She’d entered the chapel—closed up decades ago—and opened the dusty records in the vestry, feeling connected to those who had come before.
Unfortunately, one rector held the living here and at Bromton Castle, and with so little activity at the Grange, he and the bishop had determined that the congregations be merged. Though the consolidation made sense, she felt sad for the poor old structure.
Alone and silent when it should have been filled and joyous.
She twirled the champagne glass in her hand, wistfully watching the light filter through her drink. Of course, to open the chapel, Bromton and Rayne would have to confer, which would mean the rift between them would have to be mended.
But after that first, naughty night in the master chamber, Rayne had spared little time for her and none for his neighbor. And she wasn’t sure how—or when—that would change.
She’d written Katherine a note explaining she was well, happy, and very much legally wed. She’d also promised to visit, just as soon as they “settled.”
Now, she wondered whatsettledcould possibly mean.
Was settled long days apart, barely speaking?
Was settled waiting for a Sunday to enjoy Mrs. Wheeling’s simple mutton stew and a glass of “shumpine”—the way Mrs. Wheeling and Mr. Linton of Gretna Hall said champagne?
Was settled sitting silently by as the lines in Rayne’s face deepened?
He was weary.
Tense.
And she was lonely.
She didn’t and wouldn’t have regrets. He insisted he didn’t, either. But the weight of what they were trying to do was clearly bearing down on him.
And all because she’d demanded he stay.
Her lower lip quivered. She bit it to make it still.
Oh, how odd. So many times, they’d been close. And now—now—when she could finally call him her own, she hadn’t been able to summon the courage to draw him close.
Yet.
Never leave a sullen man in silence for too long.She studied him again, furtive. He’d excited her lust. He’d promised her pleasure. He’d even suggested occasional trussing.
Tonight, she intended to call forth her due. She intended to reach him in the one way sheknewwould make him listen. She intended to demand his all.
Beneath her new bed gown, she’d worn her prettiest stays—ones she’d sewn herself. Instead of compressing her breasts, they were fitted with light linen with cups. The fine, delicate fabric made her feel winsome and fair.
But she’d needed Mrs. Wheeling to help her tie them, and she couldn’t remove them without Rayne’s help.
He pushed away his plate. “Shall I let Mrs. Wheeling know we’re finished?”
“I sent Mrs. Wheeling home.” She fingered her stem. “She’s been working very hard. I told her I would take care of the plates.”
He cocked his head. “So, this is my legacy to you? Just weeks ago, you were living in a duke’s household; now, you’re installed in my scullery.”
She bristled. “I didn’t see any reason to burden Mrs. Wheeling when she’s been nothing but kind and helpful. Besides, in a few more days, we’ll make the final decisions on household staff, and all will be set to rights.”
His right brow lifted. “Ever the optimist?”
The mocking in his voice hurt.
She rose, took her bowl to the sideboard. Instead of removing his, she lingered by his side, willing him to reach out and touch her.
He did not.
