He wanted to see the sudden light in her eyes. He wanted her excitement—the same excitement she’d shown when she’d first seen the priory ruins. He wanted her look of trust, like the one she’d given him when she’d stepped into the make-shift stirrup of his hands. He wanted her dreamy, breathless just-been-thoroughly-kissed expression.
He wanted them all.
Viv had been glittery, lively, and ambitious—something he’d reached for but had never truly held. Cassandra was breathtaking in a different way. She was lovely, bright, and though willing to speak her mind, invariably considerate and kind.
And she was his.
Like a traveler who’d carefully uncovered a prize from an ancient civilization no one else had been able to see, he wanted to flaunt his new bride to all his neighbors.
…which recalled to mind something they hadn’t yet discussed.
“Yesterday, when we were out, I missed a call from an old friend of my father’s.”
“You did?” she asked. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” He grinned. “I would not trade the afternoon we had for a visit from the kingandhis most important dignitaries.”
She blushed prettily.
“Lord Wexford left his card, of course, and an invitation to visit this afternoon.”
“Didn’t Mr. Townsend say he’d be available to meet with you on his farm this afternoon?”
“We can visit both. Townsend’s farm is on the way.”
She hesitated. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Whyever not?”
“Well, I imagine the Wexfords would expect slightly more formal attire than would make a tenant farmer, even one so large and established as Mr. Townsend, comfortable.”
Huh.
He hadn’t considered how they’d be dressed. “You’re correct, of course. I will pen a note to Lord Wexford and ask him to propose some other convenient time.” He smiled. “Whatever did I do without you?”
The question may have been rhetorical, but the sentiment was sincere.
He was coming to appreciate how much a smart, witty, and thoughtful lady could add to a man’s life, and he didn’t want to return to the less interesting, less fulfilling drudgery he’d known before he’d married.
Chapter Seven
Later that afternoon,Harbury spent time reviewing the estate records in his study while Cassandra finished dressing for their visit to Townsend farm. Since returning to Harbury Hall to be wed, he’d developed a better understanding of the way his staff worked in seamless cooperation. Sally, for instance, was far more aware of her mistress’s needs and schedule than himself, as Marsden was his.
Even now, when his wife was ready, she would tell Sally, Sally would tell Marsden, and then Marsden would tell him.
Although Harbury had never pondered the details, he supposed the staff had always functioned this way. On more than one occasion, he and Adrian had tipped his father’s valet to forewarn them when his parents would both be occupied. Far easier to execute covert and often reckless adventures when his father’s wary eye would not be turned in his direction.
But shouldn’t a man be able to speak directly to his wife? Shouldn’t he have a sense of the cadence and flow of Cassandra’s day?
And she, his?
She’d made clear she expected him at breakfast, and he enjoyed beginning the day together. He only wished they could end the day together, too.
Though he’d been the one to suggest delaying further intimacies, the etiquette involving the doorway separating their chambers had become an increasingly difficult conundrum.
That first night, Marsden had told him Cassandra was ready forhim to enter her chamber. For the sake of his future heirs, his marriage had to be unassailable, and, for that, he’d needed proof of consummation.
But surely, thewholehousehold needn’t know every time he and Cassandra wished to be intimate.
