But to Thomas’s ears it sounded like faint praise. He wanted her to understand how incredible Ashdown truly was. That preserving the abbey was worth the sacrifices that they both had made for it.
“One hundred years ago, a famous architect named Capability Brown redirected a river to create Ashdown Pond,” Thomas explained, like a tour guide. “It’s L-shaped, which makes it appear endless from the house.”
“How interesting,” Cordelia said in a dull tone that suggested she found mud as fascinating as his home.
“I am afraid the closer we get, the less nice the house will be. But I promise that I will do everything I can to bring it up to your standards.”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure if you can.”
He turned to her and saw that she was smiling—teasing him. Despite their long trip across the Atlantic Ocean, he still hadn’t completely understood her sense of humor. He had to stop thinking of her mocking mouth. He hadn’t kissed her since their wedding and it hadn’t been much of a kiss. She kept him an arm’s length away from her, but at least she hadn’t skewered him with her umbrella.
Yet.
But they had become friends. Which meant that she loved to tease him and he was learning her style of humor.
“My standards are exceptionally high,” Cordelia declared. “Nothing short of a seven-hundred-year-old abbey, complete with a ghost, will meet them.”
“We have a monk.”
“How very Catholic of you.”
Thomas laughed, shaking his head. “No, no. I mean we have a ghost called the monk that is said to haunt the family rooms.”
“I am shivering already,” she said with another mocking smile. “Why does the monk haunt the abbey?”
Thomas leaned in and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “Tradition has it that the monk lived in the abbey, when King Henry VIII sold it to my ancestor. The monk refused to leave his home. He said, ‘Over my dead body.’ So, the king’s soldiers killed him.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That is rather dreadful.”
“Yes, and what’s worse, they never gave him a proper burial, so he wanders around the abbey without any peace.”
Her eyes widened, as did her smile. “Have you ever seen the monk?”
“Can’t say I have, but Pen—Miss Hutchinson used to swear she could feel his cold fingers on her shoulders.”
“How delightfully horrifying,” Cordelia said with a giggle. “I suppose I asked for it. Although, I should have preferred a female ghost.”
Thomas wrung his hands together. “If only I had known.”
“Would you have provided one for me?”
“Of course, I want to give you your money’s worth.”
Cordelia’s laugh trilled through the carriage. Her laugh stopped abruptly when they arrived in front of the house. Thomas turned to see his entire staff in a line before them in the cold winter air. Hibbert in the front, followed by the familiar faces of Cook, Mrs. Norton, and several new servants he did not recognize. He saw his mother and then he saw her—Penelope. She was more beautiful than he remembered. She still wore black, mourning for his father, and looked paler.
“What in heaven’s name are they doing outside in this weather?” Cordelia asked.
“They are lining up to meet you.”
“How medieval,” she said with a snort. “I hope they don’t plan to pledge themselves to me.”
Thomas’s face flushed with heat and embarrassment. “It’s a tradition.”
“I am so relieved,” Cordelia said, “for I left my pointy umbrella in my other trunk, and I am unable to knight anyone without it.”
He gave a weak laugh. He didn’t want Cordelia to think their traditions were foolish. He didn’t want her to be disappointed in his home. In him.
Their carriage pulled to a stop in front of the main entrance, and Thomas did not wait for the footmen to open the door. He sprung out of the carriage and bounded toward Penelope and his mother. Before he knew it, Penelope had thrown her arms around him. If things were different, if he weren’t married, he would have enjoyed the embrace. Instead, he awkwardly patted her on the back and then disentangled himself. He hugged his mother, which was not something he usually did, but he didn’t want Cordelia to wonder why he’d embraced his family’s ward and not his own mother.
