“I do. The higher your station, the more people rely on you. You need to provide stability, shelter, income—justice more often than not. It’s a heavy burden, something I would have excelled at.”
“Youwouldhave excelled at. So something you’ve never practiced?”
Her lips tightened. “As I said, I spent most of my time in London.”
“And your father?”
There was an almost imperceptible tightening of her hand on the knife. “He had estate managers who worked hard in his absence.”
“How certain are you of that?”
She shot him a furious stare. Benedict was tempted to push the matter, but they both knew her father was a bastard, and debating the point was not going to make life any easier.
“And what will you take with you when you call? Has Daisy prepared a basket of foods?”
“And inflict this cooking on others?” She speared an orange segment with her fork. “I plan to visit the village first. From memory, the bakery there is remarkable. They can make up some baskets of food that are actually edible.”
“Excellent idea.” He paused. “And for the record, they will appreciate your visit. Thank you for thinking of this.” He smiled at her and was absurdly pleased to receive a smile in return. Could they be forming a truce? “I didn’t see your lady’s maid amongst the many trunks yesterday. I take it her mother is still unwell.”
Amelia’s face twisted for the briefest of seconds before settling into a neutral expression, but her tone was clipped as she replied. “Her mother is perfectly recovered. However, Reid won’t be joining me. Apparently, she is now overqualified for the position given my sudden change in circumstances.”
Oof.That insult was bound to sting. “I am sorry.”
“It’s nothing.”
It didn’t seem like nothing, but she clearly did not want to speak of it. So he turned to the day-old newspaper at his elbow. His fingers smudged the ink as he picked up the pages. At the rustle, Amelia looked up, then looked back to her orange, and then back to the pages.
“Would you like to read it?” he asked.
She grinned. “Just the society pages when you’re finished with them.”
“Oh, I’m finished with them now. They aren’t part of my morning reading.”
As he passed the pages, his knuckles brushed her fingertips. That unsettling spark he felt whenever she got too close surged through his body. He shifted in his seat, his breeches suddenly uncomfortable.
It was damnably inconvenient, this attraction he felt for his wife. Any other woman he’d ply with pretty words, a few gifts, and then sate the attraction until it was spent and they could part ways amicably.
How laughable that the one woman he should be able to exercise his lust with was the one woman he didn’t dare try it with. He was bound to be rejected, and then life together would be even more uncomfortable.
He tried to focus on the words in front of him but found himself glancing over the edge of the pages at her. Her hair was in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Short tendrils curled at her ears. She had a look of eager anticipation on her face as she flipped open the gossip section.
He forced himself to look away and to the words in front of him.
Damnation.
There it was. His marriage had finally hit the newspapers. It was a short article in the business section speculating on the future growth prospects of the firm now that Benedict had married into the upper echelons of society. Had the Asterly, Barnesworth & Co. cofounder changed direction? Would his new connections make the firm first pick for lucrative contracts?
Hell.
If their marriage had made the business pages, it would have made the society pages. He looked up in time to see the blood drain from his wife’s face.
“Amelia.”
Her hand wobbled. Tea sloshed over the side of the cup, and she put it down with a discernible rattle.
“What does it say?” He could only imagine. He reached across for the pages, but she shifted away from him.
There was no visible indication of the content of the article with the exception of a slight raising of the eyebrows and a barely perceptible cock of the head. She might be reading about the weather as easily as reading about a herd of goats in dresses.
