“Watch out for the floor there, my lord. The carpet can be quite dangerous.” He saw her lips twitch, though she quickly lifted her cup to her mouth to hide whatever expression was upon her face.
He shook his head good-naturedly. Then, with measured steps this time, he moved to the sideboard. Then stared at the spread of food, forgetting what he was about for a moment.
Think, man!
What was wrong with him?
Finally, he gathered his wits about himself, filling his plate and returning to the table. He gestured to Amelia’s cup. “Do you prefer tea or coffee in the mornings?”
“Neither.” She took a sip. “I prefer chocolate.”
Edward nodded. Somehow that fit her well.
Silence fell but for the occasional sound of cutlery on plate.
“How did you sleep?” he asked suddenly, unable to bear the lack of conversation.
He was surprised when color entered her cheeks.What... Oh.This was territory as yet unexplored, bordering on an intimacy their marriage did not have. Neither had mentioned their ill-fated run-in in the sitting room the night of their wedding, and Edward had been content to leave it at that. Heat crept up his neck. He coughed to hide his discomfort. “Er—I mean—”
“I slept well. Thank you.” She spoke quickly to her plate, but then paused and looked up to meet his gaze with a determined expression. “I like that the windows in the room face the east. I find it cheery to wake with the sun.”
A most welcome change of a topic. “As do I. Though most of London would likely disagree.”
“Oh, undoubtedly. In fact, I am surprised that you wake so early. I rather assumed you would be one of the many who preferred a late night and a late morning.” She regarded him with that tilted head of hers. A curl escaped her coiffure and hung in the air by her face.
“I imagine there is much about me that most of London would be surprised over.”
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.
Edward winked at her and took a bite of food. For the first time in many of their interactions, she was speechless, and it was incredibly rewarding.
“So, tell me.”
His fork paused halfway to his mouth. So much for her being speechless.
“Er—tell you what?”
“Something about you that would surprise London Society.”
Edward racked his brain. “I tie my own cravats.”
Amelia smiled, a small smile but astounding in its genuine beauty. “That is quite impressive. What else?”
What else? Suddenly, Edward was a boring creature without the ability to form a single coherent thought. That was endearing, to be sure.
Thankfully, the door to the room opened, and Edward was spared informing his wife of his newfound idiocy. Coombs entered with a tray of correspondence. He brought the tray to Edward, who immediately recognized a few of the postscripts. He looked up at Amelia, conflicted.
“Does something require your attention?” she asked.
He hesitated. “Yes. Though likely not immediately. It is only that my valet’s mother is sick, and I have been awaiting word from him on how she fares. As well as news from a few additional correspondents. Would you mind terribly if I saw to them?”
Her eyes widened slightly as she stared at him. Was she offended? She likely was. Not many men would interrupt breakfast with their wife to read a letter from their servant.
“On second thought, disregard that request. I will—”
“No. I do not mind. Please, go ahead.”
He surveyed her before nodding and breaking open the letter from Barton. He considered taking it to his book room, but it was hardly worth the trouble. He could just as easily receive the news here as there.
