The Marquess Tames His Bride

Her father. But it wouldn’t do to bring up that particular conversation now. She wouldn’t appreciate him speaking his mind about the old buzzard. Not so soon after his demise. He’d learned his lesson on that score in Biggleswade.

He rubbed his nose. ‘That, too, is a subject perhaps best left in the past. We are married now. Let us be content with that.’

She opened her mouth to make another protest. Thought better of it. Threw a couple of lumps of sugar into her teacup instead, her brow knotted in deep thought.

Dammit, had all the men in her life done nothing but abuse her trust? Even him? Hah—especially him.

Well, it was about time somebody made it up to her. Time he made it up to her.

‘I have decided to give Slater the rest of the day off,’ he said, as he poured himself a measure of the local ale. ‘From now on, I am entirely at your disposal.’

She darted him a suspicious glance over the rim of her teacup.

‘Would you like to take that walk the landlord recommended? Or, we could just take a leisurely stroll through the streets of this town and see what the shops have to offer.’

‘Which would you prefer?’

‘I should prefer it if you would tell me what would please you.’

She shifted in her seat, as though struggling with the notion that she could express her own wishes and he would abide by them. As though it was an entirely novel experience to have anyone ask her what she would like to do.

‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ she said hesitantly, ‘I think I should like to climb up through the moorland above our house and see if we can find that view he was telling us about.’

‘Then that is what we shall do. As soon as we have done justice to these sandwiches. I would not like you to faint away with hunger in such a remote spot.’

Her face lit up as though he’d just presented her with a rare gift. Which pierced him to the core. A walk through rugged terrain to enjoy a view, that was all he’d promised her. And she was looking at him as though he’d done something generous.

When it wasn’t generous in the least. It was nothing. Less than nothing.

And when she found out what they were really doing in Dorset, she’d no doubt say the same thing.

But still, he could give her today. Small compensation for all the grief he would soon be bringing her, but today was all he had.

He downed his ale with a deep sense of foreboding.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

‘Are you quite sure,’ said Rawcliffe in apparent earnest, as they trudged up the steep track which started at the end of the lane that ran past their lodgings, ‘that you would not prefer to part with a penny and clamber up through the enhanced series of terraces to drink, for a further ha’penny, a cup of turgid spring water?’

‘No, no,’ she replied with equal seriousness, though she was almost sure he was teasing. ‘I am determined to enjoy the vista from the cliff top and dream of one day being able to capture it in oils.’

‘Can you paint in oils?’

‘I can barely paint in watercolour. My upbringing was not of the kind where idle pursuits were encouraged. However, from the way this turf is so closely cut down, and from the number of scrapes visible, I would say that there is a large population of rabbit up here.’

‘The tunnels into the gorse bushes would tend to uphold your theory. Though what has that to do with painting the scenery?’

‘Not a thing. I was just going to point out that I am more the sort of girl who would be able to dress a brace of rabbit, should anyone decide to snare them for me, and turn them into a savoury dinner.’

‘Pierre would be extremely upset if you were to attempt to oust him from his kitchen.’

‘Oh, I didn’t mean I wanted to cook you a rabbit stew, particularly. Just that I could, if I had to.’

‘You will never have to resort to skinning rabbits again,’ he said firmly. ‘Besides, I am not partial to rabbit stew. All those little bones.’

‘I shall bear that in mind,’ she said as he held out his hand to help her clamber over a particularly rugged jumble of boulders which lay in their path. As she took it, she couldn’t help thinking about that remarkable statement he’d made. Had he really wanted to marry her when she’d been a mere sixteen years old? It was extremely hard to believe. Especially as he’d said he’d reached that decision because he’d seen her wading waist deep in muddy pond water with her hair coming down in rats’ tails.