She eyed him for a long moment, her delicate brows slowly arching higher. “Redecorate as I see fit?”
He nodded. “Whatever you wish done shall be done.”
She slowly tilted her head. “Has it gone shabby on ye, then? Not been lived in for a while?”
He blinked, wondering how she had come to that conclusion. “No. It is not shabby. I simply thought you would wish to make it your own.”
“Aye, but would it not be wasteful to be rid of things with some good use still left in them?” She wrinkled her nose. “Or do the furnishings pain ye?”
“Pain me?”
“Aye.” She leaned closer, thrilling him immensely with a waft of her warm, clean scent of clover and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a mouthwatering hint of vanilla. “Does it make ye miss yer dear wife?” She crossed herself, then whispered, “God rest her soul.”A thoughtfulness came over her. “She’s not been gone but a year now, aye? Is that not what ye told Da?”
“It has been more than a year, actually.” He pondered telling her how Lotilda had died and shifted in the seat at the uncomfortable thought of the meeting in the attic he needed to attend to at his earliest convenience. Saints help him, he wished he knew how to help Edgar and Nettie Bannerly achieve their eternal rest before they accidentally caused any further incidents. Rumors about the curse were bad enough without adding additional tragedies to the list he felt sure the villagers of Ramswater kept on a board hanging in the new church’s backroom.
“Yer Grace…uhm…Ross?”
He blinked as though waking from a dream and dipped his head in apology. “Forgive me. Bad habit I have. Woolgathering in the midst of conversations.” He sat taller, determined to be more attentive. “Lotilda died over a year ago, and pray do not think me callous, but I barely knew her. We had only been married a week.” Lord above, could he possibly sound any more of a heartless arse? “Not that I wished her dead, mind you. I simply do not dwell on it.”
Harmony eyed him as if trying to decide whether he was a danger to herself or others. “How exactly did she die? If ye dinna mind my asking.”
“She was quite the flighty thing, actually.” He inwardly cringed, damning himself for sounding so cold. What would his new bride surely think? Ah, well. To hell with it. She might as well learn about the Ramthwaite Curse like one might eat an entire elephant—one small bite at a time. He forced a smile. “Lotilda feared everything, you see. The dark. Cats. Horses. Shadows. The wind. Storms—”
“She feared everything,” Harmony interrupted, as if politely urging him to get on with it.
“Yes. Sorry.” He flinched, narrowing his eyes at the memory that was still as vivid as the sunny summer day. “But the thing she feared, above all else, was spiders. And that fear killed her.”
“One bit her, and she died of its poison?” Harmony crossed herself again.
“No.” Ross scrubbed a hand across his mouth, wondering if his curious bride would believe him. Even the constable had expressed understandable doubts regarding the accident. Thank goodness there had been witnesses. “One day, in the sitting room on the second floor, she discovered a spider crawling toward her. Before I could effectively dispose of the incredibly fast little beast, Lotilda hurled herself up onto the back of the settee, causing it to tip and launch her out the window behind it. The glass roof of the conservatory slowed her fall, but its flagstone floor stopped her completely.”
Harmony’s eyes widened, and her perfect bow of a mouth fell open in disbelief. “How terrible, Your Grace.”
Ross didn’t bother to correct her and ask her to use his name. “It was terrible. I am told the maids serving us tea at the time still suffer from nightmares.”
“I should say so.” She shifted with a deep intake of breath, puckered her full lips, and slowly shushed it out.
“You are not afraid of spiders, are you?” The more time he spent with Harmony, the more he needed her at his side, and he had known it would be that way the moment he had noticed her at her father’s inn. He forced a smile. “I doubt you fear anything. That was the first thing about you that caught my eye. The way you put that bear of a man in place when he refused to pay for his dinner and his room.”
“Ye did notice the size of my brothers, aye? All six of them?” She huffed a faint laugh. “Old Cob Fergusson feared them—not the sharpness of my tongue.” She set her chin to a defiant angle.“And I know well enough how to use the sole of my shoe when it comes to spiders.”
“You are so full of—”
Her eyes went wide again, making her brows rise into the soft fringe of delicate curls across her forehead. “So full of what?” she asked slowly, as if granting him time to escape her wrath.
“Life.” He took her hand again, wishing he could make her understand what a pure breath of freshness she was—never attempting the airs and falsities glorified by theton.She was a cleansing inhale of goodness and joy that his soul had always longed for but could never find. “You are full of life. That makes you so beautiful—so irresistible. Your vitality is…”
She wagged a finger at him. “Begging yer pardon, Yer Grace, but did ye have a bit too much port with yer meal earlier?”
“Ross, my dear. I beg you—please call me Ross. You are my wife, my intimate partner in life. You, of all people, have every right to call me by my name.”
Her teasing defiance disappeared. After a quick duck of her head, she turned away to stare out the window once more. “I will try to remember, Ross. As I said, this is all so new. It has been a mere three days since we wed.”
“Four,” he softly corrected her, wondering what had caused her sudden discomfort. Women liked compliments. Didn’t they? “Harmony?”
“Aye?” She didn’t look at him, just kept her focus locked on the countryside passing by the carriage window.
“I was not scolding you about using my name. If you do not wish to, do not feel obliged to.” Perhaps she was uncomfortable in his presence. After all, both her father and mother had placed great store in the fact that he was a duke, and they were mere commoners. “You are my equal, Harmony. You do understand that—yes?”
