“You are still the Duchess of Longleigh. And I won’t swoon.”
It was all he could manage whilst clinging to the tattered remnants of his pride.
He had married her.
Today.
She was hiswife.
How surreal it was.
Whether it was thanks to the restlessness of his mind or the lack of sustenance he had consumed, he could not say. But he capitulated with frightening ease, watching as the woman he had wed that morning flitted to the sideboard and filled a plate, returning to his side with it and a glass of wine.
“Something stronger than tea is in order for a day such as today,” she explained. “Would you not agree?”
Hell yes, he agreed, but his mouth was filled with rich, smoked ham. He could not form a reply. He had not realized how hungry he was until the moment he had seen the food she had heaped upon his plate. And in the instant between him forking up some ham and it entering his mouth, he was endlessly pleased she had insisted upon him seeking a late dinner despite his earlier avoidance of sustenance.
This arrangement was far preferable to him anyway.
There were no servants presiding over the meal, forever hovering near enough to eavesdrop upon their every conversation. He was still convinced some of the servants at Coddington Hall and Haddon House had been reporting back to Longleigh, though he supposed he would never have definitive proof. He did not recall the faces of any of the domestics he had seen thus far. They were all strangers to him, unless his memory was faulty. He did not think it was, however.
“You see? You were starving, you poor man.” His wife of less than one day was once more frowning at him. “You must not deprive yourself. Is this what you were accustomed to, before? Did they deny you food?”
Of course they had. But Adrian did not want to speak ofbefore.
He only wanted food. Food and then sleep, if he could succumb to it. The prospect was doubtful, given his propensity for nightmares and the fact that he would be spending the night in the same edifice where he had been hauled away to prison.
He ate some bread next, maintaining his silence. It was buttered. Excellent. Not at all dry and stale as he had grown used to accepting. Small things were more easily appreciated when one had been denied them.
“Will you ever speak of what happened to you?”
Her question cut through the silence. Unwelcome.
He took a sip of wine, washing down the bread. “It was prison, Duchess. What more do you want to know?”
Her chin tipped up at that stubborn angle he knew so well. “I asked you to call me Tilly.”
So she had. But it was far easier maintaining his guard in her presence when he could use her title and her entanglement with the Duke of Longleigh as a reminder that he must not forget who she was or what she had done.
He maintained his silence and ate some more ham.
“Thank you.”
Her gratitude was not what he had expected. More arguing, yes. But thanks? He swallowed, then reached for his wine, washing the food down with more sweet red liquid before speaking again. “For what?”
“For defending me to my mother and father.” She studied him with the emerald eyes he had seen in his sleep each night.
Seeing far too much, he thought.
“It was no heroic effort,” he said stiffly, feeling uncomfortable both with her appreciation and the fact that he had championed her. He was still not certain why he had done it. Some vestiges of his old self, mayhap. “They saw their daughter married to a cruel man thrice her age. Their only concern is with themselves.”
It was the way of many aristocrats, as far as Adrian could see. They cared far more about their wealth and privilege, their titles, their positions in society, their scandals and their lines of succession. They would sooner see their daughters married to dukes and earls than men who would treat them with care.
But then, who was he to say he would treat Tilly with care?
The only capacity for loving he currently possessed was devoted to his son. Robby was an innocent lad. He would give his own life to save his son’s, if it came to it. He was determined to be nothing like the man who had sired him. Robby would never be made to feel as if he were unloved or unwanted.
“I am sorry they were insulting to you. I never should have allowed them to host the wedding breakfast. I thought it would help to dispel any undue gossip, but I see now that I was wrong to even allow their involvement. They have not changed.”
