She could feel his presence behind her, warm and imposing.
“After all this—” She gestured vaguely with her hands “—I mean, after everything that’s happened—after all this time, are we, erm…still, well is this, uh, marriage still valid?” The latter words tumbled out in a rush.
His face remained impassive. “I gather you did not die.”
She thought for a moment. “It appears I did not.”
“Nor did I.”
She looked at him with wide eyes.
“Nor did we ever obtain a legal separation,” he added.
She tilted her head. “We didn’t?”
“We most certainly did not.” His tone grew firmer.
“Though it is not pleasant, it must beaddressed: I have no intention of seeking a legal separation or pursuing any action based on the previous presumption of death. If I had remarried or you had wed Arenheim, the matter would have been different. Bigamy would have been a serious complication.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“I have studied the law extensively and am well aware of the legal principles surrounding marriage. I will ensure that the courts in England remain uninvolved. Thus, since neither of us is deceased, and no legal separation was previously enacted, it is clear that our marriage remains both lawful and binding.”
“Ah.” It came out as a sigh. “How terribly efficient of you. If you don’t mind, let's not discuss this any further. My poor brain can’t take any more of this, and as we well know, isn’t entirely reliable, so it’s better not to overtax it. I have a tendency to forget certain things, you see. Such as the fact that apparently I have a husband.”
She may have imagined it, but a flash of something resembling humour crossed through his steel-grey eyes. It left her flabbergasted, causing her to ramble on. “Let me see. Supper! Yes. You must be hungry. What on earth do English Dukes eat? You shall have to eat the same as the children. It can’t be helped. The children must be starving. So let us eat at once. Yes. That is what we should do because that is what we always do.”
Shefled.
All the childrenwere already seated around the table. When he finally appeared, their jaws collectively dropped to the ground.
She hadn’t really thought this through, Lena concluded.
None of it.
“Good evening,” he said, as if this were a formal soiree.
He’d changed his clothes.
No doubt that was what Dukes did, they changed their clothes three, four, five times a day, and most definitely each time before they sat down to eat.
True to that custom, he’d changed his clothes, only he wasn’t wearing evening attire, but…a simple suit. The kind of regular, baggy, threadbare, and unfashionable thing that a costermonger would wear in the street. Instead of it taking him down a notch and relegating him to the lower classes, the lack of formality in his attire only made him look more approachable. More dashing. Slightly rakish, even.
He looked absolutely splendid in it.
It was true what they said, Lena thought dazedly. Dukes were born into their position and there was nothing they could do to hide it. Not even an atrocious suit. In fact, it made them look even better. How unfair was that?
He raised an eyebrow. “Is anything the matter?” He did not wait for a reply but sat down.
“Nothing,” Lena said hastily, ladling soup into his plate. “This isFritattensuppe,” she explained. “We make it from pancakes cut into strips with beef stock. Have youever tasted it?” Her eyes widened as it dawned on her that she was serving a Duke the kind of food the lower classes ate. “I daresay you haven’t. It’s made from leftover pancakes, after all.” He’d probably never had to eat leftovers in his entire life. She’d boiled that little beef bone to oblivion until it was nothing more than a nub. Well, this would be an experience for him, then.
“I have not.” He picked up the spoon.
Lena clutched the ladle. It was best to enlighten him in advance to avoid any kind of misunderstandings later. “We rarely eat meat, you know.” There was a pause. “The truth is, we can’t afford it.”
“Sometimes on Sunday we do,” Les chimed in, slurping his soup loudly. “Three Sundays ago Emma gave us a chicken, but it wasn’t enough for all of us. We eat like a horde of locusts raiding Pharaoh’s fields, Mama says.”
The children proved the analogy correct by slurping their soup with enthusiasm. Hecki went so far as to lift the bowl and drink from it, when Lena leaned forwards and hissed, “table manners!” at him, with a sideways glance at the Duke who was spooning the soup with mechanical precision.
