His eyes narrowed slightly. “You noticed similarities between my mother and me?”
“Yes.” Robert’s eyes trailed over her face, and she became very aware that they were alone. “But if you would just inform me of the way to the kitchen—”
“Of course. But it might be better if I take you there. I do not want you getting good and truly lost.”
A breathy laugh slipped past her lips. “That is likely a good idea. Apparently your tour the other day has slipped from my mind.”
He offered her his arm, and she slid her hand around it as they walked back down the hall. “It is a lot to take in. You may need time before you know your way around.” They turned a corner. “What did you mean when you said you noticed similarities between my mother and me?”
Louisa smiled, but hoped he couldn’t see it. She wasn’t sure he would find humor in the things she did. “I had thought Arabella insulted me this morning. But then I wondered if it was only her way—giving her thoughts directly instead of attempting to flatter me.”
“And you believe that is how I am as well?” Robert kept his gaze ahead, but she felt his arm tense under her hand.
“I would say it is likely born from your station and the pressure society puts on you. Or, perhaps that is just your way.” She looked up at him.
Robert slowly nodded. “You are very astute.”
And for whatever reason, that seemed to bother him. As if he did not wish to be read or understood.
Chapter nine
Robert had been marriedfor two weeks and was still not accustomed to having his wife walking the halls of his home. For the most part, Miss Morgan kept to herself. Meals were quiet but comfortable. His mother had been keeping Louisa busy as she showed her how to run the household. But tonight . . . well, it would not be a quiet or comfortable affair. They were to attend their first event since their marriage. Not only would every eye be fastened to them for the entire evening, but many well-wishers would be offering their congratulations, and likely sharing their unasked for and unwanted thoughts about how quick of an engagement it had been.
Robert knocked on the door to his wife’s room. The one in the hall that was more public. Not the adjoining door in their rooms, which he still pretended didn’t exist.
“Just one moment,” she called, her voice light.
Clearly she was looking forward to the evening more than himself.
“I can wait downstairs.” His knuckles still rested against her door as he awaited her answer. Footsteps pattered within the room and the door opened, causing Robert to jerk his fingers away.
“I’m ready,” Miss Morgan said with a smile. She adjusted the earring on her right lobe, twisting it with her gloved hand. Tilting her head to the side, her gaze washed over him. It was not a sensual perusal, but she gave her head a nod. “You look very dashing.”
Oh dear. Now was he to return the compliment? He did not think he would succeed in the effortless manner in which she said and did everything. Refusing to shift his feet or fidget within his evening attire, he dipped his head. “And you look lovely.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, and before Robert could offer his arm, she took it herself, moving toward the stairs. “I can see that you would rather step on a nail than attend this evening.” Another grin crept across her lips. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You are not wrong.” He turned them down the stairs, taking his time so he did not rush her. Their legs were decidedly of different lengths, and he did not wish to pull her along as if he were a runaway horse.
“I knew it.” She ran her hand up his arm as she tightened her grip, and he nearly lost his footing. He was unused to such a casual touch from a woman, even if she did not mean to do it in a romantic way.
“And what are you thinking, Your Grace?” she said, interrupting his thoughts.
“Excuse me?” He spared her a quick glance as they made it to the ground floor. They stopped by the door, and he grabbed his hat and a light shawl for her to wear in the carriage. He held it dumbly in his hands, unsure of what to do while she turned with her back to him. Did she expect him to drape it for her? If he waswrong, death would be preferable to the mortification he would feel.
“I can tell your mind is full of thoughts, yet I cannot exactly read what they are,” she said, continuing their conversation as he had an internal debate with himself.
Finally, he gently laid it across her shoulders. “Are you usually able to read people’s thoughts?” One corner of her shawl caught on her shoulder instead of draping as it should. He awkwardly reached forward, pulling it out correctly before offering his arm back to her.
She shrugged. “Mostly. I am not a mind reader by any means, but I generally notice people’s mannerisms and tone of voice. And while I can tell you are not pleased to be attending tonight’s event, that is about all I’ve been able to decipher.”
“I see.” He looked at the shawl and could not help but ask his question aloud. “Did I—did I do that correctly?” He tilted his head toward her shoulder.
She turned her large brown eyes to him. “Excuse me?”
“The shawl.” He pressed his finger on his free hand into his thigh. “Is that what I was supposed to do?”
“Oh.” She fingered the delicate fabric before smiling up at him. “Yes. You did perfectly.”
