Chapter Fourteen
Sophia woke to sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains and the unfamiliar weight of an arm around her waist.
For a moment, she was disoriented. This wasn’t her old room in the nursery wing. The bed was too large, too soft. The sheets smelled of lavender and—
Henry.
Memory flooded back in a rush that made heat rise to her cheeks. The wedding night. The confessions of love. The intimacy that had followed. She was in the lady’s chambers. In her marriage bed. And the arm around her waist belonged to her husband.
Her husband, who loved her.
She turned carefully, not wanting to wake him, and found herself face to face with Henry. He was still asleep, his dark hair mussed, his expression relaxed in a way she’d never seen before. In sleep, he looked younger. The lines of worry that usually creased his forehead had smoothed away.
She loved him so much it physically hurt.
As if sensing her gaze, his eyes fluttered open. For a moment, he looked as disoriented as she’d felt. Then his expression cleared, and he smiled—a slow, genuine smile that made her heart skip.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning.” She felt suddenly shy, though that seemed ridiculous after what they’d shared the night before.
“How do you feel?” His hand drifted up her bare arm, giving her goosebumps.
“Happy.” The word came easily. “Very happy. And you?”
“The same.” He leaned in and kissed her, soft and sweet. “I was afraid I might wake up and find this was all a dream.”
“It was not a dream.” She pressed her palm to his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong beneath her hand. “We’re really married. I am yours forever.”
“And I am yours.” He pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin. They lay there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, until a soft knock at the door made them both start.
“My lady?” Mrs. Shaw’s voice came through the wood. “I’ve brought breakfast. May I enter?”
Sophia glanced at Henry, suddenly aware that they were both still very much undressed. He grinned and pulled the coverlet up to her chin before calling out, “Come in, Mrs. Shaw.”
The door opened and Mrs. Shaw entered carrying a large tray. If she was surprised to find Lord Montrose in his wife’s bed, she gave no sign. Her expression was perfectly neutral as she set the tray on the table by the fire.
“Good morning, my lord, my lady. I thought you might prefer breakfast here this morning.” Her eyes twinkled slightly. “Given the circumstances.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Shaw,” Sophia said, grateful the coverlet hid her flaming cheeks.
“I shall leave you be for now. Ring the bell if you should need anything at all. The rest of the staff has been informed to stay away unless asked for. Your brothers and their wives have already left for London. They left their best wishes.”
“Very good, Mrs. Shaw,” Henry said. “I do not anticipate we will need you until much later in the day.”
“As you wish, Lord Montrose.” Mrs. Shaw curtsied and withdrew, closing the door softly behind her.
Henry laughed, the sound rich and warm. “She’s very discreet.”
“Yes, but I am mortified all the same.” Sophia sat up, keeping the sheet tucked around her.
“Shall I distract you, then?”
“Perhaps a drop of tea first?” Sophia asked. “And a bite to eat?”
“If it will give you strength for the rest of the morning, then yes.”
She laughed, reaching for her gown. “I’ve never been undressed for such a long period of time.”
“If it were up to me, you would remain so forever.”
They shared breakfast by the fire, wrapped in their nightclothes, stealing kisses between bites of toast and sips of tea. It felt sweetly domestic and intimate—just the two of them in their own small world.
“You have marmalade,” Henry said, reaching out to brush his thumb across her lower lip. “Right here.”
“Do I?” She captured his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. “How careless of me.”
His eyes darkened. “Very careless.” He leaned in, his mouth replacing his thumb. “Allow me.”
The kiss deepened, and suddenly breakfast was forgotten. His hands slid into her hair and she made a small sound of pleasure that seemed to undo him completely.
“Sophia,” he murmured against her mouth. “My exquisite wife.”
“Your wife,” she agreed, pulling him closer. “Always your wife.”
He stood, lifting her with him. “Breakfast can wait.”
“Can it?” She smiled against his lips.
“It can wait a very long time.”
*
Three hours later, properly dressed in a morning gown of pale green muslin, Sophia made her way downstairs to Mrs. Bromley’s office. Mrs. Shaw had arranged her hair in a simple but elegant style, befitting the lady of the house.
Mrs. Bromley’s domain was tucked behind the servants’ staircase—a small, immaculately organized room with a desk, ledgers stacked neatly on shelves, and a ring of keys hanging on the wall. The housekeeper rose when Sophia entered, her expression warm.
“My lady. Please, sit.” She gestured to the chair across from her desk. “I trust you and his lordship are well this morning?”
“Very well, thank you.” Sophia felt heat rise to her cheeks.
“Good.” Mrs. Bromley’s eyes twinkled, but she moved on graciously. “Now, these are the household keys. They’ve been waiting for you.”
She laid them on the desk between them—an impressive collection of iron and brass keys of various sizes, each labeled with a small tag. Pantry. Stillroom. Linen closet. Wine cellar. China cabinet. Silver chest.
“These represent your authority over the household,” Mrs. Bromley explained. “The servants greeted you yesterday as Lady Montrose, but this is the official transfer of authority. I’ll continue to manage the day-to-day operations, of course, but you’re the mistress. The final decisions are yours.”
Sophia picked up the ring, feeling its weight in her hands. Such small things, but they symbolized everything—her transformation from governess to lady, from employee to mistress.
“I’ll need your guidance,” Sophia admitted. “I know the house, of course. But running it is different from simply living in it.”
“You’ll do wonderfully, my lady. You already know the rhythms of this household better than most new brides would. And the staff adore you. That was clear from their reaction yesterday.”
They spent the next half hour reviewing the household accounts, the weekly schedules, the current staff roster. Mrs. Bromley explained which merchants they used, which servants had which responsibilities, what the typical expenses ran each quarter.
“And now,” Mrs. Bromley said finally, “I thought you should tour the service areas properly. You’ve seen them before, of course, but never as mistress. Mrs. Mills and Grimshaw are waiting to walk you through their domains and answer any questions.”
“That would be helpful.”
They descended a narrow staircase that led to the basement level.
Sophia had rarely visited the service areas during her time as governess.
The corridor at the bottom was whitewashed and surprisingly bright, lit by high windows that let in natural light.
Doors opened off on either side—the wine cellar, the lamp room, the boot room.
Grimshaw was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, looking dignified and slightly scary. He bowed. “My lady. If you’ll permit me, I’ll show you the wine cellar and silver pantry first.”
The tour was thorough and practical. Grimshaw explained his systems for managing the wine, the silver, the formal china.
Mrs. Mills showed her the kitchen, an enormous, vaulted room with its massive fireplace, copper pots gleaming overhead, the scent of bread and herbs filling the air.
She explained the daily rhythms of meal preparation, the relationship with local suppliers, the kitchen garden’s contribution to their table.
“I’ve been cooking for this family for a long time, my lady,” Mrs. Mills said. “And I’m pleased as punch to see you as mistress. You’ve always been kind to my girls, never treating them as beneath you even when you were Miss Ford.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Mills. That means a great deal.”
At the end of the tour, they gathered briefly in Mrs. Bromley’s office—just the four of them: Mrs. Bromley, Mrs. Mills, Grimshaw, and Sophia.
“The staff are all very happy about the marriage, my lady,” Grimshaw said. “I wanted you to know that formally. We’re all pleased to see you elevated to your proper place. Especially after what was taken from you as a child.”
“A duke’s daughter deserves better than sleeping in the nursery wing,” Mrs. Mills said.
Sophia forced herself to remain composed, but they had touched her heart with their welcoming words. “Thank you. All of you. For your loyalty and your kindness. Your support will be essential to my success.”
“It’s no more than you’ve shown us, my lady,” Mrs. Bromley said. “Now, shall we discuss the menu for next week?”
As they settled into the practical business of running the household, Sophia felt suddenly lighter.
She wasn’t just playing at being Lady Montrose.
She was learning how to actually be her.
With the support of people who’d known her first as Miss Ashford and chose to respect her as their mistress anyway.
When she finally climbed back upstairs, the ring of keys hanging from her belt, she found Henry waiting in the entrance hall. He smiled when he saw her.
“How did it go?”
“Well, I think. Mrs. Bromley and the others were very patient with my questions.”
He took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I never doubted it. You will exceed all expectations. Mark my words.”
Looking at her husband, who believed in her so completely, Sophia thought perhaps he was right. She was Lady Montrose now. Not just in name, but in truth. And she was ready.
*
The next morning dawned gray and drizzly, typical March weather. Sophia woke in Henry’s arms. They’d fallen asleep in her bed again, neither willing to spend the night apart. She felt a pang of disappointment when he kissed her and said, “I have to go.”