Perhaps, she thought, all was not lost. Or at least, she’d survived another day…
There was something incongruous about a marquess doing his own grocery shopping. Belinda watched Colin eye a display of imported tapenade and other spreads.
She’d been at Halstead Hall a couple of days when Colin had returned. When he’d realized she was making a trip to the supermarket, he’d decided to come along—to her chagrin.
She pulled a crunchy French loaf from a bin and deposited the bread in her shopping cart. She rolled her cart a few feet, and stopped next to Colin.
Her brow furrowed. “How often do you run out to buy your own milk?”
Colin looked amused. “Now and then.”
She searched his face.
“More so n
ow,” he teased, “that there’s a marchioness who insists on selecting her own brand of jam.”
“Except I didn’t know I was a marchioness for all of the past three years.”
“If William and Catherine can be caught buying their own produce at the market,” he joked with a reference to the British royals, “then I suppose a marquess can, too.”
“We are in Waitrose, however,” she countered. “I refuse to be too impressed.”
She knew just as well as he did that the upscale supermarket chain, run by a workers’ cooperative, was popular in well-heeled social circles.
Colin smiled. “I’ll just have to keep trying, then.”
Her eyes skated away from his as she was conscious of the air between them changing.
She continued on with her cart, and Colin turned to follow.
She scanned the shelves, glad for the distraction. While it was safe to think of Colin as all aristocratic hauteur, she had to admit that he’d pleasantly surprised her with today’s outing.
They continued on through Waitrose, stopping to chat with the occasional local who recognized Colin as the local marquess. At each conversation, Colin introduced her as his wife. There were no looks of surprise, presumably because everyone in this corner of Berkshire was well aware of the recent notoriety of the Marquess and Marchioness of Easterbridge.
Belinda was relieved not to have to offer any delicate explanations about how she’d become Colin’s wife—particularly since there’d been no recent wedding celebration. Or at least, she corrected with an inward wince, there had been no wedding in which she’d been the bride and Colin had been the groom.
Still, even though their grocery shopping went smoothly, she was glad when they reached the checkout.
They stood in line like everyone else. Colin paid by credit card and then declined assistance to their car by one of the baggers.
“No need,” Colin said to the teenager. “I’ll have no problem handling these bags myself.”
When they exited the supermarket, she followed Colin to their vehicle, where he loaded their purchases. Then she waited while he began to wheel their empty cart back toward Waitrose.
He’d only gone a few feet, however, when a petite older woman, well-dressed and carrying a Chanel purse, stopped him.
“Young man, would you mind assisting me inside with a return purchase? If you could simply bring your cart over here.” She gestured to the back of her car.
Belinda realized that the woman had mistaken Colin for a Waitrose employee or manager. Perhaps the Chanel lady thought that Colin was reporting for his shift and had decided to tidy up the parking lot by taking an empty shopping cart inside with him.
Belinda opened her mouth. “Oh, but—”
She cut herself off as she caught Colin’s eye and his slight shake of the head.
She gave an almost imperceptible lift of her shoulders.
Within minutes, Colin had loaded the woman’s medium-size espresso maker into the cart.