The old bat subsided in a flurry of ruffled feathers. Mia, for her part, wanted to smack the woman. Instead, she picked up one of the elegant platters in front of her. “Lemon cakes, anyone?”
Chapter Thirty
Mia climbed thestairs, exhausted and out of sorts after the excruciating visit. When Gideon followed her up, she wished he hadn’t. His grim visage and irritable manner added to her own despondent feelings. The cramping in her belly that had begun right after the Tavernash dragon invaded them didn’t help, either.
Gideon swung on her as soon as they reached their quarters. “Why in God’s name did you invite that prancing fool Eustace Selwyn? It was bad enough that I had to put up with the Tavernash harridan.”
“Eustace may be rude, but he is as much my cousin as Selina. I could hardly leave him off the invitation,” Mia replied, stunned by his uncharacteristic display of temper.
“He kept staring at me as if hoping to find scales or a tail—or information for the White’s betting book,” Gideon spat. “I don’t want him in this house again.”
“It isn’t your house, though you’ve been given leave to act as if it is,” she retorted.
“It isn’t yours, either,” he snapped. “When did you become lady of the manor?”
Mia choked on Gideon’s cruel remark, echoing as it did the mocking words Eustace had whispered in her ears. She swallowed her tears and glowered at him. “You invited my uncle for tea. I assumed you wished him treated properly. I won’t do it again,” she said.
“Mia—” He reached out a hand to her, but she moved away.
“As it happens, I am feeling indisposed. I am going to rest. In my own bed. I would appreciate it if I were not disturbed.” She glared at him. “And I will not be available for a few days—or nights.”
She turned her back and walked to her room with as much dignity as she could lest she succumb to tears. He may have tried to follow, but she couldn’t tell. She slammed the door with a satisfying whack, and he didn’t try to open it. She fell on her bed and allowed the tears to come until she sobbed, and her pillow became wet.
Her cousins were horrid, Lady Tavernash was worse, and Gideon had hurt her. One other thing came into focus, pushing the other hurts aside. There would be no baby this month. She wept for disappointment over a hope she wasn’t even aware she had cherished.
*
It was longafter dawn after a sleepless night when Gideon, shaved and in shirtsleeves, paced the sitting room. He stalked to Mia’s door for the third time, raised his hand to knock, but dropped it back. He’d been married for six years and certainly knew the signs of a woman’s monthly discomfort. He had sent Mercy up with hot bricks the night before but had not approached his wife. There was more to Mia’s distress, however; he had hurt her with his bitter words about her cousin.
Perhaps you should wait, Kendrick. Give her time and apologize when she feels more the thing.They had been married in haste less than a full month ago, and Mia had had no time to adjust to her new role.
He rang for breakfast to be brought up. Two footmen arrived with trays and a message.
“Mr. Fillmore respectfully requests a word with Mrs. Kendrick, when she has time, sir,” John told him.
Respectfully? That’s a first. He glanced at Mia’s door after they left and sat to eat in glum solitude, hoping the delicious odors would bring her out of her room. They didn’t. He pushed eggs around on his plate and nibbled toast, coming to a decision. He would go find out what his old nemesis wanted.
He gulped down his coffee, donned his coat and waistcoat, and started for the door. The door to Mia’s room opened, and she stood there, pale and wan in a plain wrapper, her hair a mess around her face. Her eyes held a world of hurt.
“Mia, I—”
“I can see you’re leaving. Don’t stay on my account,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes.
Perhaps now was not the time for reconciliation. “I’ll return soon, and we can talk,” he said.
She nodded, still staring at the breakfast table. “Is there tea?”
“Shall I make you a cup?” he asked.
“No. Go on.”
He did, feeling like a brute. He found Fillmore in the butler’s pantry. “You wished to speak with my wife? She is indisposed this morning,” Gideon said.
Fillmore, sour faced as ever, sighed. “You’ll do. This won’t keep. At your lady’s suggestion, I counted the silver yesterday. I got through the tableware. I’ve not yet inventoried the big pieces. Her suspicions appear to be correct. Three spoons and two butter knives are missing.”
If the county suffered under a vacuum in the enforcement of law and the public peace, the household of Woodglen had an even bigger one. It appeared his wife was stepping into the breach.Lady of the manor indeed. She didn’t have to seek the role; she was being thrust into it. That needed apology lodged itself in his heart.
“What do you suspect, Fillmore?”
