She smirked at him. “I will have you know that I am not the sort to lounge about. Any hint of laziness on my part was driven out of me by Sister Bernadette at the convent. Indolence is not tolerated. You will see me rising at half past four in the morning.”
“I dare say I shall not see you rise at half past four in the morning,” he replied, leaning forward, his mood suddenly lifting. “I do not rise until seven at the earliest, or whenever Henry decides to wake me—but even that is rarely before six.”
“Well then,” she said, “we shall take care of breakfast on our own.”
“Indeed. That is easily explained away with your recent past at the convent. But we should dine together. At least several times a week. It is important that we are seen together, otherwise the servants will?—”
“The servants will talk anyhow. Which is why it is grand that you are here now. They will have seen you entering my chambers.”
“I would imagine so,” he said. “So separate breakfasts, joined dinners, and we should walk the grounds together. You can join Henry and me.”
He noticed the slight flinch.
“He will not call you Mama. I have spoken to him. I have made it clear to him, but Mrs. Greaves has certain romantic notions.”
“Your housekeeper who was seated at our wedding in the second row?”
“You saw her?”
“Indeed, I did. And now I understand why you were so quick to agree to my wish that Juliet come here and serve as my lady’s maid, even though she has no experience. You have a rather particular relationship with one of your servants.”
He laughed and finished his sherry. “I would not call it particular. She has been with my family since I was a boy. She has always been like a grandmother to me, of sorts—or a mother, or an aunt, or whatever you wish to call it. She is, outside of Rhys, one of my closest confidants. And while she can be a little different than what you might expect of a housekeeper, she is exceedingly professional. She runs this house like a captain runs a Royal Navy ship. Nothing gets past her.”
“As for Henry?—”
“I was unprepared for how boisterous he was. I shall do better.”
“He is a lovely child. I know that every parent will say that, but it is true in his case.” He paused, tilting his head to one side. “I am curious—you have never wished for children?”
She ran her index finger along the rim of her sherry glass, from which she had not taken a sip.
“I never thought of it. I adore my niece and nephews, but I am uncertain about having children of my own. Although that is, of course, moot now.” Alarm rose in her face. “Unless you had an heir in mind. We talked of it, I know, but I want to ensure that you have not changed your mind—that you do not wish to have children with me.”
He raised his hands and laughed. “No, I have not changed my mind, and I shall not change my mind. I shall not make a broodmare out of you. I have a child. That is all I ever wanted. I do not want more. Another reason why this marriage works perfectly.”
“For the time being,” she said.
“Exactly.”
“Pray,” she asked, “what made you think I might have changed my mind?”
She shrugged. “My sisters. Their marriages started out as marriages of convenience, and as you know, they are both now madly in love with their husbands, and their husbands with them. They thought that perhaps we might change our minds. That we might fall in love.”
“I see. Do you think that might be a true danger?”
“No,” she said, sounding rather defensive. “Do you?”
“Not at all,” he said. “Since my wife passed away, I have given up on romantic pursuits entirely.”
“Then we need not fear,” she said. “Although I must ask—do I have to fear mistresses sneaking into the house at all hours?”
“Mistresses shall not sneak into this house at any hour. I have no interest in such entanglements.”
“Good,” she said. “That is settled, then.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and Lucien found himself oddly at ease. This arrangement might work after all.
“I should let you rest,” he said, rising. “It has been a long day.”
