Very.She had emphasized the word.
“And good manners matter to you more than anything else,” he said.
She frowned. “No. But they do matter,” she told him.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, still petty and unable or unwilling to do anything about it, it seemed. “I was raised to believe good manners consisted of sayingpleaseandthank youin the appropriate places. I did not understand that they also involve attending functions one has no wish to attend and ones that no one else wants to attend either.”
“My family will enjoy getting together to wish us well,” she said. “It is what we do. We celebrate together and we commiserate together.”
“And which will it be this time?” he asked. Nasty. Worse than petty now. Mean.
“Gil.” She tipped her head to one side, still frowning. She had not yet removed her bonnet. Neither of them had sat down. “It was a surprise to everyone. But they all accepted it after they had got over their shock. And they all understand that you are the same person they met and liked at Hinsford. Your background does not matter to them.”
“If you believe that, Abby,” he said, “you have windmills in your head.”
“That is not very kind,” she said.
“One can only imagine,” he said, “how the Earl of Riverdale, the head of your family, will react to learning how I duped him when I came from Paris with him and then mingled with his family for a whole week. One can only imagine how the Duke of Netherby will feel. And the dowager duchess. And the Dowager Countess of Riverdale. I could continue.”
“They will receive you kindly,” she said. “You are my husband.”
“So the respect in which I will be held by the Westcott family will depend upon that slender thread, will it?” he said.
“Am I nothing more to you than aslender thread?” she asked.
He opened his mouth to retaliate and snapped it shut again. He broke eye contact with her and looked beyond her to the clock on the mantel.
“Abby,” he said, “I have no wish to come between you and your family. None whatsoever. I know they are precious to you, and I know they love you. But I cannot be drawn into that particular fold. I will not try. Please do not ask it of me. And please do not ask it of your family. The kindest thing I can do for you is to stay away from them. Perhaps in time they will at least be reassured on your behalf when they know that I treat you well.”
“Gil—” she began, but he held up a staying hand.
“I am going to go down to the stables to assure Beauty that I have not run away,” he said. “I’ll take her for a walk. I’ll check on my horse too while I am down there. By the time I return it will be dinnertime.”
And he turned and opened the door and half stepped through the doorway before stopping. He drew breath andreleased it on a sigh. He stepped back inside, closed the door without latching it, and strode across the distance between them. He wrapped one arm about her waist, the other about her shoulders, and pulled her hard against him before kissing her. Her spine arched inward and her hands splayed over his chest while she kissed him back.
A few moments later he was making his way downstairs. Beauty had a small stall of her own in the stables, with fresh straw and her pillow and a large bowl of water. He had made arrangements for her to be fed regularly and walked by a groom. But she always hated being in places where she must be separated from him. And he, dash it all, hated it too.
Their first quarrel—his and Abby’s, that was. And a pretty serious one too. He wondered if they would recover from it.
He ought to go to that party, he supposed. It would be just a few hours out of his life. He ought to go through the motions of being welcomed into the family and feted. He ought tobe polite.He had spent years, after all, learning to be a gentleman so that he could be a good officer. He should be willing to do this for Abby’s sake.
But he could not.
Hewouldnot.
•••
Their first quarrel. Not many more than twenty-four hours after their wedding. And a nasty one. One that might continue to divide them for the rest of their lives.
After Gil left, Abigail stood where she was for a full minute before turning to go into her bedchamber to change for dinner. She felt quite trembly, perhaps because she knew he had a point. The hour of that visit had been one of the most awkward of her life, with everyone pretending to be happyabout her marriage once they had recovered from the initial shock—and Gil standing in almost the exact same spot all the time they were there.
Her mother had not even made much of an effort to pretend. But why would she? How wouldshefeel, Abigail asked herself, ifherdaughter did something similar? She remembered how she had felt a few years ago when Mama had seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth on her way to Hinsford from Bath. Abigail, together with Joel and Alexander and Elizabeth, had tracked her all the way to a remote cottage in Devonshire and found her there, deep in an affair with Marcel—who had a reputation as a dreadful rake. Abigail had been horrified, among other things, even though Marcel had tried to cover up the impropriety by announcing that they were betrothed.
She heard Gil come in and go to his room about half an hour after he had left. She was seated in their private sitting room, pretending to read a book, when he came out, dressed for dinner.
“Gil,” she said before he could say anything or before a silence could settle between them and be too awkward to break, “I understand. Ido. I shall let Elizabeth know that if she wishes to invite the family to tea at her house, I will be delighted to join them, but that it must not be announced as a wedding celebration. I shall tell her how busy you are.”
“Is that the polite way of saying I simply will not go?” he asked her.
