It seemed appropriate that it should be raining when they arrived at Pembrook, Mary thought. Gray skies unleashed a cold drizzle that threatened to turn the late afternoon into night. Mud worked up by the hooves and wheels slapped against the coach in an erratic rhythm, as it traveled along the drive toward the looming castle.
The wedding ceremony had provided a moment of unrealistic happiness and expectation. But as soon as the wedding breakfast had ended and they climbed into the coach, all pretense that theirs was to be a happily ever after vanished. Sitting across from her, Sebastian had become moody and sullen. They barely spoke. When they stopped at an inn for the night, they slept in separate rooms. Three inns, three nights of not knowing her husband’s touch.
Where was the fire he’d unleashed in the garden? Where was the tenderness he’d bestowed upon her in his bed when he was recovering from his wound? Had it all been pretense? Had he lost interest in the hunt?
“How do you know your uncle is not here now?” she asked.
“We have someone watching him in London, so we know where he is.”
“But what if he slips away?”
“I know a few soldiers who didn’t remain in the army. I hired them to keep watch, to ensure Uncle didn’t strive to take up residence while I was in London. I should have hired more servants to set matters to rights. I fear there is a great deal of work to be done.”
Two coaches carrying servants followed. Many were from the London residence. Some had been newly hired. Her father had given permission for Colleen to come with Mary. She was grateful to have a familiar servant within the ranks.
“It will give me something with which to occupy my time,” she said.
“I don’t wish it changed overmuch.”
A reminder that it was his, not hers. She was an intruder.
“I don’t wish to feel as though I’m a guest,” she told him.
“I would prefer that you discuss with me any plans you might have before implementing them.”
“Of course, Your Grace. We can discuss them now if it pleases you. I thought to have the floors scrubbed, the draperies taken outside, the dust beaten from them, the windows washed, the furniture polished—”
“You’re angry,” he interrupted.
“No.” Hurt, more like, but she was not going to be a whiny wife and admit such a thing. “I want it to beourhome. I don’t want to feel at Pembrook the way you felt in London—as though you didn’t quite belong.”
“You belong here, Mary. You’re my wife.”
She released a small laugh. “Am I, Sebastian? It’s funny, but when we exchanged vows, I thought I would feel like a wife afterward, but I feel no different. Our relationship feels no different. Nothing has changed.”
“Something has. We’re no longer in London.”
She forced a smile. He seemed to have missed the entire point of what she was saying. “No, we’re not.”
They were silent for several moments before he said, “I don’t want you to feel like a guest here, Mary, but until you know what is of importance, don’t do anything drastic.”
“What of your uncle’s things? He’s bound to have left some behind.”
“I intend to burn them.”
The harshness in his voice unsettled her. It was ever-present when he spoke of his uncle, and it bothered her to know he still had so much hatred simmering inside him. While a part of her understood—he’d suffered immensely because of his uncle’s machinations—another part of her worried that the bitterness would steal from their lives whatever happiness they might have been able to find.
“Perhaps coming here is not the best thing,” she said softly, cautiously.
He tore his gaze from the window and she felt it land on her with a weightiness that demanded an answer even though he asked no question.
“So many bad memories are associated with Pembrook. You have other estates. Perhaps it would be better if we moved to one of those.”
“Pembrook is the ducal estate. It has always been so. I am the duke.”
“I’m not questioning your title, rather what will haunt us here.”
“We will face it. Together.”
