The Marquess Tames His Bride

‘Is something amiss? Do you feel unwell?’

The look of concern on his face was almost her undoing. She lowered her head, rummaged in her reticule and pulled out a handkerchief with which to blow her nose and dab at her eyes.

Oh, dear. She’d been half in love with the handsome Robert Walmer for most of her life. Now that she was living in close proximity to him, was it any wonder that she was falling all the way?

And now he was kneeling at her feet, looking up into her face with a frown.

‘I am just, I have to admit,’ she gulped, dabbing at her eyes, ‘rather overwhelmed by all…’ she waved her damp handkerchief vaguely ‘…all this.’

‘This inn?’

‘Don’t be absurd,’ she said tartly. ‘The inn is…just an inn. I mean, my circumstances. Us.’

His face shuttered. He got to his feet and went over to the window.

‘You will feel better once you have had a cup of tea, I should think. I have rung for some. It should be here shortly.’

Which meant, do not become sentimental, or expect more of me than I am prepared to give.

Well, she wasn’t stupid. She could take a hint.

‘Thank you,’ she said meekly. And bit down on the acid retort that sprang to mind—that if he though a cup of tea was going to cure a painful case of unrequited love then he was all about in his head. Because the last thing he’d want to hear was that the bride he’d taken on sufferance was falling deeper in love with him with every day that passed.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

And then a chambermaid bustled in with a tray of tea things, closely followed by Nancy, the maid her husband had insisted on hiring.

‘I shall leave you to freshen up and calm yourself down,’ he said sternly. And then headed for the door which led to his room, through which she glimpsed his own valet, Cadogan, laying out clothes into which she assumed he meant to change for the evening. Which meant he expected her to do the same. Which was why Nancy had come.

She screwed her handkerchief into a twist, the way she’d wring the neck of a chicken before plucking it and popping into the pot. How could she be falling so hard for a man who was so…infuriating? So oblivious to her?

Because, in so many ways, he’d been so tolerant, considerate and patient.

If he did speak to her sternly from time to time, was it any wonder? She had a terrible temper herself and knew how easily she could lose it.

Perhaps he’d thought those tears were a prelude to another crockery-throwing scene, and had withdrawn before she had the chance to behave badly.

She supposed she couldn’t blame him. Besides, she did need to regain some composure. She drew in a deep breath. She could be calm. She was sure she could be calm. And, actually, having the chambermaid and her own rather toplofty maid bustling about the room did help her to control herself. She couldn’t give vent to any sort of feelings when servants were about, he’d warned her. It just isn’t done, in this level of society, he’d said, as though she’d been in the habit of discussing everything in front of servants her entire life.

Which had, of course, made her itch to slap his face right then. And, she now saw, was one reason his talking-to had been so infuriating. Because he’d initiated it in front of Nancy. After warning her she needed to watch her behaviour when servants were watching.

If she didn’t know better she’d think he was deliberately provoking her. Only, why on earth would he do anything of the sort?

No, no, she was imagining things. She was tired from the journey and drained from the effort of keeping her temper in check, and unsettled by the strength of feelings she was developing for a man everyone knew had a lump of ice where his heart ought to be.

‘I’ll press the apricot silk for this evening, shall I, my lady?’

Clare lifted her cup of tea to her lips and took a long, soothing sip before answering her maid. Because Nancy was not actually asking her opinion. Nancy was telling her which dress was appropriate for her to wear to dine with her husband, in an inn. It was the reason her husband had hired the girl, he’d told her. So that she wouldn’t make the same mistakes as Lady Harriet had. He did not have the same level of tolerance, he’d added, unnecessarily to her way of thinking. He was not prepared to permit her to go around town looking a fright. Because it would reflect badly upon his taste.