Affluence was seductive, to be sure. She scarcely spotted a servant in this house, but every detail was attended in a timely manner. Perhaps there were other passages for the staff.
The wedding had been lovely, all the familiar words taking on a wealth of new meaning when she said them herself. Arthur had been solicitous, always at her side, his hand upon her elbow, his murmured commentary in her ear. She knew she did not imagine that he had ensured she was never left alone with his mother. His sister had been delighted and given her a hug, then had spent much of the wedding breakfast discussing fashion with Prudence. Lady Beckham had hosted a lovely breakfast at the house in Berkley Square and most guests had lingered, openly admiring the gracious home. Catherine and her husband had only attended the breakfast briefly as Catherine was tired. Catherine had pressed a letter into Patience’s hand upon her departure, with a whispered “for tonight”. It was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Beckham.
Patience had stood in the doorway when Prudence and her father left, waving as the coach took them back to Carruthers House, feeling as if she had been left behind. She was well aware of Lady Beckham’s disdain of her choice. It was Arthur whose hand landed on the back of her waist. He urged her back into the house, they made their farewells and he escorted her up the stairs.
Patience met her new maid there, a pretty girl named Gellis who had been in service in the Beckham household for some time. She had dark hair and dark eyes, as well as a lively smile, and Patience had liked her immediately. Arthur had left them alone and they had reviewed Patience’s wardrobe in her new room. Gellis fussed with the fire and the lamps, then the girl had left.
It was late afternoon by the time Patience was alone.
Though the rain still drove against the windows, the room was warm and welcoming. The rugs were thick beneath her feet and a fire crackled on the hearth. The lamps glowed against the growing darkness, but the quiet only allowed all of Patience’s doubts to gather and assail her.
There was no sign of Arthur and the door to his chamber was resolutely closed. Patience could not hear anyone else in the house—she might have been alone in an enormous palace—but when her gaze fell upon the boxes of her books, relief surged through her. Wentworth had seen to their delivery, of course, and she sighed once, telling herself that she should not miss home so soon as this.
There was nothing to say that the butler here was not as conscientious and efficient as Wentworth. She wondered if this house would ever feel like home, or if she would always feel like Lady Beckham’s guest.
Was she as unwelcome a guest as she suspected?
Had she been mad to accept Arthur’s offer? In this moment, she feared she had been. Though she had believed Arthur’s promise when they made their agreement, his manner since had not been reassuring. Were the tales of his evening revels all true? If they were, how might such a man establish a reputable business? How might his promise be fulfilled? Every moment in this house, so much more lavish than the one she knew, added to her uncertainties. His mother did not like her. She was a guest in Lady Beckham’s home, but there had been no mention of she and Arthur establishing their own household.
The heart of her concern was her fear that he had seen his goal achieved and hers would be forgotten. They were married, or at least had exchanged their vows, and he had not changed his habits a whit. To be sure, he was charming, but after their shopping excursion, he might have forgotten her very existence.
Had that only been to ensure that she gave a suitable appearance as his wife?
Doubt gnawed at Patience, growing as the minutes passed.
Her life had been her own, her choices hers to make within some restrictions, but now she had ceded authority to her husband and possibly his mother. What would be the expectation of her here? Would she be kept from working in her father’s store? Would she be expected to become frivolous herself, a lady who only shopped and visited and left cards, or who rode in the park each morning? Patience could not bear the prospect.
And what of the night ahead? What would it be like? Would the consummation hurt? There was some intimation that it might. How much? Or would their union be as wondrous as hinted in many novels? Would she and Arthur find a magical accord like that acclaimed by poets, or would the consummation simply be a physical deed, completed without preamble or fuss?
She considered the note from Catherine but did not open it in Arthur’s absence. It was addressed to both of them, after all. What was inside it? A page from the mysterious book? Patience hoped as much, with all her might.
And where was Arthur?
Patience paced the ample room. How she disliked any absence of information and detail! If only Catherine had surrendered the entire book of intimate advice! She felt in desperate need of instruction.
The boxes of her books had not been placed in the small adjacent chamber, but were beside the door to that room. Patience looked inside it to find that a new bookcase filled what had been the empty space. Her heart glowed that Arthur had remembered. Delighted, she went to examine it, running a hand over the beautifully finished wood, and admiring that there were glass-fronted doors to protect the books from dust.
“Does it meet your specifications?”
She spun to find the man in question watching her. Arthur leaned in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his breeches. His jacket had been discarded, the glint in his eyes making her feel warm. He might have been a cat for all his stealthy approach.
Patience’s heart skipped a beat. “You surprised me.”
“Was I not expected?”
“Of course! Are you responsible for this addition?”
“I thought you wished for one.” He took a step closer and her uncertainties blossomed.
She spun to the bookcase again, avoiding Arthur’s steady gaze as her heart leapt. “It is beautiful,” she said, running a hand across it again. She saw that her hand trembled ever so slightly, and she told herself that she had no cause to fear him. “A fine piece of workmanship.”
“It was not my plan to offer a deficient gift,” he said, his tone teasing.
Patience caught her breath as he came to stand beside her and could have lost herself in the warm scent of him. The memory of his previous kisses brought heat to her cheeks. She granted him a sidelong glance, noting how imposing and utterly male he was.
Her husband.
Goodness.
