But even if he wasn’t, the annulment should go a long way to smoothing over any anger Deirdre’s brother might have toward Jeremiah. If Jeremiah was going to run a business in this town, he needed to stay on Liam Hannan’s good side. Deirdre’s brother had moved up quickly in Crest Stone’s social circles, and Jeremiah didn’t want him as an enemy.
The annulment would fix everything, even the strained relationship he had with Deirdre at the moment.
But only if he could survive their marriage.
Chapter Seven
IT HAD BEEN THE MOSTawkward day Deirdre had ever experienced.
She didn’t know what she’d thought married life would be like, but it certainly didn’t involve her husband ignoring her for most of their wedding day. She tried to throw herself completely into helping at the livery, grooming the horses and assisting Clara with sorting receipts and bills. She hardly saw Jeremiah, except from a distance.
He acted his normal self with customers, friendly and quick to make a joke. But otherwise, he was quiet. She caught him watching her a couple of times, but each opportunity she turned and tried to make conversation, he looked away and moved on.
She almost wondered if he’d stare silently at the wall when they ate supper.
The minutes ticked by as she waited for him to finish work. It seemed he found more to do each time she thought he was done.
“You can go on,” he said at one point, the first time he’d spoken to her since he’d found her by the corral earlier.
“Oh, no,” she said brightly. “I’ll wait for you to finish.”
Her stomach grumbled as he shut the last horse into a stall. Then he brushed his hands together and looked around, almost as if he were searching for something else to do.
“Go home.” Roman came up behind him and clapped him on his shoulder. “Your wife has waited long enough.” Roman gave Deirdre a wink, and she smiled at him in silent gratitude.
She waited for Jeremiah to wash up, and then—finally—he appeared ready to leave.
“If we hurry,” she said as they left the livery, “Miss Darby will still have supper on.”
Jeremiah said nothing. He must be hungry. She didn’t see him stop for any sort of meal all day. Clara had brought Deirdre back to her home for a quick bite and some tea, but Deirdre didn’t think Jeremiah had taken half a minute to put anything in his stomach.
“I hope she’s made her roasted potatoes. They are absolutely heavenly. I ought to ask her what her secret is, because I’ve never been able to replicate the exact taste.” Deirdre chattered on, filling the silence as they walked. She thought he might reach for her hand, or at least do the gentlemanly thing and take her arm.
But he kept his distance, and try as she might to ignore how it made her feel . . . it hurt.
When they reached the boardinghouse, the scent of chicken and potatoes nearly made Deirdre swoon. She took a step toward the dining room, but stopped when Jeremiah didn’t follow.
