Chapter Eleven

FOR THE FIRST time in a very long time, Grace woke up feeling refreshed and happy. She smiled as she stretched her arms high over her head, and then suddenly remembered why she felt so well—a shudder of pleasurable memory shot through her, fluttering in her chest, as she recalled Merryton’s mouth on her. Grace had felt almost delirious last night, having been fully initiated into her marriage—she’d never felt such pleasure, had never imagined the possibility of it.

She wanted more. She wanted to know all the things her husband could do to make her feel that way again

A noise in the dressing room brought her arms down. She paused, listening, then grinned with delight. “Come here, you wee beast,” she called, and the next moment, Dog came trotting out of her dressing room dragging her shoe with him.

“No, you mustn’t!” Hattie cried, running in behind him. But the dog thought Hattie intended to play and growled with delight as she tried to tug the shoe free. “Milady, he’ll ruin it!”

“I don’t care!” Grace said gaily, and leaned over the edge of the bed, whistling to him. Thankfully, the puppy was easily distracted and came running to Grace, attacking the hank of her hair that hung to the floor while Hattie swept up the shoe.

“He ought to be in his kennel, milady,” Hattie said. “Cook said he was making such a wretched racket that I was to bring him up.”

“I’m very glad she did,” Grace said. She picked up the dog and brought him up on the bed and pressed her cheek against his fur. “I’ll need my riding habit today, please,” she said cheerfully.

An hour later, Grace ran down the grand staircase, the braid of her hair swinging above her hip. Her hat dangled by its ribbons from her hand, and her very bad dog—according to Hattie, anyway, as Dog had managed to shred one of Grace’s chemisettes when Hattie had turned her back for a moment—trailed behind her on the lead Mr. Drake had sent up.

Grace expected to find Merryton waiting for her. She expected the barrier between them to have been breached, and that today would begin the true course of their marriage. But then again, Grace had always suffered from an overabundance of hope and lofty expectations.

She smiled at Cox, who tried to pretend as if he didn’t notice Dog was chewing at his shoe. “Where might I find my husband?”

“He is presently in his private study and asks that he not be disturbed.”

“Oh,” Grace said, slightly taken aback. Perhaps he meant disturbed by others. Yes, surely, that was it—after last night, he would not mind if she were to poke her head into his study, would he?

She turned about and walked into the corridor. “Madam?” she heard Cox say, but she kept walking, pretending she hadn’t heard him, pausing briefly to chide Dog for digging at the carpet.

At Jeffrey’s closed study door, she stood debating a moment. But Dog was eager to begin his day and yapped.

“Well, thank you for that,” she muttered and knocked on the door.

“Come,” was his muffled reply.

Grace opened the door and peeked around it, forgetting that Dog was with her. The pup dashed in and ran straight for Jeffrey, who was standing at the window with his back to the door.

“Dog! Come here!” Grace cried, but the puppy had a mind of his own and darted off to have a smell about the hearth. Grace looked sheepishly at her husband. His dark curling hair was brushed over his collar. He was wearing buckskins and a black superfine coat worn taut across his broad shoulders. He held one hand at the small of his back, and the other at his side. He was tapping his forefinger to his thumb, always in a pattern of eight.

“Good morning!” she said.

For a sliver of a moment, Grace thought she saw something spark in those hard green eyes, but they quickly shuttered into inscrutability. “Good morning.”

“We are ready,” she announced.

His gaze flicked over her. “I see. The wind is a bit high,” he said.

“Perhaps you should not expose yourself to the elements.”

“Oh, that’s quite all right. My mother always said I had an indefatigable constitution.” She laughed.

His jaw bulged slightly with his clench. “Then I’ll have the carriage brought around—”

“Carriage! I thought we were to ride.”

“It is several miles across terrain that is not suited to gentle riding.”

She didn’t understand his demeanor at all, but she instinctively understood that backing down was quite the wrong thing to do. She glanced at Dog, who was gnawing on the corner of the rug. “As luck would have it, neither am I suited to gentle riding.”

His gaze flicked over her again. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll have the mounts brought around.”

She tilted her head to one side, trying to find any crack in his expression.

Impossible. He was as practiced as she was in maintaining a serene countenance. “I’ll be waiting,” she said cheerily. She bent down to scoop up her dog and noticed a small puddle. “Oh, dear,” she said, wincing a little.

“He’s not yet learned that he shouldn’t do so.”

Merryton looked down. His expression turned dark.

“I’ll tell Cox,” she said, and quickly went out with the naughty dog, who was trying to apologize for his blunder by licking her face. “That won’t do, Dog,” she whispered to him. “I can’t seem to make you understand that you are a guest here, and not a welcome one.”

As she walked along, some of Grace’s confidence began to flag. She tried to understand Merryton as she walked outside and headed for Molly’s cottage. Did Merryton not feel the same sense of euphoria as she? Or the intimate attachment that could only come in a marital bed? Why was he so distant to her now?

It was not to be borne. After last night, she’d truly believed that they would find happy ground on which they could endure their forced marriage, and she was not giving up.

Molly was more than happy to keep an eye on Dog, but her cat was not excited by the prospect. He swiped the puppy’s nose and sent the poor thing dashing around the corner of the cottage, yelping.

“Oh, dear,” Molly said.

“I’ll be back soon!” Grace said, making a hasty departure, fully prepared to offer up a cornucopia of apologies later. At present, she had a husband to tame. The dog would have to come later.

Merryton was on the drive, his weight on one hip, his crop in hand when she returned. Beside him, a boy held two saddled stallions. Grace recognized the black horse with white socks as the mount Merryton had ridden from Bath. The taller horse had been outfitted with a sidesaddle.

Merryton looked at her, then at the boy. “Certainly you have a more suitable mount for the lady?”

“That one will do,” Grace said before he could find another excuse for her not to accompany him.

“Seems rather a big mount for a woman.”

“For most women. But I am not like most women. I happen to be an excellent rider.”

Merryton almost smiled at that. “I’ve heard many women say they are and find it is rarely true.”

“Then you might be rarely surprised,” she said pertly, grateful for the riding lessons her stepfather had insisted she and her sisters take when they were young. “You’ll earn a man’s respect by sitting a saddle well and keeping it beneath you,” he’d said.

Merryton looked dubious, but he gave the boy a curt nod. The boy handed him the reins of the black, and then led the white horse to Grace. A groom appeared with a mounting block.

The horse was still too tall, even with the mounting block. Grace had to put both hands on the saddle and hop into it while the boy steadied the horse. When she had situated herself as best she could on the sidesaddle, the groom handed her the reins and a crop. “He’s got a bit of a temper, mu’um.

He won’t like to be held back.”

“Is that so?” Grace said pleasantly. The stallion flexed his shoulders and shimmied his torso, testing her.

Grace leaned over, caressed the horse’s neck and murmured, “Don’t misjudge me—I’ve as firm a hand as he.”

The horse bucked his head in response.

“Shall we?” Merryton asked, looking almost amused. As if he’d wagered on this ride and was already counting his winnings. Bloody rooster.

Grace adjusted her riding hat. “Please,” she said, and gave her horse a tap of the crop, sending him into a trot without waiting for Merryton.

Merryton was quick to catch up, however, and took the lead, slowing down the pace considerably. Grace’s horse followed behind, but the groom

was right—she had to keep a firm hold of him. He was chafing, wanting to run. Of course he did—it was a brisk spring day, perfect for people and horses alike. Grace was chafing, wanting to run, too.

When the road widened, Grace moved in beside Merryton. “The park is lovely,” she said, looking around them. “The estate must be very large.”

“Yes,” he said, his eyes on the road ahead of them.

So taciturn! “I suppose you have quite a lot of sheep and cows that wander about.”

“Quite a lot,” he agreed.

He could be as taciturn as he liked, but Grace would not be put off. She was clearly new to the intimate secrets between a husband and wife, but she was not new to gentlemen. He had just made himself a puzzle she intended to solve.

He continued at a slow pace, his gaze straight ahead, one hand on the reins, the other one on his thigh. Grace’s horse grew increasingly restless.

“Perhaps we might improve the pace?”

“In what way?”

She smiled. “I mean faster,” she said. “My mount and I are restless.”

When Merryton made no move to quicken the pace, Grace nudged her horse to a canter. Her mount eagerly complied, lurching forward ahead of the other horse, proudly snorting and tossing his head about. Grace led him to lope around Merryton in big, wide circles while her husband watched her impassively.

“Has this horse a name?” she called out to him.

“Snow,” he said.

“Snow! How very original!”

“I should think a woman who has named a canine Dog might be more appreciative.”

She giggled. “Touché! The right name hasn’t come to me, but it will.”

She reined the horse into a trot alongside him once more. “You are no doubt wondering after my skill in riding.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I have been taught to ride by the finest instructors in London,” she said.

“My sisters and I are often seen racing on Rotten Row in Hyde Park.

Racing! Isn’t it scandalous? Lady Chatham—do you know Lady Chatham?

For she knows everyone in England, I think. She says it will not do to have

young ladies racing like thugs through Rotten Row. I will confess, that is precisely why we do it.” She laughed again.

Merryton looked at her with slight astonishment.

Grace spurred her horse to trot another circle around him. “I only mention it so that you are aware I am from London. I thought that might interest you...where I have lived.”

“I know from where you hail,” he said, his gaze on the road again.

“But do you know that I also spent quite a lot of my youth at Longmeadow? That is the Earl of Beckington’s seat. Rather far from here, I think, perhaps as much as two days’ ride.”

He said nothing.

“My father was a bishop. He died when I was eight years old. My mother married the earl, and he very kindly took in four daughters and treated them as his own. His son, the new Earl of Beckington—well, he’s Augustine to us—he’ll marry as soon as he has completed his mourning. He is affianced to Miss Monica Hargrove. I would think you’ve not met her.” Grace did not say aloud that, until recently, Monica did not travel in such august circles as Merryton.

He looked away, out over the fields they were passing.

Bloody recalcitrant man, Grace thought. “Oh, but I miss my family terribly. Do you miss yours? I’ve never been away from home for as long as this. It’s a terrible thing to be without one’s siblings, isn’t it? You must know very well what I mean, as your siblings are not here, either.”

She glanced at Merryton and was surprised to see him looking at her. She made a sound of exasperation. “For heaven’s sake, why will you not speak? ”

A slow, half smile appeared on his face. “I was not aware there had been an opportunity.”

Grace was so shocked by that smile—only half of one at that—that it was a wonder she didn’t topple right off her horse. “I don’t see the need for us both to be so tight-lipped.”

“Apparently not,” he agreed, his smile widening slightly.

“If you prefer, I will cease to speak. Shall we ride, then? Are you holding your horse under such close rein because you fear I will not keep up? If so, you needn’t fret—I should very much like to run.”

“Then by all means,” he said. “Run.”

Grace frowned at him. The many gentlemen in London who had sought her company were eager to please her in any way they could. This one seemed determined to do anything but please her, and damn his eyes if he wasn’t succeeding brilliantly. “Do you know what I think? I think Snow is a ridiculous name for such fine horseflesh.” And with that, she slapped the crop against Snow’s flank.

Snow responded instantly and began to run, his stride lengthening as she nudged him into the center of the road. Grace bent over his neck. She could feel her braid of hair bouncing against her back, the hem of her riding habit flapping about her ankles. She didn’t even particularly care where the horse ran—at present, she was content with the knowledge that Merryton and Blackwood Hall were fading far behind her. She wondered briefly how long it would take her to ride all the way to London. Had she known the direction, she may very well have tried.

But at the next turn in the road, she encountered a crofter cottage. There were three people in the field beside it, two men with hoes and a woman with a basket. Thank God! Civilization!

All three of them stopped their work when Grace pulled up on the reins of her horse, bringing him to an abrupt halt. She hopped too eagerly off her saddle and landed on all fours. One of the gentlemen lurched forward as if he meant to catch her, but Grace bounced up and smiled, waving her hand in greeting. “Good morning!”

The other man doffed his cap and took a cautious step forward.

“Milady?” he said. “Are you lost, then?”

“Lost?” She glanced around them. It looked like the rest of the estate—

dark and uninhabited. “No, I don’t think so. You’re tenants of Blackwood Hall, are you?”

“Aye,” the older gentleman said. “And you are...?”

“Oh! Me, yes...I am Lady Merryton.”

Not one of the tenants moved. Not one of them spoke. They all stared at her as if they didn’t speak the king’s English. Before any of them could even peep, the sound of an approaching rider caused them all to turn and look up the road.

Merryton trotted casually into their midst. He looked at Grace standing there, then dismounted fluidly from his horse and walked to where they all stood. “Good morning, Mr. Murphy.” He nodded to the other two.

The woman was quick to dip a curtsy. “Milord,” she said.

Merryton smiled thinly and nodded as he tapped his crop against his leg.

Grace wondered if the habit was so ingrained that it was always eight times without a thought.

“Good, you are preparing to sow,” he remarked.

“Aye, milord. Should have it all planted by week’s end,” Mr. Murphy said.

The younger man and woman were still staring at Grace. What must they think? As Merryton made no move to introduce her, she touched his hand in an attempt to remind him. He flinched slightly and looked at her. “Forgive me,” he said at once. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Murphy, and his son and daughter-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Murphy.” To his tenants he said, “My wife, Lady Merryton.”

Grace beamed at them. “A pleasure. I hope to see you about Blackwood Hall. You do come to the hall on occasion, don’t you?”

The three Murphys all exchanged a look. “Yes,” Mr. Murphy said.

“Forgive us—our felicitations.”

“With many happy returns,” the woman said, recovering. “We...” She glanced at the two men. “We weren’t aware you’d taken a wife, my lord.”

“Yes.” Merryton said no more than that, and clasped his hands tightly at his back. Very tightly.

“Only recently,” Grace added, and reached for his hand. He resisted her, but she dug her fingernails into the bit of exposed wrist she could feel and tugged it free. She held his hand tightly in her own. “In Bath,” she added.

“We intended to have a grand wedding, but we were so in love we married straightaway.”

That earned her a sharp squeeze of her hand, but Grace squeezed right back. “We’ll host a gathering to celebrate properly, very soon. You’ll all be invited.”

Now Merryton squeezed her hand hard enough to make her wince slightly.

“Oh!” Mrs. Murphy said, smiling now. “That would be lovely!”

“We will leave you now to carry on,” Merryton said, and looked down at Grace. “Must get my bride home.”

Grace smiled up at him. She could see the warning in his green eyes and flatly ignored it. “What a pleasure it has been to make your acquaintance,”

she said to the Murphys again.

“Good day,” Merryton said, and with his hand now firmly in the small of her back, he ushered her to her horse. When he cupped his hands to help her up, Grace offered her foot with a bit of a kick. He vaulted her up with a bit more enthusiasm than was necessary.

As they rode away, Grace waved at the Murphys. The three of them had moved to the middle of the road, watching them curiously. When they had ridden a distance, Grace said, “Could you not say a bit more to them? They were so clearly curious of your sudden marriage!”

“So much in love?” he repeated with incredulity to the sky.

“Would you rather I have told them the truth?”

“Of course not! Has it ever occurred to you that there is some virtue in prudence? It is none of their concern.”

“Prudence! What do you know of prudence? You scarcely even spoke to them! Those are the people who till your land—you might at least show them the courtesy of introducing your unexpected wife!”

“When exactly would I have gathered around my tenants and shared the happy news?” he shot back, and gripped his reins tightly, shifting in his saddle. “Do not think to instruct me on etiquette.”

“I happen to be an expert on manners and etiquette, particularly in difficult situations,” she said. “I will have you know that I am a frequent visitor to the grandest salons in London. I am never without invitation, because I understand the social graces and how these things are done.”

“How grand for you. But this, as you may have noticed, is not London.”

“It hardly matters!”

“Of course it does,” he said curtly, looking away from her.

“Of course it does not. People are people, Merryton! It hardly matters if they are standing in a ballroom or in a field—we all like to think that the person addressing us respects us enough to tell us that they have married!”

As usual, he said nothing, but she could see the way his fist curled on his thigh.

She suddenly remembered what Molly Madigan had told her about him and drew a breath to calm herself. “I realize your bashfulness makes it difficult—”

“My what? ” he roared, jerking his gaze to her.

“Your bashfulness!”

“You think bashfulness plagues me?” He gave a bark of astonished laughter and shook his head.

“If you are not bashful, then there is another name for what you are, my lord, but I am too much of a lady to say it,” she said pertly.

“You mistake bashfulness for impatient tolerance,” he said gruffly.

Grace was not a violent person, but if she could have managed launching herself at his neck, she would have done so. Instead, she spurred her horse forward, galloping away from him once more.

This time, however, Merryton allowed his horse to join in the running.

She could hear him gaining on her, and it angered her. She spurred Snow on. But Merryton’s horse matched Snow, and they rounded the corner galloping at a breakneck speed—so fast, in fact, that Grace had trouble keeping her seat. She tried to slow Snow, but the horse was racing Merryton’s and was not inclined to pull up. It wasn’t until Merryton raced alongside and caught Snow’s bridle, giving it a hard yank, that Snow slowed.

They were in the middle of nowhere, but Grace was seething. She slid off the horse—landing on two feet this time—and marched forward into an untended field.

“Where are you going?” Merryton called after her.

“Home!”

“You forgot your bloody dog!”

She gasped and whirled around. Merryton had come off his horse and had settled his weight onto one hip. He was holding his crop at his side. “You are so heartless!” she shouted at him.

He scoffed. “Not heartless. Practical.”

“You are! You are heartless to me, you are heartless to them,” she said, gesturing in the direction of the Murphys. “What is the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” he said. But he tapped his crop against his leg in his customary pattern. He glanced uneasily around them, at the towering trees, the open field. And then he sighed. He took off his hat and shoved his fingers through his hair. “I am not heartless,” he said, speaking as if he was carefully considering each word. “But I find it exceedingly difficult to converse without a distinct purpose. It causes me to become impatient.”

He needed a purpose to converse with someone? “So you are bashful.”

“No, it’s...it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“How so?” she asked curiously.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, and fit his hat back on his head. “I don’t mean to be cruel. Or cross. But perhaps you should understand that I cannot indulge in a lot of nattering.”

“Nattering!” Grace protested. “I’m not an old woman in my dotage. I am trying to understand—”

“There is nothing more for you to understand,” he said crisply, effectively cutting off any prolonged discussion of it.

“Well. You clearly would like me to believe that. But I don’t,” she said, and started the march back to her horse, weary of him. But as she moved to pass him, he caught her arm.

“I know you are trying,” he said hesitantly. “But I don’t...I’m not like the gentlemen you have known, Grace. And I would therefore advise you not to tell the tenants ours is a love match because I can’t add to that fantasy. Or to bring in untrained dogs—”

“Or what?” she challenged him, jerking her arm free of his grip at the mention of Dog. “You will be unkind? You will refuse to accept this marriage? At least Dog shows me some affection.” She snorted disdainfully and started to move past him again. Jeffrey reached for her arm a bit more firmly this time, and when he did, Grace tried to swerve out of his reach. He caught her all the same, and her feet were tangled with his, and she swayed off balance, tumbling to the ground.

Jeffrey tumbled with her.

She pushed him away and rolled onto her back and splayed her arms wide. “Go on, then. Strike me, beat me, whatever it is you want to do to me for having put you in this situation. For heaven’s sake, do what you must!”

Merryton groaned. “For God’s sake, why do you think I want to beat you?” He stood up, then leaned over and picked Grace up and set her on her feet.

“You obviously want to do something to me,” she muttered as she shook out her skirts and tried to pick the grass from her braid. “I can see it simmering in you like an overcooked stew.”

“For the love of heaven,” he muttered.

“Will you deny it?” she asked, unthinkingly pushing him away from her.

Jeffrey pressed his lips together, then slowly lifted his crop and touched it to her chin.

Grace swayed backward. “Is that it? You want to beat me with your crop?”

He moved the tip of the crop from her chin, sliding it down her throat, to her chest, then lightly flicking the end of it against her nipple. “Beating you is the last thing I want to do.” He slid the crop down farther, tracing a line down her abdomen and stopping at the apex of her legs.

His behavior confused her. Grace could feel the wave of desire coming from him, could see the heated look in his eye, and found it strangely titillating. “If it is the last thing you want to do to me...then what is the first?”

His jaw clenched, but there was a flash, a glimmer of raw emotion in his eyes. A surprising flash of bold desire mixed with a bit of vulnerability.

She suddenly grabbed the crop and yanked it away from him. She touched him with the tip as he had done her, sliding it down his chest, to the top of his trousers. “What do you want, Jeffrey Donovan?” she demanded.

Grace didn’t mean in that moment, precisely, although she would like to know what he meant to do with the crop. Hers was a bigger question, and her husband seemed to understand that as she slid the crop down, to the bulge in his trousers. He didn’t move, but kept his gaze locked on her, his expression raging with desire and anger and something else that Grace didn’t understand. “What I want is to return you to Blackwood Hall, straightaway,” he said. He grabbed the crop and took it from her. His expression had changed; it had shuttered again and he had hidden away that glimpse of raw emotion. He turned and began to walk back to the horses.

Grace slowly followed, considering him and these last strange moments.

She had noticed it before, she realized, that hint of vulnerability in an otherwise iron-clad facade of utter detachment.

She was still studying him when she reached the horses. He was standing next to hers, ready to help her up. She looked up at him, trying to find that moment in his eyes again. But he was, she was learning, a careful man, closely guarded and a master at protecting the gates. For some reason that made her feel sorrow for him. What must have happened to him to be so guarded? To refuse to let even the slightest ray of affection inside? How lonely that must be, she thought, and couldn’t help herself—she touched his face.

Merryton flinched and turned his head slightly, but Grace was not deterred. If anything, that flinch emboldened her. She rose up on her toes and kissed him lightly on the lips. She expected him to recoil, but he didn’t.

She lingered there, her lips lightly touching his, a chaste and simple kiss.

And then she melted back to her feet.

His gaze poured into hers, reaching down, filling her up for one long moment, and Grace had the sense that he was trying to understand her for a change. He wordlessly put his hands on her waist and lifted her up. His hand grazed her thigh when she was seated. He stepped back, his gaze fixed on her, quietly assessing.

Then he turned and walked back to his horse.

They rode in silence back to Blackwood Hall, Merryton slightly ahead, which Grace believed was his way of avoiding any “nattering.” At the gates of the hall, he slowed so that she might catch up. “I have business in the village. I trust you will see yourself safely to the house.”

“I thought perhaps—”

He had already spurred his horse.

“I thought we might take luncheon together, you impossibly ill-mannered husband,” she said to herself.

She rode down to the house, handed her reins to the young man who hurried out to greet her and hopped down. She strode away, her crop in hand, and walked through the immaculate garden, through the iron gates at the end of the garden into the park, bound for Molly Madigan’s cottage.

As she walked in through the wooden gate, the cat jumped onto the windowsill, and swished its tail several times as it fixed its eyes on Grace.

The cat almost appeared to be scowling.

She rapped on the door. A few moments later, the door opened and Dog came bounding out with what looked like the tongue from a leather boot.

“Oh, no,” Grace said, and squatted down to receive his exuberant greeting and wrench the leather free.

“Lady Merryton!” Molly said with delight, appearing behind the dog.

“Come in, come in!”

“Please, you must call me Grace,” she said as she stepped across the threshold. “I hope Dog hasn’t been too much of a bother?” she asked, and handed the chewed leather to Molly.

Molly looked at it and winced. “Um... well, ” she said, and gamely tried to smile. Grace could see why—the rest of the boot was lying in various spots around her parlor.

“Oh, dear,” Grace said, and sighed with frustration. She needed something to be right today.

“Is everything all right?” Molly asked as she shut the door and shooed the puppy away from her foot. He growled at it and pounced on her toe.

“What a little bother you are!” Grace said, and scooped him up. “Yes, everything is fine. I’ll just take this bit of bother away.” She turned to the door. And then she abruptly turned back to Molly. “No, everything is not fine.”

“Oh, dear. Come now, and sit. I shall give you some tea.”

“What of my bother?” she asked, gesturing to the dog.

“Put him down, please. He can’t destroy much else, can he?”

Grace winced and allowed Molly to usher her into one of the chairs before the hearth. The dog trotted to the hearth and lay down, too, sighing long and loud, as if he’d had a hard day chewing boots.

“He’s not what you say, Molly,” Grace said abruptly.

“Oh, no. He’s really a good dog—”

“No, I mean Merryton. I can’t seem to make any gains with him. I think he must truly despise me.”

“Oh, that can’t be true,” Molly said soothingly, and hurried into the adjoining room to fetch the tea service.

“But it is. He’s ashamed of me. He could scarcely bring himself to introduce me to his tenants. I had to do it.”

“Oh, my,” Molly said, and put the tea service on the table between them and began to pour.

Grace told Molly about the Murphys, and how he had neglected to even acknowledge her. “He resents me terribly,” she said with a groan.

“I don’t believe it!” Molly insisted. “He was all set to marry Mary Gastineau, but he married you, my dear. How could he be ashamed of you?”

“Pardon?” Grace had not considered that he’d held esteem for someone else. That he’d been set to marry someone else. She’d just assumed— Good God, she’d done a lot of assuming, hadn’t she? “Mary Gastineau?” she repeated distantly.

“I thought you knew.”

“No,” Grace said, shaking her head, and gave Molly a sheepish look. “I don’t know if you are aware, but our union came about after an...indiscretion. There was not time for familiarity.”

“Ah.” Molly did not seem surprised or scandalized, which left Grace to assume that word of the scandal had already traveled. That did not help her mood in the slightest—if anything, it made her feel worse. How long before word reached the nice people she’d met today?

“Well, no matter. I am certain he will grow to love you.”

Grace snorted. “I can’t imagine it. He barely even speaks to me.”

“Perhaps you might show him a kindness,” Molly suggested, and lifted her gaze to meet Grace’s. “He must be trying very hard to accept the marriage and to be the husband you deserve. But perhaps it is not as easy for him as it is for you.”

“Why must it be so difficult?” Grace asked. “It’s not a new and baffling thing, marriage. Men and women have been joined in matrimony since the dawn of time.”

“Well, yes, but some marriages are not always pleasant, are they? His lordship’s upbringing was difficult,” Molly said, her pleasant smile contradicting those words. “His parents were unhappy with each other. He’s not had the privilege of witnessing a happy marriage.”

“I had no idea,” Grace said.

“I don’t suppose that is something he should like to be known.”

No, she supposed not. Grace had heard talk of unpleasant marriages.

Rumor had it that Sir Brendon treated his meek wife to regular beatings, but even that was gossip—Grace had never seen any evidence of it. She wondered what it was Merryton had tried to convey when he’d touched her with his riding crop.

“But I am fully confident that you’ll discover how to improve things with his lordship,” Molly said cheerfully. “Now then, I’ve made some fresh scones and clotted cream. I should be honored to serve you.” She stood up, and when she did, the dog bounded to his feet. As Molly started for the other room, the dog bounded ahead of her, almost tripping her.

Grace sighed and wearily propped her chin on her fist. Perhaps a scone would help her think. “I am a bit hungry,” she muttered to no one in particular. But not for food, exactly. She was hungry to understand, to open the locked door to her husband’s heart. To discover what it was that kept

him at such a great distance not only from her, but what seemed like the world.

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