He told her more about his mother and his sister and the latter’s husband and children. He recounted a few anecdotes involving his brother and himself in their younger years, and it was clearer than ever that he had adored his smaller, less robust older sibling. He told her about his years in school at Eton—his brother had been educated at home—and a little about his years with his cavalry regiment, though nothing touching upon the battles in which he had fought. She told him about her brother and his wife and their children. She told him about her father’s wife, whom she had always liked and still did, though she would find it a severe trial to have to live with her in the same house. She recounted some incidents from her childhood that included Dora.
It was only toward the end of the meal, when Flavian was sitting back at his ease, wineglass in hand, that something shocking struck Agnes.
“Oh, goodness me,” she said, “I did not change for dinner.”
“Neither did I,” he said, his eyes roaming lazily over the part of her dress he could see above the table.
“Oh, but you are dressed splendidly,” she pointed out, “while I am wearing just a day dress.”
“This was not dinner, Agnes,” he said. “It was s-supper.”
“But I ought to have changed, nevertheless,” she said. “I do beg your pardon.”
Into the blue or the lavender or the green. No, not the green. It was a little too festive, though thiswasher wedding evening. Oh, he would grow mortally sick of seeing the green—and the blue and the lavender.
He regarded her thoughtfully for a few moments before setting down his glass and getting to his feet. He came around the table and held out a hand for hers. And she was conscious of the fact that it was after ten o’clock and that she was nervous, just as if she were still a virgin.
She might as well be. It had been so long....
She set her napkin on the table, put her hand in his, and rose to her feet. He brought her hand to his lips.
“Go and change now, then,” he said, “into your nightgown. I will ring for the dishes to be removed and for my valet to come. You do not have a maid?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “It is quite unnecessary.”
“You nevertheless will h-have one,” he told her, “as soon as we reach London. As well as new clothes.”
“Oh, that will be quite un—” she began.
“They will be of thefirstnecessity when we arrive in L-London,” he told her. “The maid and the clothes. You are no l-longer Mrs. Keeping from the village of Inglebrook. You are Viscountess Ponsonby of Candlebury A-Abbey. I will see you clothed accordingly.”
It was strange that she had not thought of that—of the fact that she no longer had to support herself on the small legacy William had left her, of the fact that she was now the wife of a wealthy aristocrat who would be shamed by a shabby wife. Not that her clothes wereshabby, only not very new or plentiful, and never fashionable.
“Are you very wealthy?” she asked him.
Oh, it was shocking indeed to have married him without knowing the full extent of his fortune.
“You ought to have r-remembered to ask me that last night instead of this,” he said, using his sighing voice and drooping his eyelids over his eyes. “For all you know, you may have m-married a pauper or a man with a p-pile of debts as high as Mount Olympus. But you can be comforted. My m-man of business in London has never yet resigned or had a f-fit of the vapors when he has met me, nor has he scolded me for extravagance or warned me that d-debtors’ prison looms large in my near future. And my s-steward’s accounts always show a healthy balance on the p-plus side. A few pretty frocks will not b-beggar me, though we may have to drink water for a month instead of tea if we add bonnets to the pile.” He smiled, then added, “I do not have expensive vices, you will be r-relieved to know. When I do gamble, which is not often, I break out in a c-cold sweat as soon as my losses creep up near one hundred pounds, and I arouse the derisive annoyance of all my fellow players by throwing in my h-hand. And horses are fickle creatures, except in battle. I never b-bet on them.”
“Was that a yes?” she asked.
“It was,” he said. “I will never be able to accuse you of m-marrying me for my money, will I? You have d-deprived me of one weapon to use when we quarrel.”
“I married you for your title,” she said.
He smiled lazily at her.
“Did you s-sleep well last night?” he asked.
“We were late getting home.” She looked warily at him. “Then I had to pack my things. I slept well enough after I finally lay down.”
Apart from the wakeful spells. And the vivid dreams.
“You will not s-sleep much tonight,” he told her. “And I would rather the night be no shorter than it need be. Go and get undressed.”
What?It was not long after ten. Surely they would be able to get a good night’s sleep after... Well,after. If she could sleep, that was. She might still be wound up by the strangeness of the day’s events, including the one soon to be enacted.
They were leaving in the morning. For London.
