“He does not know you,” Trevor replied airily.
“Precisely.” She flashed a smile that turned quickly into a frown. “I am not so naive as to have expected a loving embrace from the duke, given the unorthodox circumstances of our marriage. Yet I feared he would next ask me to use the servant’s entrance so as to ensure no one saw me in his, or your, company.”
Trevor’s brows knit together in confusion. “If he made you so uncomfortable, why did you ask to stay for dinner?”
“Because it seemed so important to him that you attend this party.”
“Why should that matter to you?”
She gave a look that made him feel like a backward child. “He is your father. ’Tis your duty, and now mine, to try and please him, especially if it can be done with such ease.”
The marquess stared pensively down at his bride. “The reason he invited me to this soiree originally was to introduce me to the woman he deemed suitable to be my wife.”
Her shocked reaction brought the amusement back to Trevor’s eyes.
“How very medieval,” she clucked. “To choose a bride for his son.”
Her sarcastic tone allowed him to relax. He had half feared once she knew the truth she would demand they leave.
But she said no more as they made their way down the long corridor of the east wing of the mansion—the wing that had been designed and maintained for the heir. Him.
Years ago the duke had this area remodeled and redecorated in anticipation of his son and future daughter-in-law taking up residence, but Lavinia had died a few months before the quarters were ready. Trevor had since resisted any attempts the duke had made to entice him to live there.
Until now. Though he had not traveled the length of these halls for many years, he caught glimpses of elegant furnishings he vaguely remembered Lavinia selecting. They had her stylized mark—unique, tasteful, and of the highest quality.
He tensed briefly as the housekeeper, Mrs. Pritcher, opened the door to the master suites, expecting to be flooded with a rash of memories. But the elegant rooms, decorated in shades of blue, gold, and ivory, were not in the least familiar.
“You might remember, my lord, there are separate bedchambers for each of you, as well as a sitting and dressing room for her ladyship and a dressing room and small study for you.” Mrs. Pritcher fluttered nervously about the rooms, opening and closing doors. Meredith dutifully peered inside, but said nothing until the tour ended.
“The rooms are in excellent condition, Mrs. Pritcher,” Meredith told the fidgeting servant. “I commend you and your staff for keeping them so fresh.”
“Thank you, my lady.” The plump housekeeper dipped a hasty curtsy. She bit her lower lip anxiously, glancing at the marquess. “If you would permit, I would like to offer my congratulations and felicitations to you both on the occasion of your marriage.”
Trevor turned stiffly toward the servant. Mrs. Pritcher looked around desperately for a moment, then lowered her eyes to the exquisite Aubusson carpet. He felt like a cad for making the woman feel so nervous, but her reminder of his newly married state when he was being confronted with such potent memories of his first, wildly happy marriage threw him off balance.
“You are very kind, Mrs. Pritcher.” Trevor cleared his throat. “Lady Meredith and I appreciate your good wishes.”
A sunny, though quivering smile, broadened the housekeeper’s face. “Her ladyship’s maid is down in the servant’s quarters having a spot of tea. I’ll send her up, along with two of the housemaids, to unpack your clothes. Do you require anything else?”
“I cannot think of anything, but I have no doubt you shall efficiently provide whatever I deem necessary,” Meredith said.
The words and tone smoothed over the awkward moment. Mrs. Pritcher bobbed up and down twice, then exited the room, this time wearing a genuine smile.
“Are the accommodations to your liking?” Trevor asked.
“They are splendid.” Meredith strolled casually about the perimeter, then froze in the act of reaching for one of the porcelain figurines that graced the marble fireplace mantel. “Are these the same rooms you shared with Lavinia?” she asked in a troubled tone.
“That was our original plan,” Trevor said carefully. “However, when in town we lived in a house on Berkeley Square I purchased shortly before we wed. These rooms were being made ready for us when she died.”
“I remember your home in Berkeley. Lavinia called it her haven from the bustle and noise of the city. What ever happened to it?”
Trevor gave an uncomfortable shrug. He had not thought about that charming home for many, many years. “I sold the property the week after Lavinia died. It was impossible for me to cross the threshold without her.”
Meredith pressed her lips together. “If it troubles you, I am sure we can stay in a different section of your father’s house. I would be happy to make the arrangements with Mrs. Pritcher, if you prefer not to be bothered.”
She was trying to make this easier for him, and for some strange reason that angered the marquess. This was not supposed to be easy. “Lavinia was my wife. We cannot erase all memory of her existence now that you are in her position.”
Meredith gave a deep sigh. “She was my dearest friend, my lord. I loved her, too. I would never want either of us to forget her.”
