He wasn’t sure. Panic, perhaps, because he’d found himself required, suddenly, to do what he’d never done before. He’d found himself required to pay attention and make a decision.
He’d decided wrong, unsurprisingly.
He heard a light tap at the door connecting his room to Zoe’s. His sinking heart cautiously lifted. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, come in.”
His heart lifted another degree when she spilled through the door in a delicious confection of a morning dress. Made of a cream-colored muslin trimmed in pink, it had long, loose sleeves and an abundance of lace. “You look like a sugar cake,” he said.
She looked tired, too. He saw shadows under her beautiful eyes. His conscience said,Your fault, your fault, you beast.
She beamed at him, just as though he wasn’t a beast.
His heart lightened further.
“Zoe,” he began.
But before he could embark on his apology, a train of footmen entered behind her, some bearing trays.
Those unencumbered set about moving a table and chairs in front of the fireplace. Then they set out the dishes. Then they went out via the room’s main door, which the last servant discreetly closed after himself.
“When I came up this morning, you were asleep,” she said. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Come here,” he said.
“Come eat your breakfast,” she said.
As he did every night, Hoare had laid out Marchmont’s dressing gown on the back of a chair, near at hand. She took it and held it up, playing valet.
More coals heaped upon the duke’s head.
He climbed out of bed, donned his slippers, and obediently thrust his arms into the sleeves. He tied the sash and said, “I must beg your pardon, Zoe. I behaved badly yesterday.”
“Oh, thank you.” She flung herself at him and threw her arms about him in her usual impulsive way.
He wrapped his arms about her and held her tightly. “I should never, never have taken Harrison’s side against you,” he said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Evidently, I wasn’t thinking at all. Please forgive me.” He buried his face in her hair and inhaled the fragrance of her, clean and warm and summery.
He stood for a time, simply holding her.
She’d been lost for far too long. She’d returned. She was his. He’d made her his. No one had forced him to do this. Now it was his job to look after her and honor her, a job no one had forced him to accept. He’d given his word, of his own free will, in the moment he’d said, “I will.”
After a time, she drew away. “Thank you,” she said. “I wasn’t easy about coming to you this morning. But now that I’m forgiven—”
“Oh, no,” he said. “I asked you to forgiveme. I haven’t decided whether to forgive you.” Her eyes widened, and he laughed. “A joke, Zoe. I couldn’t resist. Gad, what is there to forgive? I told you to do as you pleased, not as Harrison pleased.”
“Come, let’s eat breakfast,” she said. “I must talk about sums, and that isn’t something you can bear on an empty stomach.”
“Sums,” he said.
What foreboding he felt was simply due to the prospect of dealing with numbers. She’d been staring at long columns of them. She’d been writing them down. Though she’d scrubbed the smudges off her face, faint ink stains remained on her fingers.
She took his hand, and he let her lead him to the breakfast table. “This is the darkest part of the room,” he said. “I thought you preferred to breakfast in the sunlight. My windows overlook the garden.”
“I assumed your head would ache this morning,” she said.
“I wasn’t nearly as drunk as I’d planned to be,” he said. “Getting drunk turned out not to be as much fun as it ought to be.” He held out a chair for her and she sat. He took his place opposite. It wasn’t far away. This was a good deal more intimate than even the breakfast room, one of the most informal rooms in the house.
They ate for a time in comfortable silence. He was used to silence and used to living alone. But he knew she savored the quiet, after so many riotous mealtimes at Lexham House. As for himself, he was content this day simply to have her near and not in a mood to throw things at him.
He seemed to be in a very bad way, stupidly attached to his wife.
