“A wise decision. You’d still be here, wouldn’t you?” She moved cautiously into the room, stepping delicately around a few empty wine bottles scattered on the floor. He vaguely remembered playing ninepins with them, using an orange for a ball. After a moment’s panic, the sight of the dried peel sitting on a table assured him that the fruit was not rotting somewhere along the paneled wall.
He watched her drift through the room, examining a pile of periodicals, wrinkling her nose at some empty wineglasses scattered on a gateleg table. To his relief, she kept her composure. “I gather you have no servants?”
He cleared his throat. “There’s Lane, of course. He’s used to the stables more than housekeeping, but he’s been with me for years.”
“As has this, apparently.” She held a worn seat cushion between her thumb and forefinger at arm’s length as a thin trail of sawdust dribbled out of one corner. Gingerly replacing it, she surveyed the rest of the room.
“It came this way. The furniture did, at any rate.” He crossed his arms. “Coming to London was your idea, not mine.”
She ignored him and wandered over to examine a pile of plates. “I collect that Lane at least comprehends the function of a dishcloth and soap. Do you usually keep clean dishes on the window seat?”
He shrugged. “Why not? They’re closer to hand.”
A pained expression crossed her face and she shut her eyes. “All things considered, Richard, it may be best that you are marrying into money. We are going to hire at least one maidservant as soon as possible. And the first thing we are going to do after we marry is find a decent place to live.”
His lips twitched as she removed a few books from a chair and searched for a place to put them, but he said nothing. After last evening, he had his own ideas about the first activities in which they would indulge following the wedding. They did not include house hunting.
Bethany’s exploration ended quickly when she discovered that the far door led to his bedchamber. She immediately closed it again, flushing crimson at his unrepentant grin.
“How on earth do you cook in here?” Her perplexed gaze took in the small fireplace.
“We don’t. Lane brings hot meals in, or whatever else we need—bread, fruit, wine, that sort of thing. We keep them in the cupboard in the corner.” Her brow furrowed. Obviously she wanted to ask him something, but she hesitated.
“What were you going to ask now?” He smiled at her grave face and clasped hands.
“Do you think he’ll be much longer?” Her pensive question reminded him that their small dinner on the road had been several hours ago.
“He’s likely been delayed at the Mermaid.” Richard chuckled. “He’s, ah, quite friendly with one of the chambermaids there. I’m famished as well. Shall I go out and see what I can find among the stalls on the street?”
“That would be wonderful, but how will you pay for it?” She cocked her head to one side. “I thought you had no money.”
“That’s the great advantage of being a peer. Since coming to London, I maintain quite a comfortable living”—he ignored her derisive exclamation—“by the adroit use of my title in the right ears. London merchants have proved more than happy to extend credit to members of His Majesty’s Court.” He bowed.
“Provided, of course, that they never visit Hampton Palace and discover just how unimportant the peer truly is.” He observed her growing indignation as he finished his explanation.
“Good heavens, this is some sort of game for you.” Her eyes flashed. “You do nothing but trade on your name to see what it brings you. First the merchants, then me.”
He froze. “Be careful what you accuse me of, madam. My father refused to sully his name and mine with disloyalty when those fat merchants were scrambling for Cromwell’s favor. ’Twas no game. His sense of honor cost him his estates and his life.”
He fell silent, hands clenched. How dare she judge his actions? She had no grasp of the life he had led.
She stood by the fireplace, shocked at his vehemence, frightened. He realized that despite her practicality, she was only a few years older than his sister, and had grown up in the relative security of the countryside.
He forced himself to speak lightly. “Besides, that is the name that is going to obtain our evening meal.” He jammed his black felt hat on his head, but shut the door behind him quietly, careful not to slam it.
“Richard, wait!” He heard her voice through the door, but hurried down the stairs. He needed to calm himself before he faced her again.
“Trading his name,” as Bethany called it, took long enough that he walked directly home after his purchases. Only his insistence that he would possess a wealthy bride within the week induced the shop owners to give him their evening meal. He would have to discover her father’s bank and arrange for a letter of credit in order to eat after tomorrow’s breakfast.
His full hands prevented him from opening his own door. Bethany answered his knock and took the parcels from him as he shrugged off his cloak and beheld his room. She had rolled up her sleeves to clean, and taken her cap off. Even pinned up, the flaming strands caught his eye.
While much of the chaotic tumble remained, she had dusted off two chairs and a small table. Other piles of clutter had disappeared. He noticed that all the cushions had been removed. When asked, Bethany informed him that she had tossed them onto the midden heap in the alley behind.
She sniffed a smallish parcel. “What is this?”
“Eel pie. I fear ’twas the best I could coax from the pie man.” She eyed it doubtfully but said nothing and proceeded to put away the remaining foodstuffs before setting the pies out, along with bread and wine.
They supped heartily as dusk gathered outside the windows. After her initial cautious taste, she devoured her pie. Richard coaxed her to join him in a second glass of wine as they ate their bread and cheese.
Afterward, Bethany replaced the supper dishes with a candelabrum while Richard prowled the room restlessly. He seldom dined in his rooms, spending most evenings with his cronies at the theater, or visiting the numerous gambling dens and public houses catering to gentlemen. Occasionally he patronized a bawdy house, but he found women of his own social standing more attractive. And for him, their favors were usually free.
Mentally, he shrugged. For the fortune that Bethany brought, he would willingly pay the price of a few nights’ boredom. Once his ring was safely on her finger, he could do what he wished wherever he wanted.
The girl sat at the table before a piece of paper, writing steadily with a quill and ink unearthed from somewhere in the mess. Candlelight danced off her blazing hair, and he had a sudden urge to unpin it. What he wanted just now, he decided, was a bit of sport.
With a sly glance at her bent head, he selected a copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets. He’d rushed his fences with her last evening. He would take slower steps now.
“Would you care to have me read to you?”
Bethany looked up from her work. He supposed it was a trick of the candlelight, but her bright gray eyes looked almost silver, a most attractive effect. “I’m sorry, I was not attending.”
He bestowed upon her his most disarming smile. “I wondered if you would care to have me read aloud.”
“That would be delightful.” She colored slightly. “If you really wish to, of course. As you can see, I have found a way to occupy myself.”
“You put me to shame with your industry, to be sure.” He seated himself opposite her. “Whatever are you working so hard on?”
“Lists, sir. One for immediate household needs, one for errands that must be run, another