She knew she’d pleased him last night and this morning. He’d made her glad for all her years of training—and that was something she couldn’t have imagined only six months ago. Since her skills had been wasted on Karim, she’d expected them to remain unused forever. As his widow, she was unlikely to be able to employ them with other men. Widows were worthless, unwanted. Besides, she was old—past twenty—practically a crone.
Her skills were not wasted on Marchmont. She’d made him laugh and she’d set him on fire and he’d done the same to her. She told herself not to place too much importance on his sweetness. A man was usually more malleable immediately after a night and morning of passion.
Furthermore, she knew he truly didn’t care what she did to his house. He left most of his life to others. He was fortunate to have efficient and conscientious servants. Obnoxious, too, some of them, but efficient.
Harrison, for instance. He might be a bully, but for all she knew that was a result of his having to assume complete control. He had become overbearing, perhaps, because the master made no decisions and bore no responsibility at all.
“I shall want to look at the household records first,” said Zoe.
“To move a table? All that wants is a pair of footmen.”
“I want to understand how this household is run,” Zoe said.
“Harrison runs it,” said Marchmont. “He does a fine job. Have you noticed anything wrong or lacking? I mean, apart from the breakfast table being too far from the window.”
“A gentleman who lives alone does not have the same requirements as a gentleman with a wife and family,” Zoe said.
“Family,” Marchmont repeated. He met her gaze, then his drifted downward. Though they had the table between them, she knew his mind had fixed on her belly, and he was wondering if his seed was sprouting there.
“One must make adjustments. One must accommodate the increase of the duke’s family,” she said.
Marchmont House was splendid, but, except for his bedroom, it was like a beautiful museum. It felt cold and anonymous. As stuffy and strict as the Queen was reputed to be, even Buckingham House had more personality.
“I’m sure Harrison will make all adjustments and accommodations necessary,” he said, returning to his meal. “You don’t need to trouble yourself about it. I can’t imagine why you’d want to spend time looking at numbers in ledgers instead of riding or driving or shopping or visiting friends.”
“I expect to be very busy with all of those activities in the coming weeks,” Zoe said. “These early days of our marriage, when I’m not so busy, would be the best time to learn the ways of this household.”
“I have no idea why you need to learn anything about it,” he said. “I can’t understand why you’d want to give yourself a headache looking at account books and such.”
“The books often explain more clearly than the servants can,” she said. “They show the patterns of the house, the ebb and flow.”
He shrugged. “As you wish. But you are not to give yourself a brain fever. I was hoping to show off the new Duchess of Marchmont in Hyde Park later today.”
“And I shall be honored to be shown off,” she said. “Any day you wish. I promise not to rave or froth at the mouth in public.”
“Afterwards, what is your preference? The theater? Or shall we spend the night quietly at home?” He glanced across at her, and heat sparked in his sleepy eyes. “But not too quietly.”
She slipped off her slipper and stretched her leg out under the table. She brushed her foot against his leg, then higher, and higher still.
He set down his cutlery. His slitted green gaze moved to the footmen posted on either side of the sideboard. “Out,” he said.
They went out.
“Come here,” said the duke to his wife.
Monday, 4 May, in the duke’s study
The interlude after breakfast led to another and another. They were newlyweds, after all. And then, as important newlyweds in London, they had to be seen here and had to be seen there. The Duke of York gave a great party on Saturday night. The Queen was there, and several princesses and royal dukes and certain members of the nobility, the Marchmonts included, naturally. As they were taking tea, the Queen suddenly fell ill. She was taken back to Buckingham House in Lord Castlereagh’s carriage, because her own wasn’t ready.
Zoe and Marchmont left soon after Her Majesty did. They went home and did what newlyweds usually do.
It wasn’t until Monday that Zoe found the time to begin examining the household. She commenced the review shortly after Marchmont had dressed and taken himself off to Tattersall’s.
Osgood, she found, was happy to indulge her curiosity. He proudly showed her his domain: the neat piles of correspondence, the diary with its beautifully penned entries, the tidy ledgers listing Marchmont’s personal expenditures.
After Osgood came Harrison.
Harrison was a horse of a different color.
