Page 32 of Earl, Enemy, Husband?

It would be the first sustenance that had passed her lips since they’d left Stoor.

‘I will see to it, my lady.’

Graydon took her arm and guided her up the stairs to her chamber.

‘Your room is at the back of the house,’ he said. ‘You should find it reasonably quiet.’ He threw open the door. A young maid stood at the end of a large four-poster bed, a bed big enough for two. Anticipation trickled down Florence’s spine.

This was her wedding night. She glanced up at Blackdown, but his face was expressionless, almost hard.

The maid dipped a curtsey. ‘I am Tilly, my lady. Mrs Spragg asked me to assist you until you have hired a lady’s maid.’

Florence nodded. ‘Thank you.’ She turned to Graydon, intending to invite him to take tea with her.

Before she could speak, he bowed, lips compressed. ‘I bid you goodnight, my lady.’ He turned and strode away.

She tried to ignore the pang of regret at his departure. Theirs was a marriage of convenience, conducted at such speed she had scarcely had a moment to think about…about what that would mean.

Surely he would want an heir? Perhaps he was being considerate after such a long day. He must have seen she was quite worn down after their journey. Or perhaps he wasn’t interested in her at all, now they had resolved the problems between their families.

Her heart sank. Had her admission about what had happened with Albert given him a distaste for her as a wife? If so, why had he continued with the marriage? Or had demanding her own rules made him angry? There was one that had been troubling her, but she had not been sure how to address it, or if she even could, given her own past.

She straightened her shoulders. There was nothing she could do about it. She would just have to prove herself a good wife. Show him that he had not made a mistake.

She closed the door behind her. The maid lifted a nightgown from the end of the bed. ‘Is this one suitable, my lady?’ It was the white lacy one Primrose had embroidered for her as a bridal gift.

‘Yes,’ she said with a sigh. Why not? Tomorrow she would wear her normal, every-day sort of night attire. Tonight was her wedding night and, even if she was to spend it alone, she would wear the fancy gown.

A knock sounded at the door. Her heart picked up speed. Had he returned?

Tilly answered it and brought back a tray containing a pot of tea, two cups and some delicious-looking shortbread.

Of course—the tea tray. The kitchen must have wondered whether his lordship would take tea with her and decided to err on the side of caution. No doubt Tilly would inform them of the truth. That was not disappointment in the pit of her stomach. A cup of tea, and then bed. What could be nicer after such a gruelling day?

She allowed Tilly to help her into the nightdress and then her dressing gown, before she sat down on the settee in front of the little table containing the tea tray. While she sipped her tea, the maid unpinned her hair and began brushing it through. The rhythmic strokes relaxed her, and let her thoughts run free.

Blackdown was being thoughtful by leaving her to her own devices. She should be grateful for his forbearance. If only he had not acted like a man who was glad to escape.

She pushed the thought aside. She would deal with her husband tomorrow, one way or another. She didn’t have a choice.

The maid put the brush down on the dressing table. ‘Will there be anything else, my lady?’

‘Not tonight, thank you.’

‘Was there a particular time you wished to be awakened, my lady, or shall I wait for you to ring?’

At home, she had always risen early, but what was the custom in Town? Her husband was right; her mother-in-law would know these things. ‘What time does his lordship usually take breakfast?’

The maid shook her head. ‘His lordship hasn’t lived here since I was hired, my lady. Since you have had such a long journey, why don’t I wait until you ring for me, then bring up a tray? At my other position, the lady always took a tray in her room in the morning.’

There would be an excuse for a tray in bed after such a long day as today had been, but she did not intend it to be a habit. ‘Very well, I will ring for you when I wake.’

The girl curtseyed, snuffed out the candles over the mantle and left.

Sipping her tea, Florence glanced around the room. Even by candlelight, she could see it was a pretty room, the bed hangings richly embroidered with exotic birds and fruits in delicate shades of pinks, greens and gold. They matched the heavy curtains drawn across the windows on one wall.

The carpet was pale green with a woven pattern of leaves and the furniture had an airy lightness to it. It had a feminine feel. Had his mother decorated this room?

Well, it did not matter. It was her room now, and somehow she had managed to avoid his mother moving in. Had he suggested it because he didn’t trust her to ‘behave’? By being honest with him, had she made her life more difficult? But how could she have done otherwise?