Chapter Sixteen
Penwick placed the decanter of brandy on Hugh’s desk, adjusting it several times so it sat perfectly centered. Then, with insufferably precise movements, he removed the glass stopper and turned to give Hugh a bow.
Hugh, who had become familiar with his butler’s oddities over the years, merely sighed. “Did you have something to say, Penwick?”
If possible, the stern man’s face tightened still more. “I would not wish to disturb you, Your Grace.”
“You have already disturbed me.” He waved a gloved hand. “Go on.”
“Well, you see, sir, it’s about Her Grace.”
The one advantage of the burns on Hugh’s face was that he did not have the full range of expression; he did not let his resignation or irritation slip. “How so?”
“She has been interviewing members of staff about the household expenses, requiring them to justify any small demands they might have on the house, and encouraging them to talk about Mrs. Partridge and myself behind our backs.” His voice rose, evidently incensed.
“I understand, of course, that as mistress, she is now head of the household, but I do not appreciate being accused of misrepresenting the household’s needs. ”
Hugh suppressed a sigh. He ought to have known Christiana would have taken thoroughness to an entirely new level. “I’m sure she was not accusing anyone of anything.”
Penwick sniffed. “I would beg to differ, sir. She made it quite clear that she thought me guilty, even if she had not one bit of proof.”
“Her Grace has inherited a large responsibility, and I have no doubt she is doing her duty as she sees it.”
“Of course. But Mrs. Partridge is exceedingly upset that after so many years of loyal service, we could have been treated in such a way.” He gave a crisp bow. “Unless you have been unhappy with our service, Your Grace?”
Hugh pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not in the slightest.”
“If you could reassure her that we are not out to swindle you, I would be grateful, Your Grace.”
“I’ll speak with her.”
“Thank you, sir.” Penwick bowed again, a deal sight lower this time, and retreated backward from the room.
Hugh poured himself a glass of brandy with his good hand, wishing he could, just once, offload these responsibilities to someone else.
A sip sent warmth through him, and alone in his study, he tugged at the fingers of his glove. Pink, mottled skin greeted him. That same disfigurement extended across the entire right-hand side of his body.
Sometimes, when the pain became too bad, he took laudanum and stared at the ceiling until he lost himself in his own head. But no matter how tempting that became, he now had a wife to manage.
A wife who would not live here for any notable period of time, and who was already causing disruption in his household.
A wife whom he simultaneously wanted and had no intention of taking to bed.
He poured himself another brandy and drank it as he made a note of the final stonemason’s payment. Then he drank another, until the world had dimmed to a warm glow, and the prospect of confronting his wife in her dressing room did not seem quite such an arduous one.
Slowly, he rose and replaced his glove before making his way upstairs. The house was dark around him, and he carried a single lamp that illuminated mostly only the carpet before him, and occasionally the gilded edge of a painting.
As always, he heard the distant roar of flames and forced it from his mind. That was not real; the slow tread of his steps was.
And when he finally entered his wife’s chambers, those were real, too.
She sat bathed in the glow of her own lamps, removing her earrings before the mirror, her hair loose and tumbling down her back. Her glasses were on the dressing table before her, and when she turned, he saw her for the first time without the frames obscuring her features.
Something inside him stirred at the sight. She wore nothing but a nightgown and a robe, one shoulder slipping free. He saw the jut of her collarbones as she took a deep breath, and the peaked press of a nipple against the material of her nightgown.
The force of his lust took him entirely by surprise.
“Hugh,” she said, blinking owlishly up at him. Without her glasses, he didn’t know how much she could see; he suspected not much. “What brings you here?”
Not that.
It had been too long since he had been with a woman, and he found her lack of disgust refreshing. That was all. She had shown no desire to be with him in that way—and even if she did, that would not last once she saw the rest of his ruined body.
“Penwick came to me today,” he said, drawing up a chair and sitting. “Do you have anything to say about that?”
“Penwick?” She blinked, frowning a little. “What would you have me say?”
“He expressed dismay that you are accusing the servants of misrepresenting household expenses. I assured him you meant nothing by it, but—”
“But I did mean something by it,” she said, reaching for her glasses and settling them on her nose.
She had a pretty nose, he noticed now. Perhaps a little large for the thinness of her face, but otherwise an elegant shape.
“The number of candles in the household do not account for the number ordered, even taking into account high usage over the past few weeks. The last quarterly delivery of coal was enough to sustain us through winter, yet it’s summer, and the stores are nearly depleted.
Penwick ordered enough wine for several dinner parties, and yet he tells me the stocks are low and we must order more.
I cannot speak for your consumption, but—”
“I drink wine but rarely,” Hugh said, focusing on her anew. “So you think my servants are taking advantage of me?”
“That, or their handling of numbers is atrocious. Regardless, they have been defaulting on their duty and costing you a great deal of money over the years.” She adjusted her glasses.
“Things have been a little… unsettled since the fire, especially with the building work that has taken place. You were otherwise engaged, and Amelia is too young to act as mistress. But that is all about to change. And I’m certain that the money I save will be able to fill the moat in no time. ”
Before he could stop himself, he reached out and tucked her robe back up her shoulder. “If you want to fill the moat, all you need do is ask me for the funds. I’m not struggling financially.”
She frowned, not seeming to notice the brush of his fingers against her bare skin. “I never thought you were. But surely being taken advantage of is galling to you? I know it certainly is to me.”
He inhaled, trying to find the right words. “If there is a severe problem, it is better to deal with it firmly and swiftly, of course, but if it’s only a matter of a few pounds, it is more sensible to keep the peace.”
“More sensible for whom?”
“We rely on our servants for everything. If we upset them, then they can make life unpleasant in small ways.”
“So you would countenance them stealing from you so long as they treat you with deference?”
He clenched his jaw, attempting to keep his temper. It had been tried more often over the past week than it had in the past few years. “If they are stealing, that is one thing, but a simple mistake—”
“I am not looking to punish them for a mistake,” she objected, pushing back from her chair and pacing back and forth. “I have no desire to fracture your household, but can you endure this disrespect so easily? We rely on our servants, yes, but does that mean we must live in fear of offending them?”
He followed the path she took, tracing the way her legs moved under her nightgown. She had long legs, and the outside of her thigh occasionally pressed against the material.
He pinched his nose, attempting to force the image from his brain. “I never said that.”
“You might as well have done. I ought to keep the peace no matter the provocation?”
“Merely not rile them unnecessarily,” he said. “You forget that they have served me for a long time.”
She turned to look at him; in the lamplight, he could not read her expression.
But her shoulders were stiff, and he had the awful suspicion that he had said the wrong thing.
“I know I am not the wife you would have chosen, if choice were a luxury you felt you could afford,” she said, her voice cold and remote. “But am I to be so dismissed?”
God, he had never felt so out of his depth. “No, Chris. Sit down, please.” He rose to meet her, and when he caught her wrist, she looked down at the contact with a slight gasp. “I won’t hurt you,” he said, exasperated, releasing her at once. “Do you see me as so much of a monster?”
Her pupils were wide as she looked up at him, her chin rising defiantly. “I would respond that way if anyone were to grab me.”
“I merely wanted—”
“You wanted me to sit and listen like a good little wife.” She exhaled suddenly, her shoulders falling, and returned to her chair. “Which, I suppose, is all I am. Proceed, if you will.”
“Chris, look at me.” When she did, he resisted the urge to take her shoulders and shake them. “Have I ever treated you like a silly little wife?”
“You’ve hardly had the opportunity to until now.”
“I respect you, and I would like for us to be partners. But understand this—my household has been curated from those who can endure my face without flinching. If we scare them away, or dismiss them, then we must find new servants who have such temperaments, and I can tell you now, there are few in this world who see me as anything less than a beast. I had trouble enough procuring kitchen maids.”
A line appeared between her brows as she studied him, the heat of anger gone from her eyes. His chest rose and fell, and he realized he was panting.
“Hugh,” she said softly.
“I don’t need your pity. But if you cause trouble, there are consequences.”
She came to stand before him, her mouth turning down.
“Is that what you see when you look in the mirror?” she asked, and to his surprise, she reached a hand to his cheek—his ruined, scarred, vile cheek.
Her skin felt cool and soft against his, and she trailed her fingers over his temple, his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth perpetually twisted down.
“You are no monster to me,” she murmured.
“You are not hideous. And if someone has been making you feel that way, then they are the problem.”
He caught her wrist before she could touch him further. She had cupped his cheek briefly once before, but no one, not even Amelia, had touched him like this since the fire. He felt as though she had set his chest alight. All pain and heat. “You know the rumors, Chris.”
“The rumors are wrong.”
Without knowing why, he brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed them one by one. The air between them disappeared; she looked at him as though she could hardly believe what he was doing. As though his grateful kisses were as much a mystery as her gentle caresses.
“The rumors are there in part because of servants’ gossip,” he said.
“I know well the dangers of disloyal servants and their tongues.” He released her, and she brought her hand to her chest, cradling it against herself.
“All I ask is that you do not wage war unless you know for certain you will be victorious.”
“And if I’m already certain?” Her eyes met his, almost silver in the light, gleaming like mercury. “What then, Hugh? Will you support me?”
“If you require my support, then you have it,” he said. “Don’t abuse it.”
After a long moment, she nodded. “I won’t. I know you think I’m overstepping, but—”
“I think you are accustomed to being zealous.” He half smiled. “In all manner of things.”
“I dislike being cheated,” she said seriously. “And I dislike being taken advantage of even more.”
“I won’t take advantage of you,” he promised, wondering if he was making a mistake by offering such a foolhardy promise when, for the first time in countless years, he found himself wanting someone.
Not in the vague, unsubstantiated way he had craved intimacy in the past. Then, he had merely wanted a woman’s touch, a feminine body against his own.
Now, he found, he wanted her. Her soft hands on his skin. She had knobby knuckles and long fingers. He wondered what her mouth would feel like if it brushed his. Or even if she used it elsewhere on his body.
His ruined, disfigured, disgusting body.
These were useless, pointless imaginings. No matter what he wanted, and no matter the grace with which she accepted him, she could never want him in truth. If he offered himself to her, if she accepted, it would always be because he wanted it, not because she did.
He did not think he could bear anything but enthusiasm.
“You should retire to bed,” he said, taking a step back, as though by so doing, he could convince her he was not someone she should be afraid of.
Her gaze tracked him, eyes still a trifle wide behind her glasses, her hand still cradling her wrist by her chest. She said nothing as he left the room.