Cressida felt heat creep up her neck. “Of course.”
“Here we are.” Mrs. Agnes pushed open a set of double doors, revealing a bedchamber that took Cressida’s breath away.
The room was easily three times the size of her chamber at Bardwell House, decorated in shades of deep emerald and gold. Afternoon sunlight streamed through tall windows overlooking the castle grounds, illuminating furniture that looked both antique and exquisitely maintained. A massive four-poster bed dominated one wall, its curtains embroidered with intricate patterns. A sitting area near the fireplace included two chairs and a small writing desk.
On the far wall, she could see a door—the connecting door to Theodore’s chambers.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.
“The late Duchess had excellent taste.” Mrs. Agnes moved through the room with practiced efficiency, checking that everything was in order. “Though we’ve updated the linens and such. Your trunks will arrive from London tomorrow, but I’ve taken the liberty of having a few gowns prepared for your immediate use.”
She gestured toward a wardrobe, then toward a young woman who’d been standing quietly near the dressing table. “And this is Molly. She’ll be your lady’s maid.”
The maid stepped forward, curtsying deeply. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, with dark brown hair pulled back neatly and intelligent hazel eyes that assessed Cressida with friendly curiosity.
“Your Grace.” Molly’s voice carried a soft country accent. “I’m honored to serve you.”
“Thank you, Molly.” Cressida studied her, seeing nervousness beneath her composed exterior. “Have you been in service for long?”
“Five years, Your Grace. I worked my way up from under-housemaid.” Pride colored Molly’s voice. “Mrs. Agnes recommended me for the position.”
“High praise, indeed.” Cressida glanced at the housekeeper, who looked pleased. “I’m certain we’ll get along splendidly.”
Molly’s shoulders relaxed fractionally. “I’ve drawn you a bath, Your Grace. I thought you might wish to refresh yourself after the journey.”
The consideration touched her. “That sounds wonderful.”
Mrs. Agnes moved toward the door. “I’ll leave you to settle in, Your Grace. If you need anything at all, simply ring for me.” She indicated a bell pull near the bed. “His Grace typically dines at eight, but I can have a tray sent up if you’d prefer to rest this evening.”
The thought of facing Theodore across a dining table after everything made Cressida’s stomach clench.
“A tray would be preferable tonight, thank you.”
“Of course.” The housekeeper’s expression suggested she understood more than she let on. “Rest well, Your Grace.”
After Mrs. Agnes departed, Molly helped Cressida out of her wedding gown with gentle, efficient hands. The maid’s touch was careful, almost reverent, as she unlaced the silk.
“If I may say so, Your Grace,” she ventured as she worked, “you looked lovely today.”
Cressida managed a wan smile. “Thank you, Molly.”
“And His Grace—well, he looked quite besotted.” The maid’s voice carried wistful romanticism. “The way he watched you during the vows… Fair took our breath away, it did.”
Besotted.
The word was so far from reality that Cressida nearly laughed. Theodore had looked at her during the ceremony the way one might regard a particularly vexing puzzle—with frustration and resignation. But she said nothing, simply allowed Molly to help her into a dressing gown and guide her toward the bathing chamber.
The copper tub was already filled, steam rising in lazy curls. Rose petals floated on the surface, and the scent of lavender soap filled the air.
“I’ll just be outside if you need anything, Your Grace,” Molly said, bobbing another curtsy before retreating.
Alone at last, Cressida sank into the hot water with a sigh that came from somewhere deep in her chest. The heat soothed muscles she hadn’t realized were tense, but it did nothing for the ache beneath her ribs.
She stared at the connecting door visible through the bathing chamber entrance. Theodore was beyond that door—in his own chambers, perhaps bathing as she was, perhaps already dressed for dinner.
And she wondered: did he lie awake at night thinking about her the way she’d found herself thinking about him during her weeks at her parents’ house?
Cressida closed her eyes, sinking deeper into the water. The rose petals clung to her skin, delicate and fragile. She opened her eyes and stared at the connecting door.
