Page 16 of The Trouble with a Dare

“Thank you, Mrs Gladwish, we can serve ourselves,” she said, smiling warmly at the housekeeper, who bobbed a curtsey and hurried her maids out, leaving them alone.

“This looks wonderful,” said Grace, helping herself to a slice of pigeon pie before cutting a generous slice for him. She handed him a dish of buttered green beans next and then some creamed potatoes.

“She has a fair hand for pastry,” Sterling agreed, eyeing the golden casing of the pie on his plate with anticipation. “You must feel free to hire what staff you want, though, Grace,” he said, feeling an unexpected jolt of pleasure at speaking her given name. His Grace. His wife. “The house is yours to run as you wish. I’ll not scrimp. You’ll have whatever you need.”

“That is very generous, Sterling, but the place is spotless, and this is a fine meal. It seems an orderly and well-run household. Is… Is that your mother’s doing?” she asked with a brief hesitation.

He snorted at that, unable to stop himself. “No, it’s Mrs Gladwish. Mother thinks I’ve too many staff as it is and that she ought to do the work herself and save me the coin. Ma was constantly under the poor woman’s feet, poking her oar in. Mrs Gladwish’s delight in seeing you was quite genuine. She was merry as a grig the day I turfed my mother out of the house.”

She blanched at his hard words, and he wished he’d been a bit less forthright.

“I’ve still not met her. Your mother, I mean. Should I call on her tomorrow?”

Sterling shook his head, not liking that idea one bit.

“But is it not rude if I do not?”

“Aye, but it’s not you at fault.”

Sterling watched her consider this as she took another bite of her dinner, a little overwhelmed by the pleasure of having her beside him. Most nights he ate alone in his study, rather than give himself indigestion trying to eat with his mother’s sour expressions and endless harping. It was nice to have Grace here. Desperately, he searched for something to talk to her about, but did not feel confident enough to begin with any particular subject, and so subsided into silence.

“Perhaps she might like me better for making the first move?” Grace suggested, which just showed how naïve she was.

Sterling shook his head.

“You said your father modernised the house a great deal,” she ventured. “Do you have plans to change anything? Ambitions for new farm building, perhaps?”

The desire to confide his plans to her was tantalising, but he knew enough to realise she was only being polite. A dirty farm was hardly the thing to interest a woman of her breeding. He’d discovered that much in his youth. Whenever anyone discovered his father worked for a living, he was put firmly on the outside of whatever gathering he’d been persuaded to attend, if not openly ridiculed. Of course, he could have lied, could have denied his father did any such thing, but he’d not treat his sire with such disrespect. He had loved and admired his father and anyone who could not take pride in what he’d achieved could go to the devil. So, he knew Grace’s interest was merely lip service. It was what ladies did. They made conversation pleasing to men, to put them at ease. That he was being managed was unsettling, and he did not like it, so he merely returned a shake of his head.

“Do you go to market often?”

“Aye.”

He felt the weight of her gaze upon him, expectant, but conversation was never a straightforward thing for him, especially not with people he did not know well. Besides, he was a farmer, of course he went to market often. What else needed saying?

“Do you see much of your neighbours? You are friends with Mr Stanhope, I know. Do you see him often?”

“A bit.”

Sterling sensed her frustration, her desire to draw him out, but that only made the words ever more elusive, stirring some belligerent spirit that made him refuse to give her an inch although he wanted to. Still, she persisted.

“It is nice to know that Florence is so close by. She is a good friend. We practically grew up together. The Earl and Countess St Clair, too. I ran wild at Holbrook as a child. We all did. They love the house to be full of children and so we had the most wonderful gatherings there. Boating on the lake and picnics, riding out. It was lovely, and of course you must know it too, being at university with Cass—Lord Oakley.”

Sterling experienced an unpleasant stab of jealousy at hearing the viscount spoken about so casually. Oh, she’d corrected herself, but she clearly knew the man well. How well? demanded a hostile voice in his head. Stop it. They grew up together. Did she not just tell you so, you ignorant brute? He could feel her gaze upon him, willing him to answer her, but he was already uncomfortable, too aware of all she might have had if she’d married differently.

You’ll see… You’ll see when I’m right. His mother’s voice echoed unpleasantly in his ears. No. No, damn it, she was not right.

They ate in silence for a while, though Sterling could almost hear his wife’s brain turning, trying to think of a way to please him.

“Would you take me for a tour of the farm tomorrow?” she asked.

Sterling frowned, imagining her walking about the muddy yard, perhaps hearing his labourers’ coarse language, worse at this time of the year with everyone worn to a thread from the rigours of the harvest.

“I won’t get in the way,” she promised.

“I’m busy tomorrow,” he said, the words curt and dismissive, which he had not intended but did not know how to take back.

He knew at once that he’d hurt her and hated himself for it. God, but he was a bastard. All at once, he knew his mother had been right. He’d been foolish and, far worse, selfish. Try as he might to dress it up as an act of charity, saving Grace from scandal and shame, he’d not been thinking of that alone when he’d told her he’d marry her. Oh, he had wanted to protect her… more than anything. If he knew the name of the bastard who had used her and thrown her aside as if she was worthless, instead of cherishing something priceless, he’d have left that moment and tracked him down. He did not like to think about what he might have done if he’d found him, either. Sterling was not a violent man. He disliked confrontation of any kind and physical altercations seemed to him to reduce men to nothing better than beasts. He’d felt like a beast, though, when he’d realised what state he had left her in, this sweet, delicate soul who ought to have been protected and lavished with everything that was fine and beautiful. Yet, he had acted little better. It had been pure avarice, for he’d wanted to be one doing the lavishing and protecting, but it was only now that he realised, he did not know how. She’d been his wife a matter of hours and already he’d hurt her.