He shook his head. “We are not living in some kind of romance novel. There could be a perfectly reasonable, perfectly innocent reason for this.”
He looked at the folder in his shaking hands and then towards the door. It was not as though confrontation had ever led to anything good.
“She told me she wanted this. She said she wanted a real marriage.” He swallowed and massaged his chest, the pressure lessening somewhat. “She wants to be with me.”
He moved back towards the pile of papers and various oddments, and tucked the file back at the bottom of the pile. His fingers hesitated as he drew back, and he glanced over his shoulder.She did try and hide this from me.
That had to mean something. If there was nothing nefarious about the banks, then she would have told him. She would have revealed it to him and not tried to keep it a secret.
Or had she? After all, he was the one who had knocked things to the ground. The file had probably been mixed in amongst all the other things, in plain view for him to find.
“And it is not like Andrea to hide things in such an obvious place. At least, I do not think it is. I cannot really imagine her hiding something like that, not unless she wanted it to be found.” The thought comforted him and he found himself nodding as he continued, “I am just being overly cautious. That is all. Things are going well. I have no reason to doubt her, to doubt any of this.”
It was probably nothing for him to worry about.
“It does not mean anything. She likes her independence, that is it. She probably has simply not gotten around to closing them.”It does not mean she wants to leave.His chest constricted at the thought.
Shaking his head, he put the folder at the bottom of the pile. The best thing for him to do, was to put it from his mind and try go about his day.
“You know what they say about assumptions, Frederick.” He chided himself.
As he left the study, the faint echo of his father’s voice set his teeth on edge.To love is to lose.
“It does not mean anything.” Frederick growled to the space around him. “It is only money after all.”
But if that is true, then why did she not tell you? Why keep it a secret if it is of no consequence?
ChapterTwenty-Three
“Is someone singing?” Andrea looked up from her book, frowning as she strained to hear the noise.
It was eleven o’clock in the morning, and she had decided to have a relaxing morning after an evening of festivities. She did not think she had ever danced so much, nor chatted.
She rubbed her feet absently. She usually left balls early, and was used to her early departure being a fairly unremarkable occurrence. Her arrival at such events was also a fairly unremarkable occurrence. Or at least it had been.
But that was no longer the case. The feel of people clamouring to talk to her, of strangers asking her to dance. The way Frederick seemed to always be watching her, or talking about her to other people.
Her heart twisted at the memory and a giddiness stole over her as she rubbed her chest absently. The sound of whistling drifted towards her.
Her curiosity got the better of her and she closed her book, heading into the hallway and listening closely for more singing.It is definitely a man singing.
She followed the sound of his voice, eventually reaching the dining room. She walked in and found herself looking at Frederick, who was wearing a broad grin on his face as he buttered a slice of toast.
Frederick sang. “Butter on the toast. Jam on the butter..”
He jiggled about in his seat, bouncing with a glee she’d have expected from a child just out of leading strings, and took a bite of his toast. Andrea touched a finger to her lips, struggling to keep her laughter from spilling out of her as she watched her husband.
The noise of it caught his attention and he whirled to face her, his entire face, neck and both his ears going the colour of beetroot. She gestured to him.
“Oh, please, do not stop on my account.” She sat beside him.
“How long were you standing there?” Frederick peered at her from out of the corner of his eye.
“Not long.” She shrugged. “But I was sitting in the drawing room when I first heard your… musical efforts.”
Frederick groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I thought you would be out painting in this light. I swear the servants told me you were in the grounds.”
“I was, but then I remembered that I hate painting landscapes in London so I came back inside and decided to read instead, and I am very glad I did.” She flashed him a wicked smile. “Or I would not have heard your whistling and the little moment of song at the end.’”
