She looked at him with a strange glint in her eyes, then nodded simply. There was nothing Tobias could do but wonder… how often had Edward taken his wife’s ideas as his own?
CHAPTER 7
“Are you having trouble sleeping, my lord?”
Tobias nearly dropped the brandy decanter at the sound of Mrs. Boldwood’s voice. The housekeeper stood in the doorway to the library, a picture of concern in the dim light of the candle she held. She smiled when she noticed his surprise.
“Forgive me if I startled you, my lord. I heard footsteps and thought perhaps one of the maids had left a window open.”
“No, it is merely me, Mrs. Boldwood.” He managed a rueful smile. “My thoughts proved too insistent for sleep. I thought a book might quiet them.”
“Shall I fetch you anything? Some warm milk, perhaps? Cook always said it helps settle a restless mind.”
Warm milk. As though he were a child with a nightmare rather than a man utterly undone by an afternoon spent beside a woman he… could not stop thinking of. Admiring.
“Thank you, no. I shall manage well enough.”
Mrs. Boldwood bobbed a curtsey but lingered at the threshold. “If I may say so, my lord, you did a fine thing today with the Millers and Carters. The tenants are already speaking of it—how Lord Redmond and Lady Amelia rode out together and settled the matter with such wisdom.”
Lord Redmond and Lady Amelia. As though they were a partnership. A unit. The thought sent dangerous warmth through his chest.
“I had no hand in it. It was all Lady Amelia’s work,” he said quietly.
The housekeeper smiled at this. “You are very like your father, my lord. He was always quick to count on your mother’s counsel—and make it known that she had provided it. Unlike...” She caught herself. “Forgive me. I speak out of turn.”
Edward did not even have to question it. He knew—as well as the servants—that Edward had taken the credit for Amelia’s insight, it would seem on many an occasion.
The library felt cavernous in the lamplight, shadows pooling between the towering shelves. Tobias moved along the rows ofbooks without truly seeing them, his mind still replaying the day’s events. How natural it had felt working beside Amelia. How right. The way she had handled the feuding tenants with such quiet authority, such understanding of what truly drove their conflict.
The way she had looked at him when he’d given her credit. She had been surprised. As though she did not deserve it.
It would seem that her husband had not only taken her insight for his own but convinced her that she had no claim to it as well.
What manner of husband did such things? Made his wife doubt her own worth until she thanked another man merely for basic honesty?
With a shake of his head, he moved toward the window seat. He was not going to sleep tonight. He was quite certain of that. A frown appeared between his brows when he noticed it—a book, bound in green leather.
Had someone been reading here? His heart skipped a beat. It could only be Amelia, and an odd warmth filled his chest when he thought of Amelia, reading poetry on this chaise. He opened the book, then froze at once.
15th March, 1823
I am married now. Lady Redmond. The name still feels foreign on my tongue, like a borrowed gown that does not quite fit.Edward kissed my cheek after the ceremony—a brief, formal gesture. Properly restrained, as he called it. I had hoped for warmth. Instead, I received approval for my composure.
Father says I am fortunate. That Edward is an excellent match. That I shall want for nothing…
He stopped reading there, knowing full well that these private thoughts were not meant for his eyes, and he ought to close the book. For some reason, his hands refused to listen to his senses, and he turned the page a few pages.
3rd April, 1823
Edward returned from London today. I had thought that three weeks apart might make him glad to see me. That he might smile when he entered the drawing room where I waited. Instead, he enquired after the household accounts and whether I had corrected the menu as he had instructed.
Is this what marriage is? This careful dance around all the things we dare not say?
Tobias shook his head, then blinked. He ought to stop reading, he knew. Yet, he was unable to do so. So instead, he turned a few more pages.
14th June, 1823
Last night at the Pembrokes’ dinner, I made a jest about Lord Ashworth’s hunting stories. Several guests laughed. Edward did not…
