Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“You needn’t be grateful. It was my honor to do it.”
Honor. The word had been bandied about a great deal in the commission of their marriage, by many people.
But honor was not the same as love.
I wish I knew you better, August. I wish we could have had a courtship, or an engagement, or anything to help us feel more naturally at ease.
“When I go home with you,” she said aloud, “then we will seem very married. Very settled.”
“Indeed.” He finished the lullaby with a shimmering glissando. “We are very married, Elizabeth, and very settled. Husband and wife, until death do us part.” He glanced about the room, making sure there were no servants or houseguests, then turned to her and lifted her chin. “Let there be no more talk of gratitude, darling. I’m sure I’m the luckier one by far.” He kissed her, tenderly, sweetly.
For honor or for love?
With all her talents of perception, she couldn’t tell. Perhaps it wasn’t imperative to know all those answers right now.
Chapter Eleven
Married Life
Elizabeth was glad they were going to August’s country home in Oxfordshire, and not London. If there was gossip about Fortenbury’s snub and Lord Augustine’s heroics in marrying her, she did not want to hear it, or see people whispering behind their hands in parlors and ballrooms.
And, oh, she did love August’s country home. The great mansion with its surrounding gardens and meadows was called St. Pierre. August said he didn’t know why, and had never inquired into why the property had a French name. She thought perhaps it had to do with a long-ago love affair, but she didn’t know if that was her perceptive gifts or pure imagination talking.
She’d rarely visited St. Pierre when she was young but had come to know it better over the course of piano lessons. The grand foyer opened to wings of sitting rooms and parlors, some cozy, some formal. A music hall and ballroom completed the first floor. Up the curving stairs, one could find many bedrooms for family and guests.
Elizabeth’s suite of rooms was aired and ready as soon as they arrived, and she was thrilled to move into it. The space hardly needed renovation, though August had offered her the opportunity to do so. Perhaps new draperies, and a counterpane in pink, her favorite color.
The bedroom was spacious and light with large windows, elegant furniture, and an inviting fireplace. Next door, a paneled dressing room provided room for her clothes. The other side of her bedroom opened to a private salon with a writing desk and upright piano. Had the piano always been there, or had he moved it there especially for her to practice upon?
The thought of it made her blush.
St. Pierre’s indoors were breathtaking, but out of doors was lovelier still. Even in the cold winter months, August’s wild land was alive with calling birds and winter greenery. From the back terrace, Elizabeth could see the rolling gardens and picturesque lake she used to view from the music room’s windows, with its swans and geese, and a small, blue rowboat for venturing out onto the water.
She could not really be blamed for taking the boat out the third cold, crisp morning she was there. She’d always wished to do so when she was younger but had never been allowed. She lived here now; there was no one to tell her not to, or that she couldn’t go alone. How lovely to be a wife and mistress of such a fine property.
She rowed dreamily upon the silver waters, speaking to the ducks and small, glistening fish that darted beside the boat. “Are you cold?” she asked them. “I’m not, in my woolen cloak and warm hat. I suppose the sun warms you when you come to the surface.”
She was having just such a practical conversation with a pair of darting alderflies when she heard her name called. She turned about, fumbling with the oars until she located her husband, glowering and cross, standing at the shore.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he called as she rowed toward the dock. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going out on the lake?”
“I would have, but you seemed busy in your study, and I didn’t wish to distract you.”
“The servants couldn’t find you. They searched the whole house.” His frown deepened. “Did you tell no one you were taking out the boat?”
She adjusted her hat, which had gone a bit tilted in her rowing exertions. “I didn’t wish to make extra work for anyone. Your footmen would have felt they had to supervise me, or row about for me, when I can very much row myself.”
“My footmen would have insisted upon helping you.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What if you’d gotten out to the middle of the lake and grown too tired to row back? Or found the boat was leaking when you were far off from shore?”