It wasn't as if he could claim ignorance; he'd only known her all her life.
Yet here he was, on the morning after his wedding night, feeling as if he was the one in need of gentle reassurance. He stifled a snort, forced his eyes to focus on the print. His mind refused to make sense of the words.
It wasn't his sexual prowess that was in question. Or, indeed, hers. He didn't, in fact, know what his problem was — why he felt the need to tread warily, even gingerly, in this landscape that, despite being so familiar, had, since their wedding, subtly altered.
At least his mother had taken his sisters — all four of them — to London for the week, leaving him and Amelia blessedly alone to settle into married life. The thought of facing Portia and Penelope over the breakfast cups while he was in this less-than-certain state made him shudder.
He raised his cup, took a long sip, and tossed aside the news sheet.
Just as Amelia walked in.
He hadn't expected her to join him; he'd left her — he'd thought exhausted — a warm bundle in their bed.
She breezed in, wearing a delicate lavender sprigged gown; she smiled cheerily. "Good morning."
He nodded, hiding his surprise behind his cup. She turned to the sideboard; Cottsloe bustled up to hold her plate while she made her selections. Leaving the butler to pour and follow with her tea, she swept to the table.
To the chair on his right.
A footman hurried to hold it for her. She smiled and sat, thanking the footman, then Cottsloe sunnily.
At a look from Luc, Cottsloe and the footman effaced themselves. Luc returned his gaze to his wife. And her piled plate. The wifely duties she'd most recently been discharging had clearly given her an appetite.
"I expect you'll be busy this morning, catching up with business?" She glanced at him as she picked up her fork.
He nodded. "There are always urgent matters to catch up with immediately I return here."
"You spend most of the year here, don't you? Other than the Season, and later in the year?"
"Yes. I don't usually go up until the end of September, at the earliest, and try to get back by late November."
"For the shooting?"
"More so I can oversee the preparations for winter and the hunting."
Amelia nodded. Rutlandshire and neighboring Leicestershire were prime hunting country. "I suspect we'll have any number of visitors in February."
"Indeed." Luc shifted. "Speaking of riding, I must get off soon, but if you want me—"
"No, no — all's well. Your mother spoke with both me and Higgs before we left London, so we know where we are." She smiled. "It was sweet of her to hand over the reins so cleanly."
Luc humphed. "She's been waiting to hand them to someone she trusts for years."
He hesitated, then reached out and caught Amelia's hand. She laid down her fork; he raised her fingers to his lips. His gaze on her eyes, he kissed her fingertips, then, curling his fingers around them, rose, pushing back his chair and stepping around the table, returning her hand to her with the words, "I'm sure my household will be in good hands." He paused, then added, "I'll be back for luncheon."
Whether her hands would prove to be "good" or not, she didn't know, but they were well trained and eager. This was what she'd been born, raised, and trained for, to manage a gentleman's home.
Higgs appeared as she was finishing her tea. She returned the housekeeper's beaming smile. "Perfect timing. Shall we start with the menus?"
"Indeed, ma'am, if you will."
From previous visits, she knew the house reasonably well. "We'll use the parlor off the music room." She rose.
Higgs followed her into the hall. "You wouldn't rather use your own sitting room, ma'am?"
"No. I intend keeping that private." Completely private.
The parlor off the music room was a small chamber filled with morning light. It contained a comfortable chaise and two armchairs covered in chintz, and an escritoire against the wall, just as Amelia had recalled. She crossed to the escritoire and the spindle-legged chair before it; as she'd suspected, the escritoire held some paper and a few pencils, but clearly hadn't been used in years. Even better, it had a lock with a key.