Chapter Fourteen
“Oh—good morning,” the timid voice said as Laurence entered the dining room.
Anastasia was sitting at the far end of the table in a green day dress that seemed to make her red hair look all the more fiery.
It was neatly pinned up around her crown, but in his mind it was loose and flowing like it had been the night before.
A pang of desire shot through him, and he swallowed and tried to redirect his thoughts to something more suitable to this time of the morning.
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?” he asked as he took his seat. The newspaper had been placed next to his plate, as it always was when he was in the city, and he glanced down at it for a moment before looking back up at his wife.
“I—” she paused, frowned, and then continued. “It is always a little odd, sleeping somewhere new.”
So she had not slept well either. Being in a new place could certainly explain her restlessness—but what reason could he put to his?
“Do you have any plans today?” Laurence asked, breaking the awkward silence.
While the previous night had been a revelation, this morning he barely knew the woman sitting across from him.
They had no common interests on which to converse, nor any knowledge of one another.
He did not know what she liked to do when she was not socializing with the rest of the ton.
They were strangers, bound together for the rest of their lives.
Their marriage had been so unexpected that he certainly did have plans for the day.
He had an appointment with his man of business to discuss his estates, and he had planned to return to the country as soon as he felt he could—without seeing the ghost of his father everywhere.
Although now, he presumed he would have to stay in London.
Surely the new Lady Walsham would wish to see out the rest of the Season in the city.
He did not think he had the heart for socializing in the way he used to.
It was hard to pretend that the grief was not there for an entire evening of cards or drinking or dancing.
Of course, he had always had the option to lose himself in the arms of a woman, but now that was different, too.
Not that every man remained entirely loyal to his wife, of course.
And it wasn’t exactly a topic they had discussed.
Once they had provided the title with an heir, and were perhaps living life more separately, he was sure there would be other women once more.
And perhaps Anastasia would take a lover.
It was not uncommon for women who had done their duty to seek pleasure elsewhere.
He ought to know—he had often been the one sharing such women’s beds.
His brow furrowed, the thought of Anastasia with another man more distasteful than he expected. Well, all of that was for the future. For now, being faithful certainly seemed like the right thing to do. And so the city did not hold much interest for him.
But he didn’t feel it would be fair to his young new wife to tear her away from everything and disappear into the quiet and solitude of the countryside so soon after they were wed.
He had been so lost in his thoughts that it had taken him a moment to realize that she was still deliberating over his rather simple question.
“I suppose…well…no. I have no plans.”
Laurence nodded. Considering someone else’s plans was all rather new to him. With the wedding being unexpected, he had not planned any sort of honeymoon, rather thinking that their lives would simply continue on as they had before they were wed.
“Well, feel free to use the carriage. And if you wish to make any purchases—new gowns or hats or gloves or what have you—just have them send the bill here. You’re Lady Walsham now,” he said with a smile. “Don’t forget it.”
He had hoped she would be cheered by the thought of having the freedom to do what she wished, to spend money how she liked, but her face simply fell, and she turned back to her breakfast.
*
Anastasia picked at the fruits on her plate, not really having any appetite.
You’re Lady Walsham now. He obviously felt she needed to improve herself, to be worthy of the name.
She had thought her gowns were acceptable, but clearly he wanted her to shop for new ones, befitting her station.
Nerves about her new position filled her stomach, making it impossible to eat.
Last night, everything had seemed so simple. Everything had seemed to fit.
And yet this morning, they were simply strangers who lived together, who had no idea of the other’s needs or wants or interests.
She had rather hoped that they might leave London, at least for a while.
Gossip about their match was sure to continue, and she would have preferred to be away from it.
She also had no interest in seeing her brother, her only relative in the city.
She was so hurt by his actions that she wasn’t sure she could ever feel the same way about him.
And besides, he was still in trouble, financially.
He had made it clear that having a sister as a viscountess was something he thought could be useful to him, and she was sure it would not be long until he came looking for her aid.
And it was aid she did not wish to give.
But Lord Walsham…Laurence…did not suggest leaving the city. In fact, it seemed he planned to continue as he had before. After breakfast, he collected his top hat and left with a cheery wave. No kiss, no sign of affection, nothing like the passion they had shared the previous night.
Anastasia wandered the townhouse, familiarizing herself with its many rooms. She glanced in at his study but closed the door quickly, feeling that she was trespassing. The pale blue parlor, however, felt more feminine, and with nothing else to do, she called for tea and sat and pondered.
He did seem to be carrying on as though nothing had changed. Did that mean he would continue with every aspect of his life? Her hand shook a little as she set the delicate bone china cup back on the saucer.
He was a well-known rake. It had not meant much to her—until the night before.
Until they had shared such pleasure. The thought of him sharing that with another woman was painful, and it made her stomach churn even more than thoughts of being the viscountess.
Would he continue to take lovers now that they were wed?
She knew, thanks to the gossips of the ton, that many men were not faithful to their wives.
And of course, she’d had no discussion about expectations with Laurence—not before they were wed, and not now.
She could not even imagine having such a conversation.
Her cheeks burned red at the mere suggestion of it.
Theirs had not been a love match. So why would he think there was any need for him to abstain from taking other women to his bed?
She drank her tea, even though she felt queasy, and tried to put the image of his long, lithe body wrapped around a nameless, faceless other woman out of her head.
Such thoughts surely led to madness.