By the time they arrived on the main floor, he’d yet to have answered her question. She didn’t think it had been an impertinent one, after the conversation they’d had on the way from the church.
Mr. Ingles opened one of two double doors for them, revealing a long room that exuded a welcoming aura of luxury and warmth.
A chandelier hung above the long table; twelve candles flickered in it, creating intricate but geometrical shadows on the wall. A candelabra had been set at one end of the table where two settings were placed adjacent to one another. The silver cutlery reflected the flickering lights and a pale golden beverage sparkled from inside long-stemmed glasses.
“Your home is beautiful.” She’d always considered the Westerley residences to be luxurious, but Byrde House was different. Understated craftsmanship fashioned a backdrop of longstanding affluence. The rugs, the walls, even the ceiling. Excepting her own chambers, that was.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable here.” He waved the footman away and assisted her into her chair before taking his own.
The setting was terribly… romantic.
“Are you?” she asked again. It was only fair he admit to it if he was. “Just so you know: I am not disapproving right now. I am, in fact, uneasy.” She ought to be talking about the weather or any of the masterful works of art hanging on the walls surrounding them.
“To dine alone with me?” He evaded her question but leaned back in his chair, giving her his full attention. “We’ve known each other for a long time, haven’t we?”
Over the past several years, she’d only shared what must have seemed like meaningless conversation with him. They would not have been significant—to him. Bethany, however, had pretty much cataloged them all.
The slightest brush of his hand had been significant to her.
“We have.” But hedidmake her uneasy, although not in the way he imagined. She stared down at her setting. “I suppose it’s just that everything about our arrangement is new. We’re married. I haven’t met your mother yet. And tomorrow we’re expected to attend the Blackheart twins’ come-out.”In addition to all of that, I have no idea what to expect tonight.
“I suppose that only makes sense.” He watched her, a thoughtful expression in his eyes. “But a lady ought not to be uncomfortable around her husband. You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
“No. Just… a little… tense. But as you’ve probably realized, that’s not all that out of the ordinary for me.“ And certainly not where he was concerned. Perhaps over the next few weeks, or months, or years, he’d cease to have that effect on her.
“In answer to your earlier question, no. What would be the use? From my understanding, it’s a debilitating emotion. Fretting over something prevents a person from moving forward.”
Bethany placed her napkin on her lap and thanked the manservant as he placed a bowl of soup and a plate with some sort of white fish before her. Both the plate and bowl were black and trimmed with a gold lace filigree.
Had anxiety kept her from moving forward in life? It hadn’t stopped her from mingling or from participating in society. Had his mother’s condition shaped his opinion on this? One only needed to take one look at the chamber she’d decorated to realize the woman had been living in the past.
A-n-x-i-e-t-y. Seven letters.
“I’m glad you aren’t feeling disapproving this evening.” Chase covered her hand with his. “But I hope you won’t always be anxious with me.” He withdrew his hand and lifted his glass. Shadows danced over the contours of his face, lending him a mysterious air. “Shall we observe the occasion with a toast?”
She lifted her own glass, the stem fragile and thin. “What shall we drink to?” she asked, feigning normalcy that she didn’t feel.
“To the promise of this adventure.”
Bethany met his eyes as she touched her glass to his. It was an apt toast. The drink tasted fruity and tart and tickled her throat. Champagne.
“Do you always consider adventures promising, then?” She’d considered them more of something a person endured.
Her hope that he wouldn’t merely endure this marriage taunted her. He was so very handsome. He could have any woman he wanted—even as a married man.
“I do. Do you like it?” His gaze slid lazily to her glass.
“I do. It’s lovely.”
The footman appeared from behind her and filled the glass again.
“How do you keep yourself from becoming anxious?” She swallowed another drink of the bubbly beverage.
Chase wrinkled his brows. “Initially, I ran.”
“You ranaway?”
“No. I simply ran. With my feet.” He was smiling now. “I was small for my age, as a boy. I didn’t become this fine specimen you see before you until I was nearly seven and ten.”
