Adam smiled into the darkness. “You have finally hit upon an occupation at which he could excel.”
“The four of us would make a wonderfully fearsome team,” Persephone said with something between a sigh and a yawn. “You see, Adam, marriage to me might not be such a terrible thing for you after all.”
There was no answer to that.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sometime between Adam blatantly refusing to return her obviously unwelcome kiss and their remarkably unusual discussion the night before about laying siege to Adcock Manor, Persephone had realized something she’d only vaguely acknowledged before: she was trying to make her marriage fit the dreams she’d always harbored about her future.
She’d spent countless hours, as all girls must, imagining a dashing young gentleman riding into the neighborhood, falling desperately and wonderfully in love with her. He would offer his heart, his home, his devotion. There would be love and tenderness. They would be the best of friends. They would raise a family and chickens—she wasn’t sure why the chickens, but they’d always been clucking merrily around the yard whenever she’d pictured her future home. They would be surrounded by friends and family.
In the nearly two months she’d been at Falstone, none of that had appeared. Waiting for it, continuing to dream of it, was making her miserable. She could not make Adam fall in love with her. She could not transform him into the man she’d dreamed of—the man whom, admittedly, she had seen glimpses of in him. She could not force Falstone Castle to be warm and inviting. There would be no visitors. The chickens were clear on the other side of the inner wall. And, as far as she could tell, they would never have children.
She had been purchased, just as Mrs. Adcock had insinuated. For what purpose, Persephone could not say—other than to make Mr. Hewitt worry over the state of his inheritance. That was hardly a fulfilling role to play for the next few decades.
So Persephone had come to a monumental decision. The one aspect of her childhood dreams she could even remotely imagine herself still achieving was friendship. Last night had been a start.
He had come to her room looking for her. After the initial mortification of being found out at sneaking into his room every night had subsided a little, she’d realized that his presence there was a step in the right direction.
She remembered with a stab of hurt, he had as much as admitted that he regretted marrying her, that he no longer viewed marriage as a good idea, something he’d apparently felt before meeting his bride.
But he’d laughed. He’d laughed with her over something absurd and lighthearted—something that could now be a joke between just the two of them. That sort of connection built friendships.
It wasn’t what she wanted, Persephone realized despite her very sound reasoning. She still longed for a loving husband, a growing family, a true home. She wanted love. Other than her family, who were several counties away and feeling more distant all the time, she did not seem likely to have it.
So friendship, she firmly told herself, would simply have to be enough.
“His leg’s still not up for riding, Yur Grace,” one of the grooms said, snapping Persephone from her thoughts.
“Poor Atlas,” Persephone replied. The groom nodded what seemed to be approval but kept his head lowered. Persephone didn’t know this particular groom well. The few times she’d encountered him, he’d been quiet and shy. “Is he better at least?”
The groom nodded again. “Yes, Yur Grace.”
“Well, then, I hope he—”
Thundering hooves pulled her attention to the front gate of Falstone. Adam and Harry had just ridden through and were reining in their mounts. Harry looked better than he had since his return.
Persephone smiled at the two gentlemen as they approached. Harry returned the gesture. Adam unbent enough to acknowledge her with a slight dip of his head.
Friends greet each other, she reminded herself when the urge to simply leave grew stronger.
“Welcome back,” she said as they approached. Adam hadn’t walked away, something she chose to view as encouraging.
“A good morning to you, Persephone,” Harry offered with an informal bow.
“Good morning, Adam.” Persephone watched him closely. Would today be a friendly-Adam day or a grumpy-Adam day? It was almost impossible to predict.
“Good morning.” Adam was pointedly not looking at her. Why did he do that? Did he realize how frustrating that was? “How does Atlas fare this morning?”
She held back a sigh. “I’m afraid he’s not yet up for a ride.” Persephone glanced toward the groom to whom she’d spoken, but he had gone off, no doubt having plenty of work to occupy him. “I suppose we shall be forced to postpone our siege.”
Adam’s lips twitched. Had Persephone not been watching him closely, she would have missed it. She had expected him to not acknowledge their conversation in any way other than that, and yet she was grateful for even the small reaction.
Harry’s eyes darted between the two of them, his look one of intrigued confusion. “You two are planning a siege?”
Persephone let her eyes dart to Adam. He didn’t look at either of them. In fact, Adam seemed remarkably interested in watching John Handly lead Buttercup through her paces. He would have to give her more than that. Persephone’s dreams had been whittled down to mere friendship—she had to have more than silence between them.
Then Adam’s eyes shifted toward her, for the briefest of moments. And his lips turned up in the slightest, most fleeting smile. Almost before Persephone had registered what she’d seen, Adam turned back again to watch the filly bounding around the paddock. But it had been enough to make Persephone smile in return.
