‘Ah. Well, it looks…nice.’ He cleared his throat as a footman pulled out a chair for her. ‘Mrs Fitch tells me we’re having cream of asparagus soup, followed by salmon with broccoli and beef a la mode. I trust that’s acceptable?’
She paused halfway into her seat. ‘Of course. I’m sure that whatever Mrs Fitch chooses is fitting.’
‘Good.’ He sat down again, perplexed by the sudden edge to her voice. ‘How are you feeling today? Any headaches?’
‘Yes.’ She pressed her brows together. ‘But not from the accident, I think. More from everything else, the things you told me.’ She paused, a pained expression passing over her features. ‘I wish I could stop thinking, even for five minutes, but it all keeps going round and round my mind.’
He felt a pang of guilt. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken so bluntly the other evening. I should have waited to tell you.’
‘No. I was the one who insisted on hearing the whole story. The consequences are my own fault.’ She hunched forward, as if her body was curling in on itself. ‘I just never imagined it would be anything like that.’
‘Well…’ He reached for his spoon as soup bowls were set before them. ‘Perhaps some food will help.’
‘Perhaps,’ she murmured, staring at her cutlery for several seconds before turning her head to meet his gaze full-on. ‘Can I ask you a question?’
He grimaced. ‘Considering how the last one went, perhaps we ought to wait until after dinner?’
‘It’s not about what happened. It’s just… Why am I here?’
‘Here?’
‘Why did you invite me to dine with you this evening?’
‘You’re my wife.’
‘But you don’t like me. You admitted as much the other night.’
‘I didn’t…’ He stopped, shifting awkwardly in his chair. She was right, hehad. ‘None the less, it’s fitting that we dine together.’
‘Have we ever done so before?’
He paused before answering. ‘No.’
‘Then why invite me now?’
‘Because…’ He faltered again.Because things are different now, he almost said, except that they weren’t, not really. She might have banged her head and lost her memory, but she was still the same person underneath. As was he. Nothing fundamental had changed. It was only his conscience that was now compelling him to spend some time with her.
‘The reason doesn’t matter,’ he said finally. ‘The fact is, we’ve been married for almost a full month and it’s time we shared a meal, don’t you think?’
‘I suppose so.’ She held on to his gaze, her own narrowing, as if she was trying to see past the words into his mind.
‘Do you have another question?’ He supposed he might as well get it over with.
‘Yes. How should I address you? As Rainton? Or should I saymy lordevery time?’
‘Leo.’ He inclined his head. ‘You may call me Leo.’
‘Leo.’ She gave him another long look before dipping her spoon into her bowl and moving it around slowly.
‘What about you?’
‘Mmm?’ She blinked, as if her thoughts had been elsewhere.
‘What should I call you? I mean, obviously your name is Florence, but is there a shortened form you prefer? Or perhaps a middle name?’
She shook her head. ‘My brothers call me Florrie when they want to annoy me, so not that. As for my middle name…definitely not.’
He quirked an eyebrow. Did he know her middle name? It must have been read out during their wedding ceremony, only for the life of him, he couldn’t remember.
