Chapter 8
It took a moment for the dazed fog to clear from Verity”s overheated mind and body and for her to register Sinclair was standing there like a puffed up lump of satisfaction and with a salacious gleam in eyes trained on her naked breasts propped cheekily on the edge of her bodice.
‘Oh,’ she gasped, hunching forward in the chair to hurriedly stuff her wicked, wanting flesh back down into her stays. This man was far too dangerous for her well-being.
Sitting primly upright again, ankles crossed and hands clasped in her lap, she allowed herself a few calming breaths before speaking.
‘I will not marry you, Sinclair Wolfenden. You are too old.’
The salacious gleam darkened, intensified. With the focus of a large cat stalking its prey, he bent closer, placing his hands on the arms of the chair, caging her in, and bringing his face to within inches of hers.
‘We have passed that stage of the negotiation, my faerie witch. Or do I need to do a little more convincing? Time to act the adult you are supposed to be and accept that, instead of kicking against the inevitable like a recalcitrant, spoiled child.’
That stung, but before Verity could gather herself to respond in kind, or in any way at all, he continued.
‘And yes, I am fifteen years older than you, but a mature, strong, controlling hand is what every spoiled childish brat needs. I”m happy to provide that. I”m not averse to introducing my hand to your naked backside.’
Mesmerized, Verity stared up into eyes all glittering with promise and challenge and a mouth that—
All she knew was she wanted that sensuous masculine mouth on her, anywhere.
Wanted, more desperately than she’d ever wanted anything in her life, to know everything, experience every wicked sensation his hands could deliver.
Wanted to know every sensual delight those thunder-smoke eyes hinted at.
Dragging in a shuddering breath of surrender, she leaned back in the chair and dropped her eyes to the hands clenched in her lap.
She just had to accept, agree, acquiesce.
Sinclair Wolfenden had that dangerous, knowing aura about him the Comtesse talked about when she described the type of man who understood how to pleasure a woman.
La Comtesse, Sinclair’s grandmother and Lucy and Victoria”s great grandmother, had embraced the scandalous life of a courtesan in Paris when there was no other option for survival open to her. Lucy had found her diaries in a trunk up in the attic and all of them at some point had read and devoured the elegant woman”s informative descriptions and observations. It seemed no salacious detail had escaped her busy pen.
Rescued from her shameful trade by the 7th Earl of Pennington and brought to Pennington Towers as his bride, her portrait still hung over the mantel in the formal dining room.
Verity had often studied it, gazed at the woman with the golden-green eyes and hair as fierily vibrant as Lucy”s.
To read the Comtesse’s diaries was to know the strong, passionate woman she had obviously been.
Verity wanted to experience everything that woman spoke of. The passion and unutterable pleasure the right man could bring her. But most of all, she craved the kind of love that drove a British Earl to defy society and all its expectations and take a French courtesan as his Countess.
La Comtesse she may have been, but she was a courtesan first.
Was Sinner Wolfenden that man for her?
One thing she”d never doubted was what she knew, and she knew she and Sinner were to be husband and wife, but she couldn”t help questioning why she hesitated. Was it simply that he made her feel innocent, naive, childish?
Right when she’d decided it was time she was seen as mature, sophisticated. Adult.
But she had to admit the little girl who probably always would lurk within her was spellbound by the older, experienced, commanding Sinner.
It was as if she’d been waiting for him to appear so she knew it was time to reveal she was the mate he”d been adamant he wasn”t looking for.
‘Come, Very,’ he said gently, holding his hand down to her. ‘Let us seal our betrothal with a kiss and go share our news.’
Putting her hand in his, Verity allowed him to pull her up out of the chair and into his arms. Those few words had revealed a softer side of the man, tempting her to sink into his embrace, savor the strength and haven of his arms enclosing her, holding her safe.
Bury her face into the soft white linen of his shirt, smell the essence of exotic spices and ocean emanating from his skin.
Just as she settled with a sigh of what felt strongly like contentment his hands cupped and lifted her face to meet his mouth. Any hint of gentleness faded, like smoke on an ocean breeze.
Heated, passionate Sinner was back.
Mouth possessing, tongue delving, hands confining her, he took her straight back into the maelstrom when he’d wrenched agreement from her.
What was more galling however, was that he then pulled back, looking as calm and unruffled as if he”d merely pecked her cheek.
Before she’d truly recovered her senses, he slipped the signet ring from his little finger, took her left hand and slid it onto her ring finger.
‘Wear this for me until I can get to London and get you something more fitting.’
Verity stared down at the masculine ring on her dainty finger. It fit well enough. She”d not be in danger of losing it, but the shield with a dark sapphire in one corner and his initials S.A.W. seemed to swamp her hand.
Much like the man swamped her senses.
She ran her finger over the engraved letters.
‘What does the ‘A’ stand for?’
‘Alexander. No more stalling now. We have to face them sometime.’
In truth, she”d forgotten about the house party and the family and friends who were no doubt waiting for them to appear and make their announcement.
And now that she remembered them, the only one who truly concerned her was Charity, her only family member still in attendance. It was so hard to gauge how Char would react to being left home alone with their parents, well on the way to being trapped into spinsterhood.
Verity imagined her sister would be hard-pressed to contain her resentment. At least Lucy had offered to talk to her so she was not taken unawares. She and Char might not be as close as Very had been with Libby, but they were sisters and cared about one another.
Sinclair crooked his arm for her and with no more to say, Verity linked hers through it and allowed him to escort her out of the library and back through the Long Gallery to the drawing room.
All heads turned as they entered, conversations suspended mid-word and, it seemed to Verity, no-one breathed.
Lucy and Gabe had been chatting with Charity and Lady Suzanna and as all four faces turned, she saw worry fade to relief on three of those faces. Patently, they were relieved to see her and Sinclair in apparent accord.
Char was harder to read but Verity decided she’d take the barely perceptible relaxing of Charity”s shoulders to mean she also was relieved.
‘Well everyone,’ Sinclair spoke into the silence, ‘while we have your attention, I’d like to share with you that Lady Verity has done me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage.’
Immediately, everyone started to breathe and talk again.
Charity was the first to reach her, gripping Verity’s upper arms and pulling her close for a hug.
‘I should shake you senseless for this, you little brat,’ Char hissed in her ear. ‘Papa and Mama are going to have a conniption. But I guess your big, bad Sinner will be up to dealing with that.’
Then she leaned back and shared a sudden smile with her sister. ‘I hope you will both be very happy, Very. I know I won”t miss Mama always wondering where you’ve wandered off to and sending me to find out.’
‘You don”t mind, Char?’
A shadow swept across Charity’s brow, gone as soon as it manifested, but Verity knew she”d seen it.
Then her sister shrugged her shoulders and smiled again.
‘What’s to mind?’ she asked airily. Then she turned to Sinclair. ‘Thanks for taking the brat off my hands. Good luck with keeping track of her.’
Sin’s brows rose briefly, then his expression settled into one of—nothingness.
Goodness, he was good at that.
No reaction. No emotion. Showing people only what he wanted them to see.
It was a talent she needed to cultivate.
Right now.
Those around them should only see a couple happy in the troth they”d plighted to one another.
It was a grueling couple of hours until dinner and Sin was fairly certain he”d given a convincing performance as the doting fiancé well pleased with his promised wife.
In truth, he thought, as he seated Verity to his left and his mother to his right, he found himself not unhappy.
He had not wanted a wife, but he definitely wanted Verity Davencourt, and marriage was the only way he could have her. Whatever his doubts and reservations, he was satisfied he had a plan.
Bedding her would have to wait, but marriage wouldn”t, under the circumstances. His imminent departure on the Princess Eloise for a couple of months—or possibly longer—was an admirable excuse to marry by special license as soon as the snow thawed enough he could ride out to procure one.
Then he would deposit his new wife with his mother at Haddon Hall—or he’d give her the choice to stay in the townhouse in London—and make good his escape.
Had he really thought it would be that easy?
Some of it had. He’d ridden out the next day, Samson maneuvering through the slush and mud of the thaw as carriages could not.
He”d ridden first to Stannesford Hall to make his formal request for Verity’s hand. To say the Earl and Countess of Stannesford were startled was a definite understatement. The Countess even went so far as to ask if he hadn”t confused their daughters.
After reassuring them on that point and having gained the Earl’s somewhat reluctant consent, he explained his desire for a quick wedding due to his shipping schedule and Lucy”s offer to host the ceremony at Pennington since many of the guests would stay on to celebrate with them.
He wouldn”t say it all came together with ease, exactly, but in comparison with dealing with his bride once they reached the light carriage and team they’d borrowed from the Earl of Stannesford, it had been like sailing on a balmy ocean with a light tailwind whipping them forward.
Lady Verity was apparently not happy with the man she”d married.
Which was entirely his fault, so he had to handle it.
She’d appeared happy all through the brief but poignant ceremony officiated by Vicar Coutts, and chatted animatedly throughout the elaborate luncheon Lucy had provided. Although she’d pouted a little when he’d told her he would be sailing on the Princess Eloise within the week, she”d seemed happy for the chance to travel to London rather than stay in the seclusion of Haddon Hall with his mother.
But she was not happy he’d settled himself as far as he could possibly get from her—on the opposite side of the carriage on the opposite seat.
He knew he couldn”t blame her, and yet he did. It was all her fault for making him doubt her, wonder whether he’d been cleverly duped by a young woman in desperate circumstances.
If he didn”t keep her at arm”s length until he could safely escape to the Princess Eloise, he’d likely sabotage his grand scheme to stay out of her bed. Fortunately, he’d never considered sex in a carriage the least comfortable. Nor did he intend the first time he bedded his delectable wife to be in a situation where he could not do full justice to the occasion.
Which was probably all that would prevent him from consummating the marriage right here in his father-in-law”s carriage as they travelled towards London, notwithstanding his aforesaid reservations about the venue.
Not. Going. To. Happen. Wolfenden.
Placing his hat on his lap to conceal the evidence of his stupid, salacious thoughts, he tipped his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. Sleep would help pass the time.
‘Where is your house in London?’
‘St. James’s Square,’ he answered without opening his eyes.
‘Will we reach London tonight?’
He cracked one eye open with a sigh. Was his wife going to be a chatterer?
‘We will have to stop at an inn. I”m hoping we’ll make The George at Wallingford tonight, and we should reach St. James’s Square before dark tomorrow. Try and sleep. It”s the only way to make a tedious journey pass,’
He’d finally opened both eyes with the intent of looking stern and discouraging.
She glared at him and he almost floundered in the sea green depths of her eyes like a man lost overboard. Pulling his gaze away from the tempest broiling in her gaze, he closed his eyes again, hoping he was giving a good impression of a man weary beyond politeness.
This was only the beginning.
Thirty-six hours of this torture stretched before him.
Thirty-six hours of his head fighting his body, and his body demanding the fulfilment it so hungrily sought now she was legally his wife.
Thirty-six hours of his head telling him why that was a very bad idea.
Verity was beyond exhausted when they finally arrived in St James”s Square nigh on dusk. She’d fallen asleep between one picturesque village and the next and completely missed their entry into London.
She was also beyond caring. Her husband”s continued taciturn silence had left her with her thoughts for company. Considering the black and thunderous storm waging within her throughout the entire journey it was a wonder she hadn’t arrived at St James”s Square in a state of screaming hysteria.
The man who’d pursued her for the almost two weeks of the house party and who’d all but deflowered her up against the wall in the minstrels’ gallery, had vanished.
In his place sat a stern-faced, silent—monolith, who either slept or gazed steadfastly out the window on his side of the carriage.
The opposite side to hers, as well as the opposite seat.
Even last night at The George at Wallingford, he’d done no more than bid her a distant ‘good night’ before leaving her at the door of the separate room he’d secured for her.
Too consumed with anger, she had not even considered asking for his help to disrobe. She’d decided she couldn’t deprive Charity of the assistance and support of their shared maid, Linnie. Char’s life was hard enough. Besides, Linnie’s cousin Clara, worked as a housemaid in Sinclair’s house in London and Linnie had assured Verity she’d always aspired to be a lady’s maid. Verity had been entrusted with a bulky letter from Linnie to her cousin.
So for one night she’d put aside her pride and she’d rung and asked for the assistance of one of the inn’s housemaids.
And tonight? She scarcely cared beyond finding a bed and falling into it.
Of course, it was not that simple.
First there were introductions to Mr. Nesbitt, the butler and Mrs. Hayes, the housekeeper. Sinclair suggested meeting the rest of the staff would be best postponed for the morrow.
‘Do you not agree, my dear?’ he asked, with every indication of a consideration Verity knew to be entirely false.
‘I do,’ she said, keeping her warm smile for the rather stern-looking housekeeper. ‘Although I will have need of a maid. I was hoping to purloin Clara, who I believe is a housemaid here. Her cousin was my maid in Stannesford. Perhaps you could send her up to my suite, Mrs. Hayes?’
‘Certainly, madam. Clara is quick and efficient and should do well as a lady’s maid, I’m sure she’ll be honored to serve you.’
‘Thank you,’ Verity said softly and noted that if either of their servants wondered why a newly married bridegroom wouldn’t demand the privilege of undressing his wife on their first night in their own home, neither mask-like face showed it.
Then there was dinner to be endured. At least that had only been four courses, but she’d done justice to none of it. A few spoonfuls of mock turtle soup, a desultory pick at the artichoke and pureed pea entree, a few slivers of the delicious fillet mignon served with a rich truffle and mushroom sauce.
It was all superbly prepared and presented. Obviously her husband employed an excellent chef, but her body ached to the very marrow of her bones and her head was so over full with frustration, resentment, anger, all underlined by a subtle, invasive panic that this marriage was the worst mistake she”d ever made, and her stomach was in dire peril of revolting.
Having determined she would make no further effort to initiate communication between them, she ate—or pretended to eat—in withdrawn silence.
The butler silently served the dessert of rich vanilla and chocolate layered blancmange swimming in a pool of raspberry cream, and Sinclair finally spoke.
‘That will be all thank you, Nesbitt, and please thank Mr. Johnson. The meal was superb, as always. I apologize we are both too travel-weary to do it justice.—0h, and Nesbitt, could you have the staff assembled in the drawing room at ten tomorrow morning to meet their new mistress? I”m sure she also apologizes for being too exhausted to undertake that duty tonight.’
Verity kept her eyes on her plate. Should she have asked for that meeting with the staff the moment she arrived? She understood what was required in the running of a house, even though Charity had overseen most of it at Stannesford Hall.
It was just—she was so fatigued.
So disillusioned.
So desperate for the familiarity and sanctuary of home.
Like an overtired child. The child she no longer was.
By ten tomorrow she’d be back in charity with herself and ready to take charge of Sinclair’s household.
At least she’d be ready to meet the staff and capable of remembering their designations.
‘Do you have anything to add, Mrs Wolfenden?’
Having forgotten for an instant, she was Mrs Wolfenden, the direct, formal question startled Verity out of her self-absorption.
‘Er—no. Er—yes. Mr Nesbitt, please add my compliments to the chef and my sincere apologies for being too exhausted to do more than just taste everything.’
‘Thank you, madam. Mr Johnson will be relieved, I”m sure.’
The butler backed silently through the door.
Swirling the dessert around in her plate, Verity tried a spoonful and then she didn”t care if she behaved like a spoiled child. The sweet was a delicious blend of creamy vanilla and chocolate with the perfect contrast of the tart raspberry sauce, and she ate every last spoonful.
‘Were you never told you couldn”t have dessert if you hadn”t eaten your main meal?’
The question came from the other end of the long, though fore-shortened, dining table. It was asked in a dry, slightly sarcastic tone that set Verity”s teeth on edge.
He’d barely spoken to her for the duration of their journey from Stannesford and now all he had to offer was criticism?
Any other time she might have hurled all that and more at his head—or the plate. Tonight she simply didn”t care.
‘Thank you for your delightful company, husband. I believe I shall retire.’
It was as well she was not hoping for a reaction to her sarcasm, for she got none.
With perfect manners, he rose, assisted her from her chair and tucked her arm in his.
‘Then let me escort you upstairs.’
Verity knew she should be impressed with the rose-shot marble of the staircase beneath her feet and the elaborately wrought iron-work balustrades. If she had the energy to look about her she had no doubt she”d note Sinner Wolfenden’s townhouse was as elegant and fashionable as money could buy, but the last of her energy had to be conserved to climb the seemingly endless stairs and for dismissing her husband at the door of her room.
He had not wanted her last night.
Shedid not want him tonight.
He opened the door into the room as soon as they reached it.
‘Goodnight, Verity. I will see you in the drawing room at ten on the morrow.’
Heat fired in her cheeks as if he”d slapped her.
As she turned to stare up at him in disbelief at the cool, summary dismissal, he bent his head to kiss the spot on her skin where she burned the hottest.
She shoved the door back, spun and slammed it in his face. Discovering there was a key, she turned it and swung around with a sense of mixed satisfaction and furious umbrage.
How dare he?
Spying a door on the other side of the room, she rushed across and pushed it open. A young woman in a maid’s uniform was in the spacious dressing room, sorting Verity”s under things into the drawers.
‘Oh m’lady, you startled me.’ The young woman, tall with dark hair hidden under a mobcap, looked up from her work.
Verity slowed her mad dash.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, too,’ she muttered abstractedly, spying yet another door beyond her maid and already moving towards it. ‘You must be—Clara?’
‘Yes, m’lady.’
She bore only the slightest resemblance to Linnie, but Verity couldn’t stop to compare yet.
‘Does this door connect to the master’s suite, Clara?’
The demand was out of her mouth before she could even think what her actions would convey to the maid. But she was so tired.
So angry. So—lonely.
‘I believe so, m’lady.’
Verity snatched up the candle Clara had set on the dresser, and pushed the door open.
Rows of shirts and male apparel greeted her eyes and she slammed it shut again, turning the key with a vicious twist.
‘M’lady, is everything all right?’ the maid asked, taking the candle from Verity”s shaking fingers and setting it safely back on the dresser. Her dark eyes were wide in her pale face.
Verity stood with her back against the locked door and stared back at her new maid. Every fiber of her being wished she’d been selfish enough to bring Linnie with her, but it would have been worse than selfish to deprive Charity of Linnie’s assistance and support. Her need was far greater than Verity’s.
At least Clara’s eyes looked kind and she was Linnie’s cousin, therefore not a total stranger.
‘Everything is fine, thank you Clara, and I’m sure they’ll be even better tomorrow after a night’s sleep. Now, can you help me out of this gown and find me a nightgown? I have never traveled so far from Stannesford and I had no idea how tiring such long journeys are.’
‘I’ve already found your nightgown, m’lady. We’ll have you sorted in a trice. And may I say, I hope you consider keeping me on as your maid. It’s always been my dream to be a lady’s maid. My cousin, Linnie, was your maid in Stannesford and she said you and Lady Charity were the best of mistresses.’
She looked at Verity with a hopeful smile and Verity collapsed onto the chair with relief. That smile was exactly the same as the one that had graced her maid’s face at home. Suddenly she didn’t feel so lonely, lost and adrift in this strange new world.
‘I’m delighted you’re here, Clara, and I have a bulky letter for you from Linnie. It’s in my writing slope which I think is in the bottom of the biggest trunk. Do you mind waiting for it till tomorrow?’ Verity asked with a huge yawn.
‘Of course not, m’lady.’
‘I’m not ‘m’lady’ any more, Clara. I’m Mrs. Wolfenden now. Or ‘ma’am, I guess.’
‘Oh, well, I don’t think I can call you anything but ‘m’lady’, m’lady. It’s what Linnie always calls you in her letters. She loves you and Lady Charity and I’m sure she has written heaps of instructions to me as to how to look after you, m’lady. And, well, ‘ma’am’ doesn’t suit you at all. Makes me think of some old, tip-nosed dowager or toplofty ton matriarch. And that’s not you, begging your pardon, m’lady. I hope I’m not speaking out of turn.’
To Verity’s dismay, hot tears burned in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.
As horror widened Clara’s warm brown eyes, only a shade darker than her cousin’s, Verity wiped the tears off her cheeks and tried to show the maid her happiest smile.
‘In truth, Clara, you sound so much like Linnie, I could almost fall on your neck in gratitude. I really was dreading facing life in London without her.’
Clara’s features relaxed.
‘Then let’s get you ready for bed, m’lady.’
If her eyes slid briefly to consider the locked door between the suites, Verity decided to ignore it.
Verity had decided the sky blue watered silk with the cashmere shawl in ivory and navy for warmth would lend her an air of maturity and provide the perfect contrast to make her eyes shine like turquoise crystal.
Checking her theory in the mirror, she all but laughed at herself. Even though her husband was the darkest knave in the pack, she still hoped to taunt him with all he was denying himself.
Clara had coiled her hair in an elegant plaited crown on top of her head, so even Verity felt she looked mature enough to manage a household. Mature enough to be wife to cynical, seasoned Sinner Wolfenden.
Even so, she took a moment to wrap her fingers around the dainty silver locket she always wore on a long-chain beneath her chemise, and channel the energy of her big sister.
In her eyes, Liberty had always embodied everything capable, mature, elegant. Everything Verity now wanted to be.
Arriving at the top of the stairs as the great clock in the hall below struck ten, she found Sinclair looking up at her, a frown on his darkly handsome face as if he would chide her for tardiness.
She lifted her chin, and the hem of her skirt, and began a slow descent. Keeping her eyes on her feet, she was able to avoid looking directly at him as well as conceal the grim little smile of satisfaction because he”d not been able to completely control the widening of his eyes at the sight of her, or the brief flash of lightning heat scorching over her form.
At least his apparent indifference was not because he no longer desired her now he”d been forced to take her to wife. She would think on that later.
‘Good morning, my dear. I hope you slept well,’ he said as she reached the bottom and placed her hand on his proffered arm.
‘Thank you, I did. And you, husband?’
‘I always sleep well on board ship.’
Though delivered in the same tone one might note an improvement in the weather, the comment almost had Verity stumbling over her feet.
Damned if she’d give him the satisfaction.
For years she”d acted, pretended, to be something she wasn”t. Apparently she still needed to do that. An actress she could be. Although this role would stretch her abilities to the limit. In direct contrast to the role of spoilt, emotional brat, she now needed to portray a sophisticated, emotionless woman.
He hadn”t even slept in the same house as his new, unbedded wife? He’d slept on his ship?
Alone?
A mélange of hurt, anger, and jealousy curdled in her belly, but not a hint of it would she show him—or anyone.
‘Oh, how nice,’ she said, as he opened the door into a large room with long windows overlooking St James”s Square gardens.
At the door, Sinclair halted her with a tug on her arm.
‘Verity,—’ he began, and there was a softness, even a hint of uncertainty in his voice, she might have welcomed last night.
Or even when he met her at the foot of the stairs.
But she was focused now on the challenge awaiting her in the room beyond that door, a challenge more in the nature of a trial in which she must convince hostile witnesses of her innocence.
This is not the time for one your flights of fancy.
It was not.
Pulling her hand unceremoniously from Sinclair’s grip, she entered the drawing room, the bright happy smile on her face that had earned her friends and concessions all her life.
She”d learned at an early age she gained more with a sunny disposition and sweetness than she ever had with demands or a display of her importance. Now she also had to learn to marry that with a confident bearing the servants would respect. The soulless mask she would cultivate to show society, she would practice on her husband.
If she let herself think about it she would be overcome by the daunting task she’d set herself.
So, do not think,she counselled herself.
The servants gathered here were her people, hers and Sinclair’s, and she wanted them to feel that, and she already felt she had an ally in Clara.
‘Good morning, Mr Nesbitt. Mrs Hayes,’ she said, greeting the only two staff members besides Clara she’d met last night.
‘Good morning, madam,’ Nesbitt said solemnly, inclining his tall greying head.
‘Good morning, ma”am.’
Mrs Hayes, a rotund woman with dark, greying hair bobbed a small curtsey.
Sinclair’s large hand landed like a hot brand in the middle of her back and his voice, rich and dark like the best treacle, rumbled at her side.
‘Good morning, Mrs Hayes. Mr Nesbitt. Thank you for organizing this gathering. Last night might have been more convenient for you all, but I believe my wife and I are much better disposed this morning.’
With the slightest pressure of his hand he turned her to face their staff, everyone looking as if they’d combed their hair, straightened their mob caps or changed their aprons.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Sin went on beside her. ‘I’d like to take this rare opportunity of having you all gathered together, to thank you for your work in keeping this house running so well—and apparently effortlessly. I need you to know it does not go unnoticed. Things have changed in the last few weeks and I have finally brought home a wife who will now oversee the running of the household. I introduce to you my wife, Lady Verity, Mrs Wolfenden. I hope you will serve her as well, honestly and loyally as you have all served me. Mr Nesbitt, perhaps you would do the honors.”
With scarcely a muscle moving in his face, Mr Nesbitt led them to the beginning of the line.
Verity was extremely conscious of the firm pressure of Sin’s hand at her back, and the spicy ocean scent emanating from his person.
Thankfully she”d had plenty of practice with the Happy Verity smile. She could don it like pulling on her favorite cashmere shawl, and make her eyes dance like sparkling diamonds as she did it.
It never failed and it didn”t now.
As she was introduced to each one they responded with smiles of their own, some more open than others and some painfully shy, but Verity took great pride in the fact that, as she shook hands with each staff member right down to the lowly kitchen boy, they smiled back at her. It felt like a good start.
Mr. Shelford, the master’s secretary, had been first in line. A slightly built, older man with thinning white hair, he greeted her warmly with a bright, intelligent blue gaze.
The next man in the line was a small bird-like Indian gentleman wearing a snowy white robe and turban, who turned out to be Saju, Sinclair’s valet. He had apparently remained in London while his master had ridden into Oxfordshire, never expecting to be away for more than a few days.
The first maid in the line, was Clara, towering over Saju to her right and with a warm smile for her new mistress.
‘Good morning, ma’am.’ Clara bobbed a curtsey, coming up with her dark eyes shyly smiling.
‘Good morning again, Clara,’ Verity said, allowing her own smile to widen in appreciation of the warmth she felt emanating from the young woman. At least it felt as if her maid might be someone she could build a relationship with.
‘I hope you are happy with Clara, ma’am,’ Mrs. Hayes said with a hint of starch in her voice, as if she couldn’t believe Verity had arrived without her own personal staff. ‘Clara would suit the position well if you should wish to make it permanent, or until you find someone who suits you.’
The slightly bossy, commanding tone in the woman’s voice set Verity’s independence bristling. This one was used to everyone bowing to her decisions.
You must take charge from the start, Aunt Connie had advised, and this was clearly the start.
‘Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Mrs. Hayes. I’m certain Clara will be perfectly suitable.’
Her quiet, firm tone was acknowledged by a brief nod from the housekeeper.
And so they progressed down the line of two footmen, three housemaids, two kitchen maids, the scullery maid, the laundry maid, a coachman and two grooms, and the lively looking kitchen lad who was introduced as Hawkeye.
If he”d ever been given a regular Christian name, it was not apparently in use. He had a mop of bright red curls roughly hacked in an attempt at control, a plethora of freckles and eyes the bright blue of a summer sky.
These he lifted boldly up to Verity after making an incongruously perfect courtly bow, and said, ‘Honored t’meet ye, m’ lady. I—’
Not in the least abashed by her presence, or even Sinclair’s, it was obvious he had more he would share with her.
But the big brute of a man who stood at the end of the line like a gatekeeper, and had the look of a battered prizefighter, caught the lad’s ear between one huge thumb and finger and gave it a little twist.
‘Enough now,’ he said, grinning down at the squirming child who looked like a small doll beside the rugged giant.
‘Apologies, m’lady. Our ‘awkeye do ferget ‘imself. ‘E don”t know when to stow it, do ye lad?’
‘No, Mr. Johnson,’ the scrap readily agreed, looking up at the big man with an adoring gaze, the impish smile never fading from his eyes.
Verity caught her mouth before it fell open. This—giant—was their chef?
‘Don”t let appearances deceive you, my dear,’ Sinner advised, his tone light and genial as if they’d spent a pleasant hour in amiable conversation over breakfast. ‘You won”t find a better chef than our Mr Johnson anywhere in London.’
‘’No I won”t find a better master,’ Mr Johnson rumbled, with a depth of feeling denoting a deep respect for his employer.
‘Thanks, Jay,’ Sinclair responded, with a sudden gruff undernote revealing her husband was moved by the accolade. She badly wished to turn and look at him, to see for herself, but schooled her features and her body to show no reaction.
‘After our dinner last night I would have to agree with my husband. I apologize again for being unable to do it justice. Hopefully I will redeem myself in the future, Mr. Johnson.’
‘Thank you, m’lady,’ the big man said solemnly.
‘Thank you everyone for gathering here,’ Sinner said to the whole gathering. ‘I charge you with assisting my wife to settle into her new home and assisting her with any endeavors she might pursue with regard to refurbishing and redecorating this place to her tastes. I’m sure you will all appreciate that. Now, Mr. Nesbitt, in honor of my marriage I declare tomorrow afternoon a holiday for everyone.’
‘Everyone, sir? But—’
‘Everyone, Nesbitt, including your august self. My lady and I will manage perfectly well for an afternoon.’
‘As you say, sir,’ Nesbitt agreed with a bow.
Still reeling from hearing her husband practically handing her over to the care of his staff, Verity was jolted out of her indignant cogitations by the pressure of his hand increasing in the small of her back as he guided her out of the room.
It didn”t lessen once they gained the hall. Instead, he propelled her into the room opposite, which turned out to be the library doubling as his study.
All urbanity dropped away from him as he closed the door and turned to indicate a chair across the large oak desk from his own. Her stiff, stern, in-control husband was back.
Taking the seat across from her, he shoved it away from the desk, raised one booted foot to rest on his knee and folded his arms across his impressive chest.
You cannot let yourself be distracted by anything impressive about Sinner Wolfenden,Verity admonished herself, forcing down the memory of sweat-slicked muscle beneath her fingertips. Everything about his posture told her that if there was ever a moment to release the strong, mature woman she”d suppressed all her life, this was it.
She knew she was not going to like the words that would come from that sculpted, sense-stealing mouth, so best she ruthlessly repress any thoughts of what havoc that mouth could play with her newly awakened desires.
Don”t—think—about—it.
‘I will be sailing with the Eloise when she leaves for Amsterdam and Hamburg in four days’ time.’
The bold declaration vanquished every other thought from Verity”s mind. Her only desire now, to reach across the desk and slap the treacherously handsome block of immovable rock senseless.
Sitting ramrod straight on the edge of her chair, Verity kept a tight grip on her hands to prevent them following through with that first instinctive response.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she snarled.
Ignoring her, he continued, his gaze fixed on some point in the room beyond her left shoulder.
‘We have known one another little more than a fortnight and it is obvious neither of us has found an ease within the relationship yet, especially nothing conducive to anything cordial in the department of marital relations. Therefore, there will be none—until I return.’