Edward trotted up his frontsteps, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He’d meant to stop and leave them with Lady Anderson, but Lady Cromwell had said she was not yet in town, so instead, he planned to repurpose his kindness and present the blooms to his wife.
He let himself into the house, pulling off his hat after closing the door.
Coombs was there in the hall and ought to have opened the door for him, but instead, the older gentleman simply eyed him from the far side of the room. Edward matched his raised brow with one of his own.
“You are rather getting on in years, Coombs. Perhaps you are ready to be pensioned off?”
The butler’s expression did not change, the lines upon his face remaining just as disapproving as before.
“Come now, Coombs.” Edward tossed his hat onto the narrow table set near the door. “What has you in such a humor?”
Coombs cleared his throat. “Nothing at all, my lord.”
Edward was eager to find his wife and continue his wooing but had a few moments to speak with the butler. “Suddenly shy, old fellow? You have always spoken your mind. Please, tell me what I have done to deserve your censure.” He leaned a hip against the table, laid down the flowers, and pulled his gloves off.
“Very well, my lord.” Coombs nodded. “I simply do not believe you ought to be escaping the home for... your pursuits... now that you are married. Lady Norwich is quite nice and today alone has taken the time to learn each of the household servants’ names. That says a great deal about her character, as you very well know. And your actions toward her are currently saying a great deal about yours. I have a mind to put a stop to them immediately.”
Edward’s jaw tensed. “Well. When I ask for candor, I certainly receive it, it would seem.”
Coombs remained unaffected, his stoic and disapproving expression still firmly in place.
Edward ground his teeth, his gaze darting to a painting of a horse and rider encased in an opulent frame. What even was the purpose of that particular picture? And tens of others scattered through the house? Pompous ornaments. If he could only have managed to redecorate after his parents’ passing, perhaps he would not still harbor such intense emotions regarding them. But he hadn’t, and right this moment, he wanted nothing more than to tear the excessive adornments from the walls.
He pulled his gaze away and resettled it on his butler. “It is as if you do not know me at all, Coombs. I was simply purchasing flowers for my wife.” He brandished the bouquet.
“For several hours?”
“It takes a great deal of time to choose impressive flowers.”
“Hmm.”
“If that is all, I will go find Lady Norwich. Do you know where she might be?”
“She is in the garden with her maid.”
“Splendid. Thank you, Coombs.”
Coombs said nothing until Edward was nearly out of earshot. Then he called, “Your impressive flowers are looking rather wilted.”
Edward rolled his eyes. He was too lenient by half with his staff.
His garden was not large, and therefore, he spotted his wife immediately. Her bonnet covered her hair, but he recalled with clarity how its bronze color had shone in the moonlight the night before. How comical—that he had met his wife in the sitting room. She had clearly been hiding from him. What she did not know was that he had been hiding as well. It was blasted awkward to know you had a wife on the other side of your wall. Even more awkward to know she hated you and would not allow you to enter her room under any circumstance.
But this was why he had his plan. With a sure gait, he strode to her, bowing deeply and holding the flowers aloft. “For you, my lady.”
When he straightened, she was simply staring at him.
Why? She did not even move to take the flowers. Did not women love flowers? The womanhadchosen to pass time in agarden. Or perhaps she was simply feeling poorly for her maid? Would a “better man” have brought flowers for a lady’s maid as well?
Of course not. What a ridiculous thought.
Still, though, it couldn’t hurt his cause.
He plucked a rose from a nearby bush and held it out to the girl in question. “And a bloom for your maid, of course.”
The maid’s mouth dropped open, but she at least took the flower. Still, neither of them thanked him.
After watching him warily for several long moments, as if the flowers concealed something nefarious, Amelia gingerly grasped the bouquet. “Thank you,” she muttered.
