“We did not have a wedding breakfast?”
No wonder she did not want to live with me.
If that was the kind of man he had been before the accident, did he really want his memories back?
“I suppose I did not count it.” Catherine’s cheeks colored slightly. “I was not really paying much attention to your etiquette.”
Relief washed over Alaric, and he leaned back in his chair. His heart calmed, and he nodded. “I imagine there were other, more important things on your mind.”
He intended it to sound teasing, maybe even joking, but his words clearly missed the mark. Every trace of warmth vanished from Catherine’s face. Her blue eyes looked more like sapphires—beautiful but cold. Her lips thinned, and she set her knife and fork down. “Yes.”
Alaric watched as she put the knife and fork together and stood up. “If you do not mind, I would like to take my leave of you. It has been a long day, and I need to rest.”
“Of course.” Alaric kept the confusion from his voice.
“I will bring some food up for Oliver. I do not think he will be awake, but you never know with children.” Catherine began piling food onto the plate.
Alaric hurriedly carved more of the beef. The silence was so thick he could have cut it with a knife. It felt like a vice around his chest, and he wanted to break it.
But he could not figure out how.
“Good night, Catherine.” Alaric bowed to her as he stood.
She paused at the door and then turned to him. “Good night, Alaric.”
The sound of his name in her voice sent a rush through his body. Every hair on his body stood on end. The force of it made him take his seat again. By the time it had passed, Catherine was already gone.
Alaric let out a sigh. “I suppose that could have gone worse.”
Silence was the only response he got.
CHAPTER 7
“Who puts a cuckoo clock in a bedroom?” Catherine groaned, flinging one of her pillows toward the sound.
She listened to the dratted thing chime once, twice, thrice... ten times? Surely that could not be right? She was sure she had only been asleep for a few hours. Mrs. Danvers or Annabelle would have woken her up before ten.
Catherine’s eyes opened, and she winced in the bright sunlight that was streaming through her windows. She frowned. Why did her windows look so different?
Then she remembered where she was. She sat bolt upright and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oliver!”
She leapt out of bed and flung the door to the antechamber open, only to find herself looking at a very red-faced maid. The womanlet out a yelp and swept into a deep curtsy while Catherine dove back into the room and desperately tried to find a dressing gown.
“Apologies, Your Grace. I did not mean to wake you.” The woman’s voice was muffled through the door.
If only the ground would open and swallow me whole.Catherine found a dressing gown and tugged it on.
“It is all right. I should have been awake hours ago. Why did no one wake me?”
“His Grace thought it best to allow you to rest,” the maid explained as Catherine opened the door.
Irritation flared to life, but Catherine clamped it down. “How thoughtful.”
“There is breakfast on the table for you. Miss Annabelle said you were particular about porridge with honey and cinnamon?” The maid gestured to a silver cloche and tray on the table.
Catherine’s stomach grumbled, and she lifted the cloche, breathing in the sweet smell of honey and cinnamon. There was a pot of tea with a small jug of milk.
She looked around, expecting to see Annabelle or Oliver, but neither was in the room. “Where is Annabelle?”
