When they did finally emerge from his bedchamber, Margaret was unsure how many days later, she knew she was a completely different woman from the one who had arrived at his estate after that rushed wedding.
Holding hands, they walked down the stairs together towards the dining room, intending to eat their meal at a table for the first time since their arrival, instead of from trays in the middle of their large bed.
As the servants hurriedly laid the table and placed the breakfast tureens on the sideboard, Jacob and Margaret smiled at each other. ‘I assume you remember how to sit at a table,’ he asked as he pulled out the chair for her.
‘Yes, I have a vague recollection,’ she said, picking up a fork and looking at it as if it were an object she had not encountered before, causing him to laugh.
Then he looked around the room with the same confused expression she’d adopted when joking about the fork. ‘This house looks different, somehow.’
‘Different?’
‘Yes, less…’ he waved his hand in the air as if searching for words ‘…or more… Did the servants change the wallpaper and furniture while we were in bed? The room looks so much brighter.’
He continued to look around the room in wonder. His gaze returned to her. ‘I know what it is. You’ve changed this house.’
‘What? You think I sneaked out while you were sleeping and changed the wallpaper and furniture?’
He reached across the table, took her hand and kissed it. ‘No, but you being here has changed this house. You’ve made it… I don’t know…more like a home.’ He leant in closer and lowered his voice. ‘I do believe that making love to you has driven out the ghosts in this house.’
A thrill of pleasure coursed through her. She hoped it was true and he was no longer haunted by those terrible memories of his childhood and the unhappiness he had experienced in this house.
‘I’m happy to fulfil my role as exorcist any time you want.’
He kissed her hand one more time, his eyes holding hers, and if Margaret had a fanciful imagination she would believe that he was looking at her with love.
After breakfast they went for a walk around the estate. This time it was a slow stroll, their arms around each other, and Margaret hoped he meant what he said, that this really was their home now. The place where they would happily live their lives. Deep down, she knew that was a delusion, they had made no real commitment to each other, but it was a delusion she was happy to indulge in for as long as she possibly could.
And under that delusion, she enjoyed the next few weeks, revelling in a state of blissful desire, until the invitation arrived that changed everything.
Chapter Seventeen
‘He certainly worked fast.’ Jacob read the crisp white card with gold lettering, then passed it across the breakfast table to Margaret.
She stopped reading the newspaper and took it from his outstretched hand. They really were turning into a married couple—seated at the breakfast table surrounded by marmalade pots, coffee and teacups and all the other breakfast paraphernalia, him reading his correspondence, her the newspaper. Not long ago such an image would have filled Jacob with horror, but he had no objection to this turn of events, none whatsoever.
As much as he enjoyed their time in bed together—and enjoy it he most certainly did, more than his inadequate words could convey—he also enjoyed these quiet times they spent in each other’s company. That was as much of a surprise as anything else about this marriage. Never before had he wanted to spend time with his lovers doing anything remotely domestic.
She looked down at the card, a teacup in her other hand, and read it aloud.
‘Mr and Mrs Fitzsimmons would be honoured by the presence of the Duke and Duchess of Rosedale at the wedding of their daughter, Gwendolen, to Henry Larcomb, the Earl of Northwood.’
She lowered her cup. ‘It’s in two weeks.’
‘Yes, as I said, Henry has worked rather fast. Do you know this Gwendolen Fitzsimmons? Was she at Henry’s weekend party?’
‘Yes, we did meet. She’s about seventeen, pretty, blonde, petite, somewhat reserved, but very sweet and rather nice. She was quite excited about her first Season.’
‘Exactly Henry’s type then.’
‘Yes, young, fresh and presumably compliant.’
He raised his eyebrows, questioning how Margaret knew what Henry’s type was, especially as she’d summed it up to a T.
‘I believe I overheard him stating his preferences,’ she said with a slight blush.
He was tempted to ask when she had overheard Henry making such a pronouncement but thought it best not to dwell on the matter, especially as there was a danger that he’d been the one with whom Henry had that unfortunate conversation, and an even greater danger that his responses had been equally offensive. He certainly did not want to remind her of the man he had been when she had first met him.
She reread the card then placed it back on the table. ‘Well, I hope they make each other very happy.’
