Chapter 7
“You have been very quiet, Lady Adelaide.”
She didn’t look at him immediately. Instead, she watched a pair of children chase one another across the grass until their nurse called them back.
“I had understood silence to be among Your Grace’s preferred accomplishments.”
“I find them less agreeable when someone else employs them.”
“Oh?”
She finally turned, one brow lifting beneath the brim of her bonnet. “And here I thought I was being considerate.”
“You’ve been punishing me.”
“I’ve been walking.”
“At a pace that suggests punishment.”
“That may be because I still am.”
Mrs. Pembroke paused some distance behind them to admire a spaniel that had escaped its owner. Her companion followed with patient resignation, leaving Eric and Adelaide several more yards of privacy than either had expected.
“You’re entitled to be,” Eric admitted.
“Then that’s a relief. I’d begun to suspect I required your approval.”
“You do not.”
“I am relieved.”
They continued in silence for several steps, passing beneath a line of chestnut trees where the morning breeze stirred the leaves overhead.
Carriages rolled beyond the railings, their wheels muffled by the damp road, while riders drifted along Rotten Row with the easy confidence of people who expected to be observed.
Eric had postponed the walk twice. The first delay had been unavoidable.
The second had been pride. Atlas had repeated Loretta’s story with enough certainty that Eric had believed it, and believing it had disappointed him more than he cared to admit.
The wedding was only days away. Avoiding the matter any longer would have been childish.
“You keep looking at me,” Adelaide said.
“Do I?”
“You’ve looked as though you’re trying to decide whether to apologize or interrogate me.”
“That is… surprisingly accurate.”
“I know.”
“You disapprove of the arrangement,” Adelaide said, drawing him back to the path.
“Which arrangement?”
“This walk. The marriage. London. Perhaps the trees.” She glanced toward the nearest elm. “You have looked at nearly all of them with equal severity.”
“I have no quarrel with the trees.”
“How reassuring. I had begun to fear Wolverton permitted only obedient vegetation.”
His mouth nearly betrayed him. He kept it under control, though she noticed the effort and looked faintly more satisfied.
They walked several more steps before Eric stopped.
Adelaide continued for half a pace, then turned. Behind them, Mrs. Pembroke had found a bench and appeared to be waiting contently.
“There is something I would rather ask plainly,” he said.
“So would I, but you postponed twice and deprived me of the opportunity.”
“I had business.”
“You had a temper.” The accuracy of it annoyed him more than accusation would have.
“Perhaps both.”
“That is almost honest.”
Eric ignored the observation. “Why did you announce our marriage to half of London?”
Her face changed at once, though not in the way he expected. The stiffness remained, but confusion entered beneath it. “I did no such thing.”
“You told Mrs. Sullyard.”
“Mrs. Sullyard cornered me in Madame Bellamy’s rooms and suggested that my father’s heir would soon cast me and my household into the street. I corrected her.”
“With the details of our arrangement?”
“With your name.”
“That was enough.”
Adelaide’s chin lifted. “I was unaware your name was classified information.”
“Our arrangement was private.”
“So was my father’s illness, yet Mrs. Sullyard spoke of it as though she had been invited to consult with his physician.”
“That does not justify boasting.”
Her eyes sharpened. “Boasting?”
There it was. The word had landed badly, and he knew it before she drew another breath.
“I did not boast of you, Your Grace. I warned a cruel woman to mind her tongue.”
Several passersby moved near enough that Adelaide lowered her voice, but the restraint gave each word more weight.
“You may think very highly of your consequence, but I assure you I did not leave the dressmaker scattering your title into the street. I told one person because she had spent the last two seasons making sport of me and had begun to turn upon my maid in front of me. If that offends you, I cannot help it.”
Eric looked at her. There was indignation in her face but no guilt. No calculation either. She was angry because he had misjudged her, not because she had been caught.
He believed her. The certainty arrived without effort, which was more unsettling than doubt would have been. Adelaide had many faults, and he suspected he would discover most of them with impressive speed, but false modesty and social scheming did not seem among them.
“Loretta gave Atlas a different account,” he said.
“Then Mrs. Sullyard lied.”
“That is a serious accusation.”
“So was yours.”
He could hardly argue with that.
A pair of riders approached along the path, forcing them to move nearer the grass.
Eric stepped aside first and offered Adelaide his arm to guide her clear of a shallow rut.
She looked at it for a moment as though deciding whether accepting assistance would compromise some principle, then placed her fingers lightly against his sleeve.
The contact did more to disturb his concentration than it should have.
They resumed walking once the horses passed. Adelaide withdrew her hand, though not quickly enough to suggest offense.
“I owe you an apology,” Eric said.
She glanced at him. “That sounded painful. Shall I send for a physician?”
“I should prefer discretion.”
Her mouth twitched. “Fine, then—I accept.”
He had expected triumph. The lack of it made the apology easier.
“I would also like to understand what precisely you expect from the marriage,” he continued.
“Beyond not being accused of public boasting?”
“I will add that to the list.”
Adelaide considered her answer while they followed the curve of the water. A small boat moved across the Serpentine, its oars dipping unevenly while a boy at the stern shouted instructions no one appeared to heed.
“I expect to retain some use of my own mind,” she said.
“I will continue managing what remains of my father’s affairs while he is unwell.
I ride without waiting for a gentleman to approve the weather.
I occasionally enter stables through the wrong door, as you have observed, and I teach Elise each morning unless estate business prevents it. ”
“Elise is your maid’s daughter.”
“Yes.”
“You educate her yourself?”
“Reading, writing, arithmetic, history, a little French when she does not pretend to forget it, and Latin in time if she wishes.”
“She is five.”
“Which is why the Latin can wait.”
Eric glanced toward her. “You consider this ordinary?”
“No. I consider it necessary.”
There was no speech behind the answer, no polished defense prepared for society. She simply meant it.
“My father educated me because he believed intelligence should not be wasted merely because it appeared in a girl. Her mother had almost no opportunity. Elise will have far more.”
“And they are to live at Wolverton?”
“They are.” Adelaide’s tone lightened, though only slightly. “I hope you are not one of those aristocratic men who becomes faint at the sight of a servant sitting beside the fire.”
He heard the test beneath the teasing and slowed enough to look at her properly. “I usually reserve fainting for parliamentary speeches and badly bred horses.”
“I shall assume that is an approval.”
“You were going to assume that regardless.”
“Perhaps, but it is pleasant to have permission after the fact.”
He gave her a dry look. “I have already agreed on your maid and her daughter’s stay. And if the child is to be educated, I see no reason to interrupt it.”
Adelaide’s expression softened before she could prevent it. She looked toward the water almost immediately, but he had seen enough. “Thank you,” she said.
She had prepared herself for negotiation or argument, btu instead he had agreed almost before she’d finished asking. She disliked that her first instinct had been to search his face for sincerity and could not help but feel troubled when she had found it.
“You need not sound surprised.” Eric adjusted his glove at the wrist and concentrated on the path, but he felt her eyes on him.
He cleared his throat then and shifted the conversation, “There should be no misunderstanding between us. I did not seek a wife, and I cannot offer the sort of marriage you may have imagined when you were younger.”
“You assume I imagined one.”
“Most women do.”
“Do you believe that women also enjoy embroidery?“
“Well, do you?”
“I possess no patience for decorative suffering.”
He laughed, and she looked pleased enough with herself that he regretted rewarding her. “I can offer friendship,” he said once the amusement passed. “Respect, certainly. Protection where it is needed.”
Adelaide’s brows rose. “And where you decide it is needed?”
“There will be occasions when my judgment is relevant.”
“And occasions when it is not?”
“We shall disagree over which is which.”
“I already feel reassured.”
“You should. I have predicted our future with accuracy.”
She shook her head, though she was smiling now.
Eric found the change in her more dangerous than the anger. It made her beauty less formal, less easily dismissed as something society had praised too often. There was warmth in it. Mischief, too, and an openness he had not expected from a woman who guarded her independence so fiercely.
He looked away before the thought developed further.
Near the bridle path, a chestnut mare tossed her head against an inexperienced rider’s hands. Eric watched the pair for several strides, wincing when the gentleman shortened the reins again.
“He is making her worse,” Adelaide said. “He is pulling when she needs room.”
“She also dislikes the bit,” he observed with her.
Adelaide studied the mare. “It is badly fitted.”
The horse shied sideways as they spoke. Its rider hauled again, earning a sharp swish of the tail.
“He should dismount,” Adelaide muttered.
“He should sell her to someone competent,” Eric said sharply and she laughed, a full unguarded sound this time, and several people turned. Adelaide did not notice or chose not to care.
They remained near the path longer than necessary, arguing over the mare’s breeding, the rider’s seat, and whether patience could correct bad hands.
Adelaide described Bramble’s first attempt to carry Elise that morning, including the child’s conviction that lowering her heels might cause her boots to fall off. Eric found himself asking questions he did not need answered.
By the time Mrs. Pembroke rose and rejoined them, the earlier quarrel had not vanished entirely, but had simply been displaced by horses, which Eric considered an improvement over most methods of reconciliation.
Adelaide joined her chaperone, then looked back toward him. “Your Grace?”
“Yes?”
“I am still displeased that you believed her, and that you postponed the walk.”
“I know.”
She waited, perhaps expecting another apology.
Eric offered his arm instead. “Shall we continue the argument over tea?”
Her gaze dropped to his sleeve and then returned to his face. “I suppose friendship must begin somewhere.”
She placed her hand upon his arm, and together they turned toward the waiting carriage.
The path curved beneath a row of chestnut trees before opening again toward the waiting carriage. Mrs. Pembroke had gone ahead at a pace suited more to conversation than walking, leaving several comfortable yards between herself and the engaged couple.
“I ought to tell you one thing before the wedding,” he said.
Adelaide glanced toward him. “That sounds ominous.”
“It is merely… practical.”
“That is rarely a comforting beginning,” she said but then waited.
Eric watched the gravel beneath their feet for a moment before continuing. “When the ceremony is over, we shall leave London immediately.”
She blinked. “Immediately?”
“There will be time for the wedding breakfast. And after that we will depart for Wolverton.”
A small crease appeared between her brows. “I had assumed we might remain a day or two.”
“I would rather not.”
She studied him, not pressing, simply waiting for the rest.
Eric sighed almost imperceptibly. “I do not care for London, and I avoid it whenever possible.”
“So I gathered.”
“My country estate is where I belong.”
She looked ahead toward the carriage waiting beyond the gates, then back at him. “You truly never miss it, the theaters and concerts? Society buzz?”
“No.” The answer came too quickly to require thought. “I’ve always found London expects a performance from everyone who lives in it.”
“And Wolverton does not?”
“Wolverton asks only that a man do his work.”
Adelaide smiled faintly. “That sounds suspiciously like something you would admire.”
“I do.”
She folded her hands together beneath her reticule. “Then I suppose I had better say my farewells before the wedding.”
“I thought you might wish the opportunity.”
She looked toward the bustle beyond Hyde Park, where carriage wheels rattled over stone and voices drifted faintly through the trees. “I shall miss parts of it,” she admitted. “Though admittedly not many.”
Eric nodded once. “I believe you’ll find Wolverton considerably quieter.”
Adelaide looked back at him with the smallest trace of mischief returning to her eyes. “Well…” She stepped toward the waiting carriage. “I’ve already met its duke.”
“I hope that has not discouraged you.”
“It has certainly made me curious.”