Adam remembered his marriage vividly—the good times and the bad. The pleasures, and the pain of loss. The negative aspects of marriage had always had him facing the other way. Whitfield had no idea what was in store for him, really. Marriage was an adjustment in so many ways.
“Perhaps we do, too.”
Whitfield headed for the doorway. “I’m expected back at Stapleton.”
“You certainly are, but I’ll tag along.” He grabbed his hat and gloves and hurried after his friend.
They headed outside into a garden lit by sunshine and stirred by a light wind. Adam glanced at the sky. Not a single cloud to mar the view. Mrs. Warner would be so disappointed. He smiled slightly. “How long do you think Mrs. Warner will remain at the manor after the wedding?”
“She’s not said. Why do you want to know?”
Why indeed? “Just an idle question.”
“However long she stays, I’m just thankful she approves of me marrying Jessica.”
“Well, I’m glad she came alone this year,” Adam murmured. “Those women she calls friends chatter so much they make my head hurt.”
Whitfield walked along a few steps in silence before he spoke again. “I shouldn’t mention it, I don’t like to gossip about the family, but I think there must have been a parting of the ways a few months ago.”
“Nothing serious, I trust.”
“I’m not sure. Rebecca hasn’t mentioned any of her usual companions when I’ve been around, and Jessica says she has no plans to see them anytime soon. That is unusual.”
“How so?”
“Because in past years, she’s taken great delight in telling everyone her travel plans,” Whitfield noted.
“Rebecca does enjoy the social round. Many widows do.”
Whitfield shrugged. “Jessica used to comment upon her going and often counted the days until she left again.”
Adam winced. “I thought they were close.”
“Close enough. Sisters don’t always agree with each other, do they? Rebecca was a bit relentless about Jessica’s preparation for her season, always mentioning how she had to make the right choice in a husband.”
Adam smirked. “She chose you instead?”
“Surprisingly, Rebecca does not seem to mind that I’m not titled or terribly rich.”
“Was a title really so important? Rebecca married a man without one.”
“It seemed to be once,” Whitfield shrugged.
At least Adam would have an advantage being titl
ed and wealthy enough to choose any bride he liked. He wouldn’t have the worry that he might not be an acceptable suitor if he made those few changes Rebecca had already warned him about.
They had reached the manor by then and stepped inside the cooler interior together. Adam turned for the room he’d occupied last night. He’d left his book there by mistake and was keen to recover it. He’d find a servant to return it to his room when he went in to luncheon later.
Instead of an empty room, Adam discovered Rebecca hunched over her writing table, dozens of papers scattered about her in a circle. She seemed not to notice his arrival, so he cleared his throat.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be, my lord?” she complained.
“Not particularly.” He drew closer. “It’s nearly time for luncheon.”
“I am well aware of the time.”
Since she did not lift her head, more interested in her writing than in conversing with him, Adam had time to study the woman. Her fingers were stained with ink, and a long lock of her hair had fallen, only to be tucked behind her ear. “What are you doing?”