Page 15

He smiled. “Don’t worry. Go and see a modiste; let her take your measurements, and she can send the dresses on. If you need something before they arrive, you can probably borrow something from Lady Ava’s wardrobe.”

“Lady Ava?”

“The duke’s eldest sister. She is about your size, in height at least.” He frowned. “I think she might have a bit more curvature. But that’s all to the good. It is easier to take seams in than let them out, I should think.”

Digesting this in silence and trying not to mind that the Lady Ava had more “curvature” and that he’d noticed, she returned to her book.

It was late when they arrived in London at his house in Grosvenor Square. At Cheetham Court they had made no changes to the sleeping arrangements—she had remained in the green room, and Deo remained in his. But the earl’s sudden arrival at his townhouse with a wife threw the London servants into a flurry, and she was automatically shown to the suite belonging to her husband. This included two bedchambers, two dressing rooms, and a shared sitting room between them.

Mrs. Armiston, the housekeeper, was most apologetic. “I’m so sorry, your ladyship, but his lordship didn’t tell us! I would have aired the room and dusted it. As it is, I’ll have to change the sheets, and you’re so tired after your long journey. But don’t you worry. The mattress has been turned and beaten regular, and we’ve fresh pillows and coverlets in the storeroom.”

The earl stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips. “Very good, Mrs. Armiston. And can you have Jenny wait on her ladyship? She doesn’t have her maid with her.” His gaze travelled to the portrait of a woman with a pair of Irish Setters above the mantle. “This room hasn’t been used since my mother passed away.”

Seeing Emily’s expression, he said, “Don’t worry, she didn’t die here—it was at Cheetham. I’ll leave you to freshen up and see you for supper downstairs. Send her to the library, will you, Mrs. Armiston? We will eat in there.” He turned and walked off, leaving Emily feeling rather winded.

“If that’s not just like him!” clucked Mrs. Armiston, who was a big-bosomed woman in her fifties. “I’ve known him since he was a lad,” she said confidingly. “He never did have any sensibility, just like his father. Never mind. We will make you comfortable, your ladyship, and right welcome you are too. Thought he’d never marry, we did,” she said, bustling about, stripping sheets off the bed. “I’ll have Jenny bring up the hot water to you straight,” she said and left before Emily could say anything.

She had visions of her mother telling her to depress the pretensions of servants being overly familiar, but she couldn’t see herself doing so to the likes of Mrs. Armiston. When she had agreed to marry Deo, she hadn’t thought about the position and responsibilities that would come with it. She was now forcibly reminded of both. She was reminded, too, that she needed to tell him sooner than later about her identity before he went introducing her to too many more people.

*

An hour later Emily went downstairs, having washed and changed and with the knowledge that her bed would be ready and waiting for her when she returned. She found the library with directions and pushed open the heavy carved door to reveal a room made cozy by a large fire in the grate and the comfort of books lining the walls. She felt immediately at home, wondering what delights this second library held.

Deo was seated before the fire in a large comfortable armchair, his feet stretched out toward the blaze and by Kester’s head. He had changed, too, and was looking quite casual and comfortable, sans neckcloth, and wearing a robe over his shirt and breeches. It was the most undressed she had ever seen him, and she felt herself blushing.

“My lord—”

He looked up from the book he was reading. “Ah, there you are.” He rose and the robe, which was untied, fell open, giving her a glimpse of his shirt-covered chest. The swell of his pectorals was visible above his flat stomach, and she swallowed, dragging her eyes away hastily. Kester, seemingly worn out after sleeping all day in the carriage, raised his head, yawned, and put it back down with a sigh.

“Come, dinner’s over here.” He led her to a small, round dining table with two chairs drawn up to it and an array of dishes upon it.

Once she was seated, he began piling her plate with food. He still seemed to be convinced she needed feeding. “There,” he said with a smile, passing the plate back to her. “Is everything in your room satisfactory?”

“Yes, thank you. Mrs. Armiston is very efficient.”

“She’s worked here all my life, I think. I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t a fixture anyway. She was one of the housemaids when I was a babe, I believe. She rose to become housekeeper and has been here ever since.” He began eating with enthusiasm. She had noticed that he had a prodigious appetite, but then he was a big man.

She toyed with her fork. She really needed to tell him . . . but . . .

I can’t tell him in London. What if he packs me back off home or—an odd idea occurred to her—confronts my parents about their treatment of me? Would he do that? He wasn’t impressed by it. All the same, I don’t want to find out.

He waved his knife at her plate, “Eat up. I don’t want you fainting again!”

She swallowed the words hovering on the tip of her tongue and began to eat, rapidly finding she was famished.

“You should hire a maid while we’re here, or you can take Jenny with us if she’s satisfactory,” he said. “Will you be all right to find a modiste and order some gowns? I’ll be no use to you in that regard. I’m clueless as to feminine attire.”

“What should I do about the bills?”

“Send them to me, of course. I trust you not to break the bank.”

She swallowed a mouthful of wine to dislodge something that felt stuck in her throat. “I didn’t expect gowns to be part of the salary package,” she said, in an attempt at humor.

“I can’t have my wife going about ill-dressed,” he said. Then he added hastily, “Not that I meant to imply—”

“I know what you meant,” she broke in with a smile. “Thank you, I’m grateful. It’s very kind of you.”

“Is it? It seems practical to me.”