had to wonder how the woman would know she was here. She peered at the butler, trying to discern his manner. He appeared to be cautious, but not offended. Mrs. Sherry must be only a small amount questionable. Ah, well, it wasn’t as though she had anything else to do. Who knew when Sherbourne would arrive? If, indeed, he would at all. “Yes, Peatrie, do ask her to join me.”