“Dorian?” She asked, holding onto the lapels. “What is it?”
His gaze floated up to the building ahead of them, something flickering over his face—hesitation. He shook his head. “No, we do not need to be here.”
She paused. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“I did,” he said. “But now I have decided otherwise. It is better if we leave and let the rumor vine swell.”
Casting a look over her shoulder, Ellie murmured, “Another piece of your puzzle, I assume?”
“Yes,” he escorted her back to the carriage and ordered the driver to head off to Kent. “No sense in waiting.”
Instead of handing him back the jacket, she settled into a corner and wrapped it tighter around her. “What do you expect when we do return?”
“If I am lucky? Bedlam.”
Dusk was darkening the sky by the time they arrived at the manor house. Ellie sat up from her doze—only to find that her head was on Dorian’s shoulder. When had he moved to the other side of the vehicle?
Peeking out the window, she saw a house, at least a century old, but had good bones. The two-story manor had lovely symmetry with sweeping wings to each side. Rich verdant vines climbed around the columns to the eaves above the main entrance, and up the sides of the gingerbread stone.
A pair of footmen were waiting at the doors for them, and when they descended the vehicle, the men bowed, “Welcome, Your Graces, to Somerton Manor. Your Grace, Mr. Baxter has prepared for you and Her Grace’s arrival. Please, come with me.”
“Evelina,” Dorian said as he stepped through the door. “These are Seton and James, two of my trusted footmen. Just like with Bennet, you can rely on them for whatever needs you have.”
He’s already pulling away from me.
“Thank you,” she smiled to the two.
“Our pleasure,” the second one, James, bowed.
Entering the understated but elegant foyer, a man, a woman, both with silver at their temples, and in the woman’s case, streaked through her hair, and a young woman in maid grey, stood. The man bowed, and the two women curtsied.
“Welcome home, Your Graces,” the man said.
“Thank you, Baxter,” Dorian nodded curtly, then to Ellie added, “He is the butler of this house, and his wife, Susan Baxter, is the housekeeper. Miss Agnes Smith here is now your lady’s maid.”
Never having such help before, Evelina was not sure how to respond; the simplest thing she could do was smile. “I am pleased to meet you all. And thank you.”
“As are we, Your Grace,” Mrs. Baxter replied. “Your chambers are ready, Sir, and supper will be at six.”
“Very good,” Dorian replied. “Let me show you to our chambers.”
Our chambers…
He nodded to a set of sweeping stairs that took them up to the middle level and down a corridor to the west wing. She passed well-appointed drawing rooms, a music room, and even the open doors to a vast library.
Down another chamber, he tugged a door open; the room beyond was fit for a queen, elegantly set with buttermilk damask covering the walls and an Aegean blue Aubusson upon the floor.
The medium-sized Ashwood four-poster had cream velvet hangings and a feather mattress, with matching wood furnishings around, dressers, nightstands, and even a divan near the French windows. The place smelled nice, fresh, clean, and crisp.
“These are your chambers, and over there—” he nodded to the left, “is your washroom.”
Relief washed through her as she realized he must have misspoken when he’d saidour chambers.He crossed the room to a door she had not realized was there as it was covered in paint the color of the wallpaper.
“This is a sitting room between our chambers,” he added. “This is where we will talk, have meals, possibly argue as well. And before you ask, with how strongheaded you are and how stubborn I am, wewillargue.”
Ellie rubbed her nose to hide her soft laugh, “As sad as it is, you are right.”
He looked over his shoulder. “This is not the marriage chamber, of course, but I am respecting your wishes to stay apart.”
