“‘Item the first,’” he read with mock gravity. “I would appreciate being informed of your general whereabouts when you venture out. Not as your keeper,” he added as she opened her mouth to protest, “but as someone concerned for your safety.”
“My schedule at theReviewmakes that impractical,” she explained. “Sometimes investigations require discretion and flexibility.”
He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. Though perhaps you might consider using the Hereford carriage when venturing into less savory areas? London can be dangerous after dark.”
Amelia’s fingers unconsciously gripped her napkin tighter. The thought of being helped in and out of his ostentatious carriage, the Hereford crest announcing her presence to all of London, made her stomach twist. How many curious eyes would watch, wondering about the crippled woman who had somehow snared the notorious marquess? How many would whisper about her ungainly movements as she struggled with the carriage steps?
“Your carriage is rather… conspicuous. It would draw attention that might compromise my work.”
Hereford stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Then allow me to provide an unmarked carriage. Something discreet but safer than hackney cabs.”
The consideration in his offer made it difficult to refuse. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”
“Excellent.” He made a small notation on his paper. “Now, regarding the library—”
“I require full access,” she interrupted, then winced at her own defensiveness.
To her relief, he simply nodded. “I was going to suggest you take the east and north walls, which receive the best light for reading. I’ll use the south and west, which are primarily filled with my grandfather’s tedious treatises on crop rotation.”
“Oh,” she said, finding herself wrong-footed again. “That’s sensible.”
“I’m occasionally that as well,” he replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Continuing on, I’d like to request that we share at least three dinners weekly. I promise to be only moderately insufferable.”
Despite herself, Amelia felt her lips curve into a smile. “Only moderately?”
“I contain multitudes, my lady,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Some more bearable than others. Tuesdays, Fridays, and Sundays perhaps? Cook’s beefsteak pudding on Fridays is particularly fortifying.”
“I will try, but if I have investigative work, I will join you another evening.”
His eyes lit with unexpected triumph, as if he’d won a significant concession. “Splendid. Now, one more matter—the pianoforte.”
“The pianoforte?”
“Yes. I should warn you that I play it rather abominably after midnight.” His expression turned sheepish. “It’s a habit I’ve nevermanaged to break. I find it soothing when sleep eludes me.”
The image of the notorious Marquess of Hereford playing piano in the darkened hours was yet another fact incongruous with his reputation. “I assume you’re not requesting permission?”
“Merely providing fair warning,” he clarified.
Amelia nodded. “I appreciate that.”
Something passed between them then—a moment of connection that neither had anticipated. It shimmered in the morning light, fragile and unexpected.
The spell was broken by Cooper’s discreet entrance, announcing the arrival of Amelia’s hackney carriage. She rose, gathering her notes with a newfound awareness of her husband—still insufferable in many ways, but perhaps not entirely as she’d expected.
“We’ll continue our negotiations this evening?” she asked, suddenly uncertain.
“I look forward to it,” he replied, rising as well. His eyes dropped to her hands, where she clutched her lists. “Though perhaps we might set aside the formal documentation and simply… converse?”
Amelia hesitated, then gave him a small nod. “Perhaps.”
As she turned to leave, he called after her: “Oh, and, my lady? The word you wanted in your editorial was ‘docui,’ not ‘docueram.’ If you’re going to mock our educational system, best to be grammatically impeccable.”
She paused at the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder. Her emerald eyes met his blue ones across the sunlit room. “Thank you for the correction, my lord. Though I maintain that teaching Latin to sheep would be more productive than the current system at Eton.”
His surprised laugh followed her into the corridor, warm and genuine in a way she hadn’t heard before. As she made her way to her waiting carriage, Amelia found herself contemplating the stranger who was her husband. The Marquess of Hereford wore reading glasses, played the pianoforte badly at midnight, and was more consideratethan she could have imagined. None of these details aligned with the rake she’d thought him to be.
Perhaps, she thought as she settled into her carriage, this marriage of convenience might prove more interesting than expected—though suddenly more complicated.
