“Perhaps I ought to retire.” She eyed the grand staircase with a sinking heart. “Else I’ll never survive the ball tomorrow.”
“Then I will bid you good night, sister.” Linus kissed her on the cheek, his signature gesture—the one Persephone had received every night before bedtime for the six years between their mother’s death and Linus’s departure for the sea. It momentarily undid her.
“How I have missed you, Linus,” she whispered, her voice choked with tears.
“Now, no crying, Persephone.” Linus chuckled. “Your husband already suspects me of having sinister motives.”
She smiled. “I’d hate for Adam to put you in the gibbet.”
“I would hate that, also.”
“If the two of you are done with your sentimental good nights, I believe Persephone is in need of some rest,” Adam said.
Linus offered them both a bow from the waist and made his way up the stairs, no doubt toward his own chambers.
A maid slipped out the doors leading to the great hall, careful to close the door behind her without offering the slightest glimpse inside.
Persephone had noticed similar behavior in all the servants. “The entire staff has been very secretive today.”
“They are under orders to be secretive,” Adam said. “Your ballroom is to be a surprise.”
“Myballroom?”
“It is certainly not mine. If this were left to me, there would be no decorations of any kind and only horribly watered-down tea served from chipped china in the corner.”
Persephone laughed lightly. “No one would ever come back.”
“Precisely.”
She felt instantly uneasy. Adam couldn’t possibly be looking forward to the ball nor the visitors it would bring. “If you really would rather we not—”
“Do not start putting words into my mouth,” Adam gently scolded.
“I do not want you to be unhappy, Adam.” She had seldom been so sincere in a wish.
“If you are too unwell to attend tomorrow, and I am left to deal with all of this on my own, I will, indeed, be unhappy.”
Persephone nodded but didn’t reply. She looked quickly at the towering staircase in front of her. She’d been standing far longer than she ought to have been, and her leg was loudly protesting.
“I think,” Adam said as he lifted her quite easily off her feet and held her in his arms, “that Jeb should have carved you a set of crutches. The walking stick seems entirely inadequate.”
“Don’t you dare tell him that.” She put her arm about Adam’s neck, knowing it was one of the few times he would allow such close contact. “I treasure this stick—it is positively gorgeous.”
Adam carried her up the stairs, not seeming at all annoyed at the task. “The man has a great deal of time on his hands now that he is no longer in charge of the gardens.”
“He employs himself wisely, then, I would say.”
The next moment, it seemed, they reached her dressing room, and Adam slowly lowered her into the chair at her dressing table.
“I will ring for your maid,” Adam told her then disappeared into her bedchamber.
She stole a glance at herself in the mirror while he was gone. How she wished there were more there for a gentleman to admire. She hadn’t the fair looks of her mother, and the perpetual black of mourning kept her eyes a dismal brown. If only she’d been able to dance at the ball the next day, then Adam might have found reason to be proud of his wife. Persephone had her shortcomings, but she had always been lauded as an excellent dancer.
“I will see that the kitchen sends up a tray,” Adam told her from the doorway.
Persephone nodded, still scrutinizing her reflection. Her frequent visits to the garden had multiplied the number of freckles marring her complexion. Those, however, were hardly noticeable next to the slightly green-tinted bruise still evident on the left side of her face. What a time to be sporting grotesque injuries. Adam was going to be unhappy enough with the next night as it was.
His reflection joined hers in the oval-shaped mirror, and Persephone locked eyes with him that way.
