“And you think it is wrong? Rude?”
“I said neither of those words,” he commented before dropping his hand and glancing at his bowl of soup. “If there is anything to learn from this, it is that I must learn you are always prepared and at the ready for trouble whether it comes from me or the storm.”
Leaning back in her seat, she studied him for a spell as she couldn’t decide whether he was teasing her or worse. Or was it really a compliment? She bided her time by taking a sip of the weak wine, tart and light.
She didn’t want to argue. Not after all they’d accomplished this evening. Swallowing her pride, she forced a light smile. “Perhaps I should learn not to make assumptions in the meantime.”
“It is difficult to enter into a marriage as partners and not make assumptions,” Dominic said after a long moment, bridging the distance between them.
When she looked up, he was offering a slight smile. Open eyes and an honest expression. He meant what he said. He meant what he meant, acknowledging the growth they would need in order for this union to work.
Verity found herself nodding.
As she sought another way to restart the conversation in a safe manner, she asked him, “Will you seek to rebuild the sunroom as it stood, or would you make any improvements?”
“It is a comfortable and spacious room. The doors could use some more width, though that was against the fashion,” he admitted before shaking his head. “I didn’t have much intention beyond those changes. As you’ve settled in here, have you had the chance to enjoy it? Do you have any opinions?”
The last question was drawn out slowly, almost like it was reluctant. As she plucked at the final bits of sausage in her own soup, Verity wondered how much the sunroom meant to Dominic. Why it meant something to him.
“Not in particular,” she admitted after a spell. “Just the table. And that’s only if you wanted more excuses to use the space.”
“It is a fair recommendation.”
“Thank you.”
“And thank you,” he responded with a wry smile. “I haven’t seen much of any other changes take place yet. Have you put in any orders yet? Rugs, paintings, wallpaper? I understand most wives seek to make their new home in their preferred image.”
Verity hesitated and then nodded. “Yes, but I’m afraid I don’t know what my preferred image might be.”
“Have you gone shopping?”
“Not quite. I looked at draperies but didn’t submit any orders, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. My family’s home is exactly how my mother designed it while she was alive,” Verity wound up explaining, her heart thudding over the memory of her tender mother. “Any changes I made were simply because we couldn’t replicate everything all over again.”
Nodding thoughtfully, Dominic took another slice of bread before offering the bowl back to her. “You could begin with one room at a time. Your own chambers, for example, or this dining room. Wherever you spend the most time.”
“You should benefit from it as well,” Verity reasoned before chuckling a little over his insistence here. “It sounds as though you wish for me to remake your house. And I would think you would like to save the expenses like any reasonable husband. What makes you so different?”
His lips twitched and it took him a moment to respond before admitting, “When I took on the title, one of my first expenses was to add pillows to every room. I replaced the art. Those were most prominent in my memories growing up here. Beyond that, I haven’t done much. I should like to see a change and I’d like to ensure it will make you content as the lady of the house.”
“Ah, I see.” The questions kept growing. She added several and wished she could trust him to answer more now. “Are there any colors of which you are fond?”
“Hm? Oh. Green, I suppose.” He looked at her, leaving her wondering if he was considering her eye color. Growing up, her brothers would jest that they were a muddy brown over the hazel glints that shined brighter in time. “Warm yellow, too.”
A strong blush overcame Verity. She felt it stretching from her cheeks across her nose and down her neck.
“Then perhaps we find some fresh bronze frames. Warmer artwork, like landscapes.”
“Do you have any paintings?”
She tilted her head. “Of what?”
The expression on his face remained guileless. Innocent and open. And yet there was a glimmer in his eye… “Of you, I suppose.”
“No, I have no paintings of myself. Not since my parents were alive; there’s one above the fireplace mantle once my youngest sister was born. I believe Octavia painted a few small pieces of me, but nothing that we would hang on our walls.”
“Perhaps we should request a painting, then.”
“Only if you’re included,” she said with a teasing smile. “We are family now, aren’t we? It would be proper.”
