He laughed again and noticed the bright color of her complexion and the difference sunshine made to her face. She wasn’t classically beautiful like Penelope. She was radiant—glowing with a happiness he had never seen before. The children surrounded her with their smiles.
“Did we lose?” Cordelia asked.
“’Fraid so, your ladyship,” the little boy who’d coached her said.
“Oh dear, I don’t think we should have allowed Lord Farnham to play,” she said. “Has he lost your ball? I promise I’ll make him get you a new one.”
“Jenny’ll find it,” the boy said.
Cordelia exhaled loudly. “I’m afraid it is time for me to go, but thank you ever so much for letting me play cricket with you. And don’t forget to practice the song at home before our lesson next Friday.”
She then held out her ungloved hand and proceeded to shake the hand of every child present. Thomas stood at the end of the line and held out his own hand. Cordelia looked at his hand and then to his eyes, not taking his hand. He knew he ought to drop it, but he couldn’t somehow. She’d shaken every other dirty little hand; she could shake his too. At last, she placed her hand in his and shook it. Her touch was like electricity. It was the first time he’d ever felt her skin.
“Good game, Lord Farnham.”
“It was, Lady Farnham,” he said, holding her hand. “May I escort you home?”
“I suppose so. It’s your family name on the side of the carriage, after all.”
“Our name,” he said quietly.
They walked to the edge of the field where her hat and gloves were on the ground. Thomas scooped them both up and offered them to her. He was absurdly relieved when she didn’t put them on but carried them underneath one arm. When they arrived at the carriage, he touched her hand once more to help her inside. He asked the driver to tie his horse to the back of the carriage and climbed inside.
He sat next to her as he had so often before, but this time it felt different. Charged with some unknown energy. Cordelia’s face was so close to his—close enough to kiss. The last time he’d kissed her, the day of their wedding, she’d fainted. That kiss had been passionless, a formal courtesy from a stranger. But he wasn’t a stranger anymore, was he? They were husband and wife, after all.
She was leaning toward him, her eyes on his lips as she licked her own. The tension between them was palpable in the air. He wondered how her warm lips would feel against his and he longed to learn the shape of her mouth. He tipped his head down and she instantly moved back against the seat, creating more distance between them. Sitting back, he felt foolish. He had completely misread the situation.
“I didn’t know that you were an avid sportswoman,” he managed to say after a few minutes of driving in silence.
Cordelia smiled, her color still high from cricket or from the almost kiss. “I used to play baseball with my little sister and our neighbors, when we went to Newport for the summer.”
“You have an excellent swing.”
The carriage pulled up in front of the house. He waved off the footman and helped his wife out of the carriage again, absurdly grateful that she had still not put on her gloves. One last chance to touch her soft hand with his own. Again, he held her hand longer than he should have, reluctant to lose the only connection they’d made. She pulled her hand back again.
“I suppose I’ll see you at dinner?” Thomas said.
“I suppose you will. I’m fond of food,” she said, and then turned to walk away from him into the house.
Thomas stood stupidly, trying to sort out his own jumble of feelings, the attraction he felt for two women who lived in his house. He glanced at Cordelia’s retreating figure, when he saw roof tiles falling right above her. He didn’t stop to think but ran to her and tackled her out of the way. The tiles fell at their feet and shattered on the pavement. He breathed in and out, realizing that he was lying on top of her. Common civility said that he ought to remove himself immediately, but their bodies aligned so agreeably.
“Are you all right?” he asked, touching her face with his hands.
“I’m fine,” she whispered. “I would be better if you were to get off me so I could breathe.”
Thomas rolled to his feet, then he helped Cordelia stand.
“That was close,” she said, glancing down at the shattered tiles.
“Too close,” Thomas said, anger overcoming his fear. “I will go and speak to the workers at once.”
“Thank you,” she said, and then disappeared inside of the house.
Thomas walked around the house to the servants’ entrance. He took the back staircase up the three flights of stairs to the roof, but when he arrived to give the workers a piece of his mind, no one was there. Not one of the two dozen roofers. He walked around and found stacks of roof tiles in crates, but they were far from the main entrance. Slowly he walked down each stair until he reached the kitchen. Hibbert was speaking with Cook, but they both stopped and bowed to him.
“Hibbert, have all the roofers gone home for the day?”
“Yes, my lord,” he said. “They left before lunch. They told Mrs. Norton that they’d run out of mortar and left to make more. They said they’d be back around three o’clock.”
