Page 61 of A Landscape of Love

Hart woke, squinting as daylight streamed through the window. He felt strangely lethargic, though in a good way, a quiet sense of well-being thrumming inside him. For a moment he was disorientated, for it was far later in the morning than he usually rose, but then he registered the soft weight curled against his body, and the sweep of golden hair that spilled over his chest from the woman whose soft breath tickled his skin.

Fidelia. Lady Fidelia De Beauvoir. His wife.

His wife. The words rang in his mind, bringing with them sensations of pride and wonder and downright astonishment. Doubt, worry, and something close to panic quickly followed these pleasant feelings, leaving him breathless as he considered the future. Had she really considered the life she would live with him, the daughter of a duchess as wife to what amounted to little more than a successful shopkeeper, a tradesman? He might as well say ‘street sweeper’ as far as the ton was concerned, it would make little difference.

Fidelia stirred, stretching luxuriously, her hands sliding up over his chest in a drowsy exploration. Hart watched as a smile touched her lush lips and her eyes flickered open, settling on him.

“Good morning, wife,” Hart said, too delighted to allow his worries to spoil the moment, what was done was done, and he was not a man who wasted time on borrowing trouble.

“Mr De Beauvoir,” she said gravely, though her eyes danced with laughter.

Hart shifted, turning her onto her back so he could gaze down at her. “God, but you’re beautiful,” he muttered, half to himself. “Everyone will think I abducted you, or ruined you on purpose, and before you start fretting, no, I don’t give a damn. You’re mine now, and that’s all I care about.”

Fidelia returned a faint smile, but there was worry about the edges of it, concern in her eyes. “They may think you’re the father of my child.”

“Then that’s all to the good,” he said with a shrug. “Better for Ambrose if they think that.”

That did not satisfy her. “But they’ll think you got me with child and abandoned me, they’ll think you’re the kind of man who would—”

“Fidelia,” he said, his voice firm. “When will you realise I don’t give a tinker’s cuss for what people think of me, especially if those people are society people? My family, I care about, my friends too, up to a point. I care what you think. Everyone else can take a running jump. Pack it in now, love. If you want to spend the day looking for your boy, we need to get dressed. It’s gone nine already.”

“Good heavens!” Fidelia said in alarm. “Is it really?”

“We slept late,” he said with a nod. “We must have been tired out.”

Her lovely face softened, and she reached up, touching his cheek with her hand. “I suppose we must have been.”

Hart leaned down and kissed her, and thoughts of staying right where they were for the rest of the morning stirred, his body reacting with approval at the possibility. Last night she had been a wonder to him, refusing him nothing, giving of herself with such trust and eagerness he’d been overwhelmed by the entire experience. His feelings for her seemed to have grown exponentially. The desire to touch her, to have her with him, was so great he wondered how on earth he would ever go back to work. The idea of leaving her at home when he might spend that time beside her made him feel slightly sick.

He told himself he was being ridiculous, that he was a grown man, and he was not about to make a twit of himself by acting like a damned moon calf. It didn’t make the feeling go away, though.

Fidelia responded to his kisses and caresses, sighing and coiling herself about him, and then suddenly giving him an impatient shove.

“No. No, Hart, stop distracting me. The day is slipping away, and we must go now. Please, you promised.”

“So I did,” he said with a regretful sigh. “Very well, love. Up you get, then. I’ll fetch you some hot water, shall I?”

“You don’t have a maid of all work, or a valet?” she asked, looking a little shocked.

Hart shook his head, wondering how she would take this, for she was simply not used to seeing to herself. He’d supply her with all the servants she needed once they were settled, but for the next few days, things would be difficult for her. “No, love. You can send for your maid if you think she’ll come, though you must face the fact she may not wish to. You’ve come down in the world, remember?”

“Oh, pooh to that,” she said crossly. “I think she will come, and if she won’t, it’s her loss. You’ll just have to be my maid this morning,” she added with a smile.

Hart got out of bed and stretched, not beyond enjoying the admiring look in his wife’s eyes as he did so. “I think I can manage that,” he said, shrugging on a dressing gown before he went to heat some water for her.

Hart had just put the kettle on to boil when there was a knock at the door. Tying his dressing gown a little tighter, he went and answered it to discover his floor manager on the doorstep looking harassed.

“Mr De Beauvoir, forgive me,” the fellow said, swiping off his hat. “I understand congratulations are due and I would not have dreamed of disturbing you—”

“Well, you have now, Mr Jackson, so you may as well spit it out,” Hart said dryly.

The fellow blushed, increasingly mortified. “It’s just there’s a young woman downstairs. She’s loaded with dozens of valises and hat boxes, and she says she’s Lady Fidelia’s maidservant and she’s not leaving until she sees her. Made a bit of a scene, she did, so I took her to my office, but—”

“You’d best send her up at once,” Hart said, wondering what on earth the girl was playing at.

He closed the door and went to tell his wife.

“Sally? Here?” she exclaimed, as there was another rap at the door.