“—the general situation before winter, which is when most of the pressing matters tend to—” He stopped and looked up. “Are you listening?”
“Completely,” she said. “Mrs. Plum, Mrs. Holt, Mrs. Farrow. Fridays, the first Thursday of the month. Tenant meetings, account books, and the wardrobe situation.” She looked at him pleasantly. “Shall I recite it back?”
He studied her for a moment. “You think I’m being excessive.”
“I think you have prepared a list,” she said, “which tells me this conversation has been planned in advance, which tells me you have been thinking about this for at least two days, which tells me—” She paused. “That you are managing me the way you manage the estate, and that I should probably let you finish before I say anything about it.”
Silence ensued.
“That was very diplomatic,” he remarked.
“I have my moments.”
He looked at the list. Looked at her. Looked at the list again.
“Uhm… the library,” he said.
“Yes?”
“It is not finished.”
She blinked. “I did not expect it to be finished.”
“The west wall is finished. The shelves on the south side are—” He stopped. “I wanted you to know that it is being built. That it is not an empty promise.”
They were now in the corridor outside the east wing, which James had been describing in considerable detail for the past five minutes.
“The back door gives access to the gardens, which you already know. The gate to the kitchen garden is kept locked in winter, but Mrs. Holt has the key and?—”
“James.”
“—she will show you where it’s kept. The path to the lake is better in the mornings, and the light is?—”
“James.”
“—more reliable. In the afternoons, there tends to be a wind off the north field that makes the far end of the path?—”
“James,” she snapped, then winced at the sharpness of her voice.
He stopped.
She looked at him. He looked back at her with arched eyebrows.
She closed her eyes briefly. “I have not come to Ashbourne as a governess.”
A pause.
“I’m aware of?—”
“Or an employee,” she continued firmly. “Or a very well-informed house guest who requires a thorough orientation before she can be trusted to locate the back door on her own.” She held his gaze. “I am your wife.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. He stood very still.
“You were organizing me,” she said. “The way you organize everything—efficiently and thoroughly and without any particular interest in what I might actually want or my input.”
“You’re right,” he sighed. “I was providing—I wanted you to be well informed. To know the house.”
“I know where the back door is, James. I have been here before.”
