I couldn’t recall any of the furnishings from my family home being discarded. The one time Mama had redecorated, the curtains and accessories were all given to one of the local tenants, still in excellent repair. These could not be donated; they would fall to pieces if glanced at the wrong way.
A hacking, pointed cough from the doorway alerted me to Lady Grayson’s presence. Once again, I reminded myself that no good could come from purposefully alienating the woman. I would need her guidance if I was to succeed in my new role.
“Good evening. I was just admiring the view. I hope you had a chance to rest? It was quite a busy morning.”
“Of course. The view,” she replied with a pinched mouth and narrowed gaze.
Yes, I was sizing up your curtains for the rubbish bin, at least I have the decency to pretend otherwise.
I was saved from a response by the arrival of the viscount.Hugh?He hadn’t given me leave to address him as such, but surely, in private… It felt much too late to ask. Could I go the rest of my life without addressing him at all? It would be far less shameful than making a wrong choice and receiving a correction.
He merely grunted in response to my greeting. In the months of our betrothal, he seemed to develop an ability to see through me, rather than look at me. It was discerting and any hopes I had that our vows might lessen that tendency were doused in that moment. Something about the greeting made my stomach curl uneasily, and I tucked my hands behind my back to stop the fidget that was building.
This man was to be the father of my children, a cold, unfeeling wraith determined to pay not the slightest bit of attention to his new bride. Suddenly the rest of my life seemed quite long indeed.
Before the silence could stretch even further, a footman arrived to usher us into the dining room.
“Thank you…?”
“Timothy, my lady.”
“Timothy. I appreciate the reminder. There have been a lot of new faces today.”
“Of course. Please don’t hesitate to let any of us know if there’s something we can do to make your adjustment more comfortable.”
Lady Grayson huffed in irritation ahead of us.
“I cannot think of anything just now, but I appreciate the offer.” I answered, ignoring her response entirely.
By the time I arrived in the ostentatious dining room with the ridiculously oversized table, the dowager was already hovering at the foot of the table. Her son stood at the head, leaving one seat in the middle.
Was I not? Should that spot not belong to me?
I paused, looking in askance at Timothy who was gesturing awkwardly with the other footman beside her. Clearly, all were at a loss.
Without comment, I moved to stand beside the middle seat, unwilling to cause a scene over this. That remained the case until I caught sight of the smug, self-satisfied expression on Lady Grayson’s face. I took a deep breath, pressing the irritation down deeper. Not a fight for tonight.
My husband and his mother certainly did not converse overmuch at the table, there must have been space to fit sixteen. This could not be an enjoyable practice for anyone. I watched as the poor footmen scurried back and forth with each course. This was just silly.
The food, though, was exceptional. Perhaps the best I’d ever eaten. Rich soups, roasted vegetables, tender meat graced my plate, each bite was so flavorful I thought I might die of happiness. My marriage of less than twelve hours may have been a disaster, but this food might just make up for that misery.
I thought I was managing to disguise my euphoric delight adequately, but I must have failed.
“You seem to be enjoying the food?” It was the first words my husband had spoken to me since our vows. The words themselves were neutral but the tone told me they were not a compliment.
“Yes, your cook is quite talented.” I had to nearly shout my response which only garnered me a hum of acknowledgement. I waited a full minute, hoping for another attempt at conversation before asking, “is it usually just the two of you for dinner?”
“Sometimes Tom joins now that he is finished with his schooling.”
“Oh, that is lovely. My sister, her husband, and their children are frequent dinner guests at home. We did not see Kit as much as we would have liked, of course, with him in town for his studies.”
“I did not realize your sister was married. I suppose that explains how your aunt ended up with you,” he said. I parsed that statement for a second, trying to determine if there was an insult beneath the comment. I was fairly certain there was, but I chose to ignore it.
The dowager asked, “Is your sister’s husband in trade like your brother?”
“Sydney is a farmer.”
I knew the response my answer would garner, and I was correct, pursed lips and a disagreeable noiseless whine.
