“I’ll leave you to rest, my lady, and I’ll send Ella to help you dress for dinner,” Mrs. Wessex said.
“I can manage for myself,” Thea said, wanting more than anything to be alone. So much had happened today and in the few days before that...and then she saw the furrowed brow of the housekeeper. “Until Ella arrives,” she hastily added.
Mrs. Wessex gave her a very small smile, nodded and left her.
Alone at last, Thea wandered around the lovely chamber. This was also what she’d dreamed of when she decided to ask Develin Dundrake to marry her—a beautiful home, evidence of a new and prosperous future. She need no longer dread that she would be all alone in the world, poor, cold and starving, with no home and no family, no husband, no children.
But what of love, Thea? a little voice inside her queried. Don’t you want to be loved?
Surely love would come, too, if not from her husband, at least from her children.
* * *
Thea didn’t see Develin again until he joined her in the drawing room before dinner that evening.
She had ignored Ella’s shocked expression when the maid discovered Thea had only three dresses to her name, and the one she wore now, of plain blue taffeta, was the finest. The youthful maid had hesitatingly offered the information that there was an excellent dressmaker in the village, as well as a milliner. Thea had thanked her and silently vowed she would visit them as soon as possible.
Upon entering the drawing room, whose glories she had only glimpsed earlier that day, she’d managed to avoid gawking like a stunned peasant. She had never seen so much gilt furniture richly upholstered in blue velvet, or so many delicate figurines as those on the mantle, not to mention the silver sconces and candelabra and the very fine pianoforte in an alcove.
She’d wondered if her husband would expect her to play. If so, he would be disappointed. She’d only begun her musical education when the family funds started to be depleted, and her music lessons had been one of the first economies.
Although she’d waited with growing impatience for her husband to appear, she hadn’t chided him when he finally arrived to escort her in to dinner. Nor had she pestered him with questions or forced him to make conversation as the meal progressed. After all—and so she fervently hoped—he might not be annoyed with her. He might simply be a quiet man.
And what a meal it was! There was a lovely cream of mushroom soup, followed by breaded haddock, then roast beef and chicken with peas and carrots in a thick sauce. The dinner ended with three kinds of pie, a cake and other confectionaries arranged on a tiered plate. There was also ample wine, although she was very careful not to drink too much. She was unused to fine wine and wanted to keep her wits about her. She had made enough mistakes already today.
At last the meal ended, and she retired to the drawing room again, alone. She perched on a gilt chair near the ornate marble fireplace where a fire warmed the room. After a time, Mrs. Wessex arrived, as well as Ella bearing a tea tray. The silver service gleamed in the firelight, and more delicate cakes and sweets were on a pretty china plate beside it.
“Shall I pour, my lady?” the older woman deferentially inquired.
“No, thank you,” Thea replied, determined to prove she wasn’t completely ignorant about such things.
She didn’t get the chance. The housekeeper simply nodded and she and Ella left the room.
With a heavy sigh, Thea poured a cup of tea and sipped it while she waited. And waited some more.
Just when she had decided Develin wasn’t going to join her, he strolled into the room as if no time at all had passed since dinner. Or as if she was of no importance whatsoever.
“I was about to give you up for lost,” she said, trying not to sound irate or frustrated, although she was both. “The tea is probably cold. Shall I ring for more?”
“No, I don’t want any tea,” her husband replied. He walked past her and leaned against the mantelpiece, his forearm casually draped across it and all the while regarding her with an enigmatic expression.
“That was a very sumptuous meal,” she said at last.
Still no response.
“Do you usually have such meals? It seemed quite extravagant.”
“I’m quite rich.”
She would not continue this uphill struggle to have a conversation. If he was upset with her, she would rather find out. He did have some cause to be annoyed—but then, so did she.
She rose and faced him squarely. “I appreciate that I may not have acted as you might have wished when we arrived here today.”
He lowered his arm and raised an eyebrow, but did no more than that.
Even if he was going to persist with his silence, she would admit the truth, at least about her feelings that day. “I was afraid.”
“Afraid? You were afraid?” he repeated, as if that was hardly to be believed. “Of my servants?”
“Not precisely. But I...that is, this house...” Annoyed with herself for being so incoherent, she began again. “This house is so large and there are so many servants, I was afraid of making a mistake, or saying the wrong thing. Instead I may have appeared more haughty and arrogant than I intended.”
Her husband’s lips turned up a little at the corners in a manner that struck her as condescending, as if she were a naughty child. “I did wonder what had gotten into you,” he said, his tone no less patronizing.
Her pride piqued, she rather tartly replied, “If you’d talked to me more in the carriage, I might not have been so anxious.”
Develin frowned. “I suppose it didn’t occur to you that I might have some cause for concern about how we would be received when word of my marriage got out.”
“Did you not take that into account when you accepted my proposal?”
“I didn’t expect you to act like an arrogant—”
“I’ve explained that,” she interrupted. “I suppose I shouldn’t expect a man like you to understand. As for arrogant...” She ran a coolly measuring gaze over the man standing arrogantly before her. “I believe I’ve met my match in that.”
“If I am arrogant, at least I have cause to be,” he returned. “I am a baronet, you’re the daughter of an impoverished gamester who abandoned you. Yet you acted like the Queen of Sheba—hardly a way to ensure good relations with the servants whose help and favorable opinion you’re going to need if this house is to run smoothly.”
“I may not be the Queen of Sheba,” she replied frostily, “but I am the woman you married. I’m the woman you made your wife in every way. Whatever you may be thinking, there’s no undoing that now.”
He didn’t answer. He simply regarded her with cool, unnerving confidence.
Dread flooded through her. They were married, truly married. Surely nothing could change that.
Except that he was a rich and titled man. He would have powerful, influential friends and could afford the best attorneys, men capable of finding ways to overturn any contract or agreement.
“We had a bargain,” she reminded him, her voice rising even as she fought to maintain her composure. She went closer to him, until she was a mere handbreadth away. “If you’re an honorable man, you will keep it, as I shall keep my word. I shall run your household as required, and first thing tomorrow I will go to the village and order some new clothes from the dressmaker there. Ella has informed me she’s quite excellent, and I’ll visit the milliner, too. And tonight, should you wish to come to my bed, I will not refuse you.”
She caught the sharp intake of his breath, saw the flash of desire in his dark eyes. Yet that look of bridled passion