The Reasons for Marriage (Regencies 5)

Abruptly, Jason looked away, across the valley, only to have his gaze fall on the Abbey. In the past six weeks Lenore had somehow become a part of it, synonymous in his mind with his home. She was its chatelaine, in spirit as well as fact.

Allowing his mind to lose itself in aspects of his wife he found less confounding, to let the suffocating sensation that had overcome him dissipate, he dwelt on her success in taking up the reins of his household. Not that he had expected anything less. Her confidence in that sphere stemmed from experience and all in his employ had been quick to recognise that fact. He had held aloof, but had watched avidly. His wife had a natural flair for command, for organisation—the entire staff had fallen under her spell, Moggs included. He would not, in future, need to concern himself with matters within her jurisdiction.

Which meant that there was no real reason he could not return to town. September was here, the ton would be filtering back to the capital in preparation for the Little Season. The total apathy that filled him at the thought of the social whirl, his milieu for the past decade and more, unnerved him. Why had he changed?

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Startled, Jason glanced down to find Lenore smiling up at him. He blinked, erasing all telltale expression. He shook his head. “They wouldn’t interest you.”

He would have recalled the words, and his brusque tone, but it was too late. A frown crossed Lenore’s brow. Her eyes leached of expression.

“I apologise for having intruded, Your Grace.”

Abruptly, Lenore scrambled to her feet, all pleasure in the afternoon shattered. Briskly, she set about brushing down her skirts, shaking out her jacket before shrugging into it and buttoning it up.

Languidly, endeavouring to hide his irritation, Jason rose to his feet. Damn her questions—how could he explain his thoughts when he did not understand them himself? When they might be too dangerous to put into words? They had made an arranged marriage—he had no right to expect more. And no assurance he could get more, even should he make the demand.

What already lay between them was more than he had hoped for—he had no wish to risk it.

Assuming the faintly bored air he used to deflect the curiosity of other women, he turned the matter aside with a superior, “My dear Lenore, it is not the fashion for married couples to live in each other’s pockets.”

Lenore bit her tongue against the temptation to reply. She went to where her mare was peacefully cropping grass and busied herself untying her reins. Inwardly berating herself for being so foolish as to let his rejoinder bother her—for it was no more than the truth and she knew it—she silently vowed that, henceforth, she would not again fall into error, would never again forget that theirs was an arranged marriage and nothing more. From now on, she would keep her distance, as he, apparently, intended to keep his.

Jason lifted her to her saddle, then swung up to his own. Turning the grey’s head back down the track, he led the way down, distracted and abstracted. Through the turmoil of his thoughts one fact stood out, immutable and unchanging. He had stated, clearly and decisively, his reasons for marrying. Lenore had accepted him on that basis, agreeing to leave her sanctuary and brave what he now recognised had been a challenging world. She was succeeding on all fronts—he could ask no more of her than that.

But if he could have his heart’s desire—ask and be granted all that he wished—what then?

The grey jibbed.

His expression stony, Jason brought his horse under control and gave his attention to the ride home.

* * *

IN THE DAYS that followed, Lenore made a concerted attempt to establish a daily routine that excused her from her husband’s side. Telling herself it was no more than what she would need when he was no longer in residence, she organised her day so it was full to overflowing, leaving no time for rides or picnics, or for any moping. And if her household chores were insufficient to fill her time, there was always the library. She had yet to complete a list of the types of books present, let alone consider how best to arrange them.

For his part, Jason endeavoured to respect her transparent wish for her own life, her own interests. How could he not? This was undoubtedly how their lives should be lived, he with his concerns, she with hers. There was no necessity, given the relationship they shared, for any closer communication. He knew it.

Yet, deep down, he didn’t like it. At first, he told himself his odd affliction would pass, that it was merely a temporary derangement of his senses, a reaction, perhaps, to taking a wife at his advanced age and so much against his inclination. But, when he found himself propped against the wall of the corridor in the west wing, gazing moodily at the library door, dismissing his present inclinations became that much harder. Fate, he finally decided, was playing games with him.

The surrounding families had not been backward in welcoming Lenore to their circle. She dutifully played hostess to the expected visits; subsequently she and Jason were invited to the parties and dinners at which their neighbours amused themselves. They had dined with the Newingtons, and were descending the long flight of stone steps before Newington Hall, their hosts waiting on the porch above to wave them on their way, when fate sent Lady Newington’s fox terrier, escaping from the confines of the house, to nip at the carriage horses’ legs.

Chaos ensued.

Both horses reared, then plunged, tangling the traces. The footman, who had been holding the carriage door, swore and dashed after the dog, trying to shoo it from under the frightened horses’ hooves.

“Wait here!” Jason left Lenore on the bottom step and ran to the horses’ heads. Horton, caught by surprise, was struggling with the reins, trying to calm his charges to no avail. Another minute and one or both of the prize chestnuts Jason had bought to pull his wife’s carriage would have a leg over the traces.

Lenore watched as Jason caught the offside horse’s harness just above the bit, calming and soothing the panicking beast. But Horton could still not control the wheeler; the horse reared again, dragging on the traces. Lenore heard Lord Newington puffing his way down the steps and waited no longer. She ran to the wheeler, catching its head as she had seen Jason do, crooning soothing nothings to the snorting animal.

Prodded by the footman, the dog scooted from under the carriage and made for the shrubbery.

Slowly, peace returned to the scene before Newington Hall. The horses, sensing the departure of the devil that had attacked them, calmed, still snorting and shifting restlessly but no longer in danger of doing themselves injury.

With a sigh of relief, Lenore let the huge head slip from her grasp. She glanced at her husband—and realised her relief was premature. His lips were a thin line; his grey eyes glinted steel. He was furious and only just succeeding in keeping his tongue between his teeth.

A cold vice closed about her heart. Lenore turned away as Lord Newington reached her.

“I say, Lady Eversleigh! Damned courageous and all that—but dangerous, m’dear—want to watch out for such beasts, y’know.”