He frowned, deflating her.
“That puts me in a difficult position,” he growled. “If I disagree with what you just said, you’ll accuse me of talking you around. Let’s do this. Try me, Fern. I’ve seen you hold your ground. I’ll keep in mind that a little defiance is a lot for you and we’ll see how far we get.”
She snorted and said, “Okay,” then rolled her eyes at the irony of capitulating. Again.
He grinned, looking so handsome he made her catch her breath. When his gaze fixed on her mouth, her heart stopped.
A flicker behind him made her nod toward the house through the drizzle-coated window.
“Someone’s coming,” she told him, reaching for her handbag. Had he been thinking of kissing her? She really would be a puddle of spent willpower if he did.
“Stay there,” he commanded as she started to reach for her door latch.
He pushed out of his side and said something to the man who’d rushed out with an open umbrella.
Now would be the time to push back against one of his dictates, but it was no easy task to throw herself from a vehicle these days in a fit of independence. She sat there like a lump and waited for him.
A moment later, while the young man extended his arm to cover them both with the umbrella, Zafir helped her from the car, giving her an illusion of grace as he levered her bulk with a firm but gentle hand under her elbow.
With a murmur of thanks, Zafir exchanged keys for an umbrella and escorted her inside while the servant—was he called a footman?—collected her case from the boot.
Is this it? Zafir had asked when she had only that one case and an overnight bag after completing her packing.
She had a few boxes in Miss Ivy’s storage compartment in the basement. “But they’re just sentimental things I wasn’t ready to part with after my mother passed. Nothing I really need,” she’d explained. “I was starting fresh when I took the overseas contract.”
He hadn’t said much to that, had only carried her things to the car while she’d said her goodbyes to Miss Ivy. Fern had lingered to assure her friend that while she didn’t know if she was marrying Zafir, she had to admit that he was devoted to his baby and that meant more to her than only another child rebuffed by their father could understand. She couldn’t in good conscience keep him out of her baby’s life.
Somewhat reassured, Miss Ivy had repeated that she was always there for Fern and now, entering what looked more like a museum than a house, Fern wondered if it was too late to change her mind and go running back to the sofa bed with the iron bar that had dug into the middle of her back every night.
A butler greeted them. At least, that was Fern’s assumption of his title when introduced to Mr. Peabody, who bowed and took her coat. He glanced at the footman as the young man entered with her case. “I’ll ask Mrs. Reid to prepare a room in the guest wing—”
“Miss Davenport will stay in my suite,” Zafir interrupted. “I’ll take her there now. Please let my mother know we’re four for dinner.”
“Of course.” Another bow and Mr. Peabody disappeared.
Zafir guided Fern up the right wing of the curving dual staircase to the landing where they were level with the ornate chandelier over the entranceway. So much space! It was like visiting a posh opera theater, not a home.