‘Upstairs,’ he told her. ‘All the principal rooms are on the upper floor.’
‘Including the dining room?’
‘Of course.’
‘And the kitchens?’
‘In the basement.’
‘A twenty-minute walk, no doubt,’ she murmured.
Gideon laughed.
‘Exactly!’
They ascended the grand staircase to a wide landing. The house was built around a central courtyard and a series of windows allowed plenty of light into the upper rooms, which led one from the other. The drawing room was the first of these chambers to be entered.
Even to one used to the grandeur of Martlesham Abbey, the drawing room was impressive. Ornately carved panelling covered every wall and the patterns were repeated in the plaster moulding on the ceiling. An elaborate stone chimneypiece dominated the room, the Albury coat of arms emblazoned at the centre of the overmantel. Dominique took in the faded grandeur of the room and the heavy, old-fashioned furniture as Gideon led her forwards to meet her host.
Viscount Rotham had risen from a wooden armchair set on one side of the fireplace and now stood waiting to greet her. She dropped into a deep curtsy, but as she rose she looked up to study her father-in-law. The likeness between the viscount and his son was marked. Both were tall and lean, with the same finely sculpted lips and high cheekbones. Each had hazel eyes set beneath dark brows, but where Gideon wore his auburn hair unpowdered and just touching his collar, the viscount preferred the old style of a curled and powdered wig. He was dressed all in black, save for the narrow ruffles at his wrists and the linen at his neck.
‘Welcome, madam,’ he said politely. ‘Pray sit down. I trust the journey was not too onerous for you?’
‘Not at all, my lord. We made one stop overnight.’
‘Just one?’ Those dark brows rose and he bent his gaze upon Gideon. ‘Was that wise, my son? Another night would have given your wife more respite from the rigours of the road—’
‘But it was not at all necessary.’ She knew an urge to turn and run as two pairs of hazel eyes turned towards her in surprise, but she held her ground. ‘Your carriage is so well sprung, my lord, that the miles flew by. I am not at all fatigued, I assure you.’
She was rewarded by a smile from Gideon as he guided her to a sofa, the only padded seat in the room.
‘Indeed, Father, we saw Dr Harris before we left town. He assured me that there was no danger in the journey.’
‘Nevertheless, I have ordered dinner to be put back, to give you both time to rest...’
The exchanges continued, polite enough, a little stilted, but not unfriendly. Dominique mentioned this to Gideon when he escorted her to their apartments on the top floor and he concurred.
‘I am glad you were not intimidated,’ he continued. ‘Father’s style is a little formal, but he is perfectly kind, I assure you.’
* * *
She had to remind herself of this fact when they went down to dinner. It was served in the dining room, another grandiose chamber beyond the drawing room. The long table in the centre was set with all the pomp and formality one could desire. Only Dominique did not desire it.
Conversation was almost non-existent, the food cold, and by the time Dominique returned to the empty drawing room while the gentlemen enjoyed their brandy she was beginning to long for the cosy comfort of Brook Street. Not one to repine, she spent the time alone tuning her harp, which had been set up in one corner of the room, where the big windows overlooked the gardens. She had completed her task and was gently strumming the strings when Gideon came in with his father.
‘Since there is no pianoforte here we brought Nicky’s harp with us.’ Gideon explained in response to his father’s look of surprise.
‘Indeed?’ The viscount’s response was cool.
‘I hope you do not object, my lord?’ asked Dominique quickly.
‘On the contrary. Gideon’s mother was musical, but when Gwendoline married I had the pianoforte sent to Fairlawns. However, it will be pleasant to have music at Rotham once more.’ He gave her a little bow. ‘This house has been too long without a mistress, madam. I should be honoured if you would take on that role.’
‘Th-thank you, my lord.’
Gideon touched her arm. ‘Perhaps you will play for us now, Nicky.’
She complied, happy to avoid the long, awkward silences that had accompanied their dinner. No tea tray had been ordered. When the clock struck eleven she excused herself and retired. She and Gideon had been allocated adjoining rooms, with a connecting door, and she was not displeased when Gideon knocked and entered a short time later.
Dominique was sitting at her dressing table while Kitty unpinned her hair, but she dismissed her maid immediately. She was wearing only her nightgown and suddenly felt a little shy to be alone with her husband. To hide her embarrassment she kept her eyes on the mirror as she removed the last of the pins.
‘I think that went off very well,’ remarked Gideon, coming closer. ‘Father was very complimentary about you.’
She was pleased, but could not resist asking him if all meals were taken in the dining room.
‘When Father is alone he dines in his room and his man, Warner, takes him his breakfast, too. It is the custom here for all guests to break their fast in their room. Kitty will bring yours to you in the morning.’
The idea of sitting in bed with Gideon while he fed her tiny morsels of toast was very appealing—in fact, it sent a little shiver of excitement rippling through her—but that was something lovers might do and she and Gideon were not lovers. Instead, she knew she would be breaking her fast in a lonely state.
Dominique dragged the brush through her hair, sitting tense and upright. Gideon walked up behind her and held out his hand.
‘May I?’ Silently she handed him the hairbrush. He said quietly, ‘I know everything is very new to you here, Nicky, but please be patient.’ He began to brush her hair, one lock at a time, but she had the impression that his thoughts were elsewhere. He said at last, ‘I have not been to Rotham since my quarrel with Father last December. For me to turn up now and with a wife whom I married without his knowledge or his blessing—’
Her tension melted as the rhythmic brushing had its effect.
‘It is very hard for you both, I am sure.’ She glanced up at his image in the mirror, but his eyes were fixed upon her hair. ‘Does he know the truth about us?’
‘Yes. I told him the whole at the outset—not that any blame attaches to you,’ he said as she put her hands up to her burning cheeks. ‘I explained to him that I was in a raging fury because Martlesham and that little actress tricked me into marriage. It was all the fault of my wretched temper, which he understands only too well.’ He gave a small, twisted smile. ‘He is more likely to pity you than blame you.’
‘Which is as bad,’ she exclaimed. ‘I would not for the world have him feel sorry for me.’
Gideon looked at the reflection in the mirror, observing the anguish in those enormous eyes, the flushed cheeks. His skin still tingled from the feel of her lustrous dark hair between his fingers. Putting down the brush, he placed his hands on her shoulders.
‘Was I wrong to marry you?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Was I wrong not to have the marriage annulled?’
Her chin went up.
‘Yes. If you will not put the past behind you.’
With a jolt he realised he had not been thinking of the past, merely of the mischief he had done to Nicky by holding her to the marriage. She