Page 31 of Earl, Enemy, Husband?

‘Rule number two, you will accept the guidance of my mother during your first season as my wife.’

‘Only with regard to my entrance into Society. Not with regard to managing the household. That I have been doing for years.’

He thought about that for a moment. Uncle Robert had never been married, but he had often decried the lack of a wife when being required to deal with matters brought to his attention by his housekeeper. Not having to deal with Mrs Spragg would relieve him of some of his burdens. Also, he recalled that even during the worst of his parents’ rows, his mother had always been in charge of household matters. ‘Agreed.’

‘Rule number three,’ she said. ‘Your mother sets up her own household, rather than living with us.’

That he had not expected. ‘Are you prejudiced against my mother before you even know her?’

‘Not in the least. However, I think your mother might find it difficult to play second fiddle to your new wife.’

And she would not play second fiddle to his mother. She was right; it would not do. The last thing he wanted under his roof, a place where he looked for peace, was two women fighting for dominance. ‘Agreed. I will write to her and find a suitable house close by.’

She nodded her acceptance.

‘Rule number four,’ he said. ‘All matters of finance shall be left in my hands, apart from the allowance granted to you by the marriage settlement. That shall be spent at your discretion.’

She shook her head. ‘What if you plan a risky investment or some major disbursement that endangers our financial well-being? Should I not be allowed an opinion?’

‘Very well. If such an issue arises, I will keep you informed. Rule number five, no gambling.’

‘That goes for both of us,’ she replied.

‘Yes. I cannot think of anything else. Can you?’

She hesitated and shook her head.

What had she been thinking? What could have occurred to her that she was unwilling to bring up? ‘This is the time to say what is on your mind. There is no reason to think there is any matter we cannot come to some agreement on.’

She looked thoughtful and squared her shoulders. ‘Very well. If you should find yourself with other interests, I ask that you be discreet.’

He heard the emphasis and stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment. Other…? Ah, theirs was a marriage of convenience and she was no doubt thinking he might be like his father. ‘You have no need for concern on that score.’

She looked away. ‘Then there is no more to be said.’

A sudden sinking feeling made him wonder if what he had thought was a good idea, might be quite the opposite.

When the carriage halted in Portman Square, it was well past midnight. While Florence had dozed, she had been jostled awake at intervals by ruts in the road, despite the well-sprung carriage, or stops to change horses.

She was exhausted, and no doubt looked it. She had been surprised when Blackdown had indicated his intention to drive all the way to London rather than stay overnight at one of the posting inns along the way.

He handed her out of the carriage and, when she wobbled from tiredness, he supported her in a way that felt oddly protective. Nonsense. It was imagination, or wishful thinking. Oh no, not that last; clearly she was too tired to think straight. She jerked herself upright, moved away from him and headed up the steps to the front door.

A stern-looking butler with a fringe of grey hair and a cadaverous face opened the door.

‘My lord. My lady.’ He bowed and welcomed them in.

‘I apologise for our lateness, Powell. This is my wife, Florence, Lady Blackdown.’

‘Mr Powell,’ Florence said, trying to smile without yawning.

‘May I congratulate you both on your nuptials, my lord, my lady? Mrs Spragg informed us that you would be late arriving. Your rooms are ready and your luggage arrived yesterday, apart from that which you brought today, of course.’

So, Mrs Spragg had known he intended to drive without stopping.

‘Is there anything else I can do to make you comfortable?’

Florence glanced at Blackdown and back to the butler. ‘A cup of tea while I prepare for bed would not go amiss.’