“Rest doesn’t agree with me. I must keep moving or the reality of my sins will catch up to me and I will collapse. I would very much like to perform some service for you and your husband. Please think of some task I can do for Burchester. I owe your husband a great deal for his friendship.”
“Yes. Thank you, Lord Dagenham.”
William bowed and left the room.
She was right last night at dinner. He and she were similar. They were both fugitives of some kind. And they both sought sanctuary with her husband.
During luncheon, Phineas chatted about how he and William had spent most of the morning riding over the estate.
“You must ride more, Will. You barely kept your seat with some of those hedges we took.”
“Yes, I think my days of riding a hunter are over. I need a donkey. Or the security of my own two legs.”
Her husband turned to her. “And you, Caro? How was your morning, cooped up here?”
“F-fine.”
Her husband looked at her, clearly expecting her to say more.
“I am looking at the m-m-most recent ledger.”
“I do wish you would do something for pleasure and read some of that poetry you love this afternoon and not feel you have to look at those numbers.”
“L-l-lord Dagenham has offered to help me.”
“Well, then I will have to work, too. Like you, darling. Your industry is a good influence on me. I’ll ride out to help the Swifts with their chimney. I don’t know much about masonry, but I can carry rocks with the best of them.”
Thirty-Two
The late spring days settled into a rhythm of sorts.
Caroline got up early with Lavinia and went out of the house, often seeing William Dagenham out walking as well. Sometimes, he would merely greet her. Sometimes, he would fall into step next to her and her dog.
Phineas took William out riding after breakfast while Caroline busied herself with improving the house, consulting with the cook, the housekeeper, the gardener. Then, in the afternoon, Phineas went out to the farms, either by himself or with his steward Mr. Chambers, and she and William would settle at a large table in her husband’s study with the ledgers.
She discovered William had not overpromised on his skills. He was very good with figures. He also had a nimble memory, recalling, for example, from month to month the exact amount of each butcher’s bill and that the bill came due on the fifteenth day of the month, making it easy for her to jot down numbers and compare.
In the evening, William was very polite, excusing himself to go to bed early so she and her husband could be alone in the drawing room or retire early themselves.
It was not what most would consider an idyllic first month of marriage, but Caroline had never expected that. And it was a more gratifying life than she could have ever hoped for when she still lived with her father. She basked in her husband’s affections—his touches and kisses, his grins, his words in her ear as he moved against her at night. Over and over again, she felt her luck that she was married to him, a man so unfettered by darkness.
“Did you know drink is not my real demon?”
William was largely silent on their morning walks. However, this morning he had spoken to Caroline. This startling statement, out of nowhere.
“I . . .”
“Being a drunkard is a secondary sin. My real vice is gambling. I only drink when I cannot gamble.”
She nodded but did not know what to say.
“I mention it to you, Lady Burchester, because I know about your distaste for drunkenness. I know about your mother. Your brother told me about her one time when I was nursing a particularly vicious hangover. Apparently he had picked me up out of the gutter the evening before and then sat with me all night to make sure nothing went amiss. That I did not get up in my drunken stupor and fall. I think he felt he needed to explain to me why he had been so worried. So he told me about your mother and her death.”
She must change the subject. She kept her face directed straight in front of her, did not look at him.
“Why d-d-do you gamble, Lord Dagenham?”
A very heavy sigh. “It’s so damn exciting. Please excuse my language, Lady Burchester.”
