The Marquess Tames His Bride

If that was the extent of the fuss she was going to make, he could let it pass. He didn’t want to play the heavy with her.

He wanted…

No. He’d already decided how he was going to spend his day. He got to his feet and strode to the door.

Before he weakened and changed his mind.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Clare went upstairs to fetch the requisite pelisse, bonnet, parasol, gloves and shawl with a little smile playing round her lips. It was rather lovely being married to Rawcliffe. And not, she thought as she walked past the bed, just because of that. It was the way he, and all his servants, treated her. Reminding her to take a shawl in case there was a cold breeze and a parasol to protect her complexion, and a footman in case she took it into her head to purchase something that weighed more than half an ounce.

As though she mattered.

She picked up her bonnet and set it on her head, then went to the mirror to make sure her hair was all tucked up out of the way. It was a troubled face that looked back at her. For thinking about her hair escaping had led her mind straight back to her encounter with Clement the day before. He hadn’t even invited her to take a seat, let alone offer her a cup of tea. He hadn’t asked after her health, or if she was happy, but had just launched into a tirade. To him, she was still just the pesky little sister.

She lifted her eyes to the sun shining in through the window and the sea sparkling in the distance. She wasn’t going to let thoughts of Clement creep in and spoil her day. She was at the seaside, for the first time in her life—and, come to think of it, Clement could have invited her to stay with him for a short time, since he lived by the sea, while she came to terms with losing her father and her home, but, no, he’d…

She pulled herself up short. She was at the seaside. Thanks to Rawcliffe. And he had given her leave to go out and do whatever she wished, provided she took a footman with her. A smile tugged at her lips again as she tied the ribbons of her bonnet into a secure knot. She wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Rawcliffe had really wanted her to take a footman with her, in case she got into some sort of scrape. Now that she belonged to him, he wasn’t going to leave her to deal with the consequences of her impulsive behaviour on her own. Though he’d been too diplomatic to actually say he didn’t trust her out of his sight. Probably with an eye to the safety of the breakfast pots.

All the while she’d been tucking up stray strands of hair under her elegant little black silk bonnet, and comparing Rawcliffe’s thoughtful protectiveness with Clement’s self-centred attitude, she’d been aware of a bit of a commotion downstairs. Someone had come to the door, which had resulted in lots of running feet in the lane at the back of the house which linked all three of their holiday cottages. But now she heard Nancy’s distinctive tread on the stair.

Nancy barely scarcely paused to knock on the bedroom door before poking her head round it.

‘You have a visitor, my lady. At least…’ Her face crinkled in thought. ‘At least, she came with a message for his lordship. But she don’t seem like the kind of lady who is just a messenger to me. So I’ve put her in the sitting room and ordered tea.’

Which meant Clare was going to have to receive her, or whoever it was would take it as a snub. Clare took one last look out of window and sighed. There would be plenty of day left to enjoy the delights of the seaside after dispensing hospitality to the person Nancy had deemed worthy of the sitting room.

‘I shall come down,’ said Clare, removing her bonnet. ‘I just need a minute to take off my coat and so on.’

Nancy whisked off to inform the visitor straight away. Clare wasn’t all that far behind her.

Today it was the footman, Kendall, who was standing in the hall, waiting to open the door for her. Ponsonby must be performing that office for Rawcliffe, in the neighbouring cottage.

She gave Kendall a little smile as they went through the pantomime of sidling round each other as he opened the door, which she could far more easily have done for herself. A smile which slipped when she smelled the unmistakable whiff of alcohol on his breath.

So she entered the room with a frown on her face, as she wondered whether she was going to have to have a word with Ponsonby about the footman’s drinking. Surely, it wasn’t acceptable for him to be performing his duties reeking of the tavern?