Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Usually, the sight of his own front door brought Rowan a sense of relief.
It meant that he could finally be himself and retreat into the solitary comfort of his library.
But as he stepped out of the carriage and offered his hand to his new bride, he found himself anxious that she would not like her new home nor find it as peaceful as he did.
When he’d inherited the title seven years ago, he’d had Haversham House redecorated to suit his own tastes, and he knew it was a bit dark and masculine.
There was certainly none of the overdone ornamentation that was currently the rage.
He preferred his surroundings to be uncluttered, with clean lines.
Rowan had never brought a woman here. Not even to visit. He’d never wanted anyone else in his private sanctuary. But he found that he didn’t mind sharing it with Tamsin.
The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow as he led her up the front steps.
Stephens opened the door, his face a mask of professional welcome, but as Tamsin and he stepped into the entrance hall, Rowan could feel the curiosity of the entire domestic staff vibrating in the air.
They were as surprised by his sudden marriage as he was.
“Welcome home, my lady,” Rowan said, his anxiety growing by the minute.
“Thank you, Rowan,” Tamsin replied softly. She looked around the foyer, her blue eyes taking in the dark paneling and the stark, masculine lines of the furniture. She looked so small in the vast, echoing space, a splash of cream silk against the dark, muted colors.
An unbearable awkwardness settled over him.
Rowan, who could charm an opera singer in three languages and navigate the most treacherous card rooms in London, found himself standing in his own foyer, not knowing where to put his hands.
How did one cohabitate with a virtual stranger?
His inexperience with such matters overwhelmed him.
“I... I suppose you would like to see the rest of the house,” he said, clearing his throat. “It is a bit somber, I realize. I haven’t had much cause for feminine touches.”
“It’s a fine house, Rowan,” she said, her voice steadying him. “It suits you. And I’d love a tour, but perhaps a bit later? For now, I think I’d just like to retire to my room for a while.”
“Yes. Of course.” He gestured toward the staircase, a bit relieved that he’d soon have a few minutes to himself.
As they ascended, the silence between them grew heavy with the one subject Rowan knew he had to broach yet found himself utterly unable to articulate.
He had spent his life pursuing pleasure with a singular focus, but the thought of using the same approach on Tamsin— his wife—made him feel crude.
He did not want to insult her. The one thing he did know was that he must tread carefully.
“Your rooms are in the west wing,” he said as they reached the landing.
After what seemed an interminable walk down the hall, he paused at the door to the countess’s bedchamber, the one room in the house with feminine décor.
He’d known he’d one day have use of it, but he’d never really imagined the sort of woman who’d occupy it.
He’d let the decorator pick all the furnishings.
He hoped Tamsin liked it. “Here we are. Your rooms… ah... they adjoin mine. Through the dressing room.”
She stopped, her gaze fixed on the heavy oak door. Rowan could see the slight tension in her neck, the way she was holding her breath.
“I see,” she murmured.
“Tamsin,” he started, then stopped. He wanted to tell her she was safe.
He wanted to tell her he wouldn’t dream of forcing a connection she wasn’t ready for.
But he also remembered the heat of their kiss the day he’d proposed, and a traitorous part of him wondered if she was waiting for him to speak of it.
“About this evening... I realize the day has been long. And the circumstances... they haven’t exactly been traditional. ”
She turned to him, her crystalline-blue eyes searching his. “No, they haven’t.”
“I don’t wish to—that is to say, I would not have you think that just because we’re wed, I expect...” He trailed off, feeling like an awkward schoolboy. “I would never force something on you that you didn’t want.”
Tamsin stepped closer, the scent of lavender drifting from her skirts. “Rowan, are you trying to tell me that you are as nervous about our wedding night as I am?”
Rowan let out a short, self-deprecating laugh, the tension breaking just a fraction. “I believe I am far more nervous than you are, Tamsin. I have the reputation of a terrifying rake to uphold, but I have absolutely no experience with being a husband.”
A small, genuine smile touched her lips, the first one he had seen since they left the church. “Perhaps we could just start with dinner? We can talk more about what we each expect then.”
“Dinner,” Rowan agreed, feeling a profound sense of reprieve. That would give him a few hours to get his head on straight. “Dinner is an excellent idea. I shall leave you to settle in, and I will meet you downstairs at seven.”
As he walked away toward his own rooms, he felt her gaze on his back.
He had survived the wedding and the scandal, but as he closed his door and leaned against it, Rowan realized the real challenge was just beginning. He didn’t just want her in his house; he wanted to deserve her being there. And that was a far more daunting prospect than any duel he had ever faced.
The moment Rowan walked away, Tamsin entered her bedchamber and sank into the nearest chair, which sat in front of the marble fireplace.
She sighed deeply, the tension of the day easing out of her as she looked around at her surroundings.
Her breath hitched as the sheer, unapologetic femininity of the suite washed over her.
After the dark, masculine corridors of the rest of Haversham House, this room felt like a sun-drenched garden.
A delicate, dusty-rose flock wallpaper created a sanctuary that she certainly hadn’t expected.
Her gaze drifted from the towering bed with its rose-pink silk hangings to the pale, honey-toned wood of the dressing table.
A recessed door stood slightly ajar, revealing a glimpse of a checkered marble floor and the gleaming brass of a claw-foot tub.
She couldn’t believe this private oasis was hers.
She stood and drifted around, opening drawers and the armoire, seeing that all her things had already arrived and been put away.
Had this room belonged to Rowan’s mother, or had he decorated it for his future wife himself? She hoped it was the latter.
A soft knock on the bedchamber door drew her attention, and she opened it to find a small, dark-haired woman in the hall.
“I’m Jane, my lady,” she introduced herself. “His Lordship has assigned me to be your lady’s maid, if you find me acceptable.”
“Come in,” Tamsin told her, touched that Rowan had seen to this when he had been arranging so much else this week.
She’d shared a lady’s maid with Olivia, and she’d had to leave her behind.
Until this moment, she hadn’t even considered what she’d do without one.
“I assume you are the one who put away my things?”
“Yes, my lady,” Jane replied with a curtsey. “I hope it’s to your liking.”
“Everything is perfect,” Tamsin replied honestly. “I feel as though I’ve lived here for years. Everything is exactly where it should be.”
“Wonderful,” Jane said with a tentative smile. “Would you like me to help you change out of your wedding gown?”
“I’d love that.” Eager to get out of the heavy, scratchy gown, Tamsin stood quietly until she was down to her underthings, then gathered her courage.
“What sort of man is the earl?” she asked. “Is he easy to work for?”
Jane froze in the process of putting the gown in the dressing room. “He is a very good employer,” she said at last. “I like working here. He treats his staff very well.”
“That’s good,” Tamsin said, but that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. “But what kind of man is he?”
Putting the dress away, Jane finally turned and met her gaze. “He isn’t what they say, my lady. He is kind and has many interests other than the ones the gossip columns claim.”
Tamsin wondered if Jane had seen the Belle’s article.
Cheeks flaming, she turned away, knowing it wasn’t fair to quiz this woman about her employer.
Even if Jane did know terrible things about him, she probably wouldn’t say.
She wouldn’t jeopardize her position for someone she’d only known for a quarter of an hour.
Still, Tamsin desperately wanted to get the opinion of someone who actually knew her husband.
She found it a bit disturbing that no one had come to support him at their wedding.
She knew he had at least one sister, Julia.
They’d gone to the same finishing school, though Julia was a few years older and probably didn’t know who she was.
Surely, he had other family members as well?
Why hadn’t he invited any of his friends to the ceremony? Once again, she wondered if their marriage had meant anything to him at all. But quick on the heels of that disheartening thought was the memory of how kind he’d been to her in the carriage and in the hall outside her door.
“Thank you, Jane. I think I’m going to rest for a while before dinner. Would you come back in a few hours and help me dress?”
Jane nodded, obviously relieved that Tamsin had stopped asking questions about the earl. “Of course, my lady. I’ll see you around six?”
“That sounds perfect.”
Tamsin waited until the door clicked shut and then slid beneath the cool sheets of the large, comfortable bed. She hadn’t slept a wink last night for fear of what this day would hold, and she was grateful to have some rest before dinner.
She’d been so worried that he’d insist she allow him his husbandly rights this evening, but it seemed as though he might allow her a bit of a reprieve.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be his wife in every sense of the word, but she wanted the opportunity to get to know him first, to feel more comfortable with him before she allowed him to have access to her body.
Surely, that wasn’t too much to ask?
But as she drifted off, her mind was filled with the image of what she’d seen at Vauxhall Gardens. Surely, he wouldn’t expect that of her, would he?
And why didn’t the thought horrify her as much as it should?