‘You said that the last time too.’ She chuckled. ‘So it’s really true? You’ve forgotten everything about your marriage to the marquess?’
‘I’m afraid so.’ Florence tilted her head to one side. ‘But why did you think I might be pretending?’
‘Because of, you know… Actually, I suppose youdon’t…’ The maid’s face took on a look of consternation. ‘Oh, dear. The thing is, it’s not my place to say, my lady.’
‘I don’t care about that.’ Florence held her hands out imploringly. ‘Nothing I’ve learnt since I woke up makes any sense. The last thing I knew, the marquess was about to propose to my best friend and now here I am instead. He said something about us being compromised, but he wouldn’t tell me how.’
‘Well, I only know what you told me, and I have to say, it all sounded very peculiar…’ Jane started, then froze at the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside. ‘That’ll be your nurse coming back. I have to go.’ She clasped hold of her hands and squeezed them. ‘Take a look in the bag! That should explain some of it.’
‘The saddlebag?’ Florence looked across to the wardrobe.
‘Yes.’ Jane let go and took a step backwards, bowing her head as the door opened. ‘Will that be all, my lady?’
‘What’s this?’ The nurse stopped on the threshold, her gaze accusing. ‘Her Ladyship is supposed to be sleeping.’
‘I called for a maid.’ Florence spoke up quickly. ‘I had a question about the…um…chamber pot.’ She cleared her throat as Jane snickered. ‘But that will be all, thank you. You may go.’
‘Very good, my lady.’ The maid bobbed a quick curtsey, winking at her as she slid out past the nurse.
‘Lady Rainton…’ The nurse gave Florence a reproving look.
‘I know, I know.’ She slid back down under her coverlet. ‘Sleep is the best medicine…’
One of the most docile breeds of cattle, the Red Devon also has one of the thickest hides, making it more resistant to external parasites, such as flies, gnats and lice. Consequently… Consequently…
Leo sighed, slamming the large agricultural tome shut with a thud. It was no use trying to read and make notes. He was too preoccupied, running over his earlier conversation with his wife and giving himself a throbbing headache in consequence.
He’d been distracted ever since he’d walked out of her bedchamber. Not guilty—because why shouldhefeel that?—but uneasy, and not just because of how lost and confused she’d looked. In retrospect, his own behaviour bothered him too. He shouldn’t have laughed when she’d asked if they’d been a love match. The hurt expression on her face had given him a brief, savage moment of pleasure, but the laugh itself had been callous and ungentlemanly. He shouldn’t have been so cold towards her overall, but damn it, he wasn’t accustomed to offering comfort, least of all to a person he resented. And this was the exact reason he’d avoided talking to her since they’d been compromised together at the Wadlows’ ball. He’d been too angry to be anythingbutcold and ungentlemanly!
It wasn’t as if he’d intended to remain silent forever. As her husband, he’d known that he’d have to converse with her eventually, but he’d planned to give it a few more weeks until his temper had cooled. Right now, less than a month after he’d reluctantly said ‘I do’, he still wasn’t ready, and the inevitable result was that he’d vented his anger and resentment on a person—worse, a patient!—who had no idea why he was behaving that way. It was like punishing a person for a crime they didn’t know they’d committed. Which left him with a quite singular dilemma.
What the hell was he supposed to do with her now?
And why was hestillthinking about the way her body had felt pressed against his chest?
‘My lord?’
He started, almost jumping out of his chair at the sound of his housekeeper’s voice.Hell’s teeth.He was beginning tothink the woman crept up on him on purpose. She seemed to float over the ground like some kind of spectre, never making a whisper of sound. He narrowed his gaze, searching for a glint of anything like amusement in hers, but no, those stony eyes, the same pale grey shade as her hair, were a complete blank. She even looked like a spectre. He could almost swear the temperature dropped whenever she was close by.
‘Mrs Fitch.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve come to enquire about the summer fair, my lord.’ Her voice was its usual expressionless monotone.
‘The fair?’ He snapped his brows together. Was it really that time of year again already?
‘It’s only three weeks away.’ Mrs Fitch bowed her head, as if her supernatural abilities extended to reading his thoughts. ‘I refrained from enquiring whilst Her Ladyship was unwell, but now that she’s awake…’
‘Awake, but not recovered,’ he clarified. ‘Given that, I don’t think it’s entirely appropriate to hold the fair this year.’
‘Naturally, I understand your reluctance, my lord.’ The grey head dipped lower. ‘But the fair is a Rainton tradition. It has always gone ahead, no matter how…unfortunate the circumstances.’
Leo twisted his face towards the window, looking out at the row of sycamore and horse-chestnut trees that lined the main drive. Between his housekeeper and steward, he could barely get through an hour without some reminder of the way things had always been and, by implication,shouldalways be done. The fair had been held on the first Saturday in August ever since the days of the first marquess, his great-great-grandfather and, in all that time, it had never been cancelled, not even when his mother had passed away two weeks beforehand—that, presumably, being the ‘unfortunate circumstance’ Mrs Fitch was referring to. Despite being in mourning, his father hadstill made his usual appearance, acting as though nothing had happened and insisting that everyone else do the same. Only Leo, as a foolish and sentimental six-year-old boy, had had the temerity to cry, earning himself a thrashing as punishment.
‘My lord?’ Mrs Fitch gave a none-too-discreet cough.
He turned back with a sigh, wishing that he could simply give the woman her marching orders. Only he couldn’t, and for the same reason he couldn’t sack Sewell. Because irritation at their hectoring—occasionally borderline despotic—ways didn’t seem like a good enough reason to deprive two people of their livelihoods, especially when they were, in all other respects, excellent employees. Besides, keeping them both in their current roles had been another of his father’s instructions.
As if on cue, Mrs Fitch’s eyes moved to the letter on his desk. ‘Forgive my presumption in saying so, but I believe that your father would have wished for the fair to go ahead.’
