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‘It is an heraldic beast, as well. One of your female Tudor ancestors brought them with her. They look a little like a deer, but with no antlers and a fox’s tail, and they are spangled with purple stars. Look.’ She picked up the wool basket and pulled out a book from among the skeins. ‘Here is a drawing of your full coat of arms with all the quarterings. It is this beast, right down in the corner.’
‘You drew this?’ He sat back with it in his hands, a delicate, detailed drawing with each tiny section meticulously coloured. ‘Do you enjoy art?’
‘I wish I was better,’ she said. ‘It is frustrating not to be able to paint a landscape as I would wish, or to conjure things from my imagination.’
‘Take lessons, employ a tutor,’ Jack suggested. They could afford it and he found he had no scruples about suggesting luxuries to his wife while he still inwardly recoiled at the reality of his own financial position. He was a rich man now and virtually every penny of that was Aylmer money. His own savings, earned from his commissions, were tiny in comparison with what Aylmer must have commanded.
‘You would not mind?’
‘Of course not. Why should I?’
‘I never know what will displease you.’ She jabbed the needle into the embroidery and reached for the glass on the table beside her. It had quarter of an inch of dark liquid remaining.
‘Other than dressing in bizarre clothing, attending vulgar masquerades and dancing with your old loves?’ Jack asked, the acid escaping into his tone despite his best intentions.
‘Yes, other than those things,’ she bit back and emptied the glass in one defiant swallow. Suddenly they were looking at each other across a gulf of mutual misunderstanding.
Jack counted to ten in Greek backwards.
Pretend neither of us has just spoken.
‘Is that sherry?’
‘Yes.’ Madelyn sounded wary. ‘Would you like some? Shall I ring for another glass?’
‘Good G—I mean, no, thank you. Has Partridge brought in all the decanters?’ He looked around. ‘Yes, I see he has.’ He got up to see what was there. What kind of cellar had Aylmer kept? Nothing but mead, ale and Bordeaux, probably from what little he knew of medieval drinking habits. He picked up one decanter filled with a clear amber liquid, sniffed, poured himself a glass and sipped.
‘Now this is an excellent dry Madeira. Where did it come from?’
‘I sent to Berry Brothers and asked them to restock the cellar here. Lady Fairfield said they were most reliable and they are just around the corner.’
‘A good choice,’ Jack said. He walked over and refilled her glass. Two glasses of sweet sherry were not going to put her under the table and it might help her relax.
‘Thank you.’ Madelyn took the glass and raised it to her lips. ‘How would I go about finding a drawing tutor?’
‘Ask Lyminge, that’s the kind of thing he’ll know. Or he can find out. That’s his job.’ He wondered what else might put her at ease. ‘Shall I send to the castle to have your dog brought to Dersington?’
‘Oh, yes, please.’ Jack felt a stab of conscience that he had not thought of it earlier, then her face fell. ‘But I wish I could have my mare as well, but it is so far for Shadow, it would take days at an easy pace.’
‘I will buy another mare for Dersington and teach you to ride side saddle,’ Jack said airily, wondering where the devil he’d have the time to find something suitable in Suffolk. Another task for Lyminge’s list, he supposed.
‘That is so thoughtful of you, Jack.’ Madelyn’s smile was eager, unguarded, and it took his breath for a moment.
This could work, he thought, smiling back and lifting his glass in a silent toast. Madelyn lifted hers in return and her eyes continued to smile into his over the rim of the glass as they drank.
‘Ehem.’
They both jumped. Partridge was standing there, and Jack realised that he had not even heard the door open.
‘What time is it?’
‘Eight, my lord. Dinner is served, my lady.’
Somehow they had spent almost two hours together with only one minor spat. Jack realised that he had been neither bored nor irritated. Normally he would spend his evenings with a few close friends, or working on a commission or with his feet up and a good book and a bottle of wine for company. Somehow he had been entertained, moved to pity, enlightened, aroused and annoyed by his new wife in quick succession without feeling the slightest desire to be anywhere else.
He tossed back the remains of his Madeira and stood up. ‘Shall we, my dear?’
Madelyn finished her sherry and swallowed rather too fast, he guessed, judging by the colour in her cheeks. He offered his hand for her to rise and she took it with a flattering readiness. Perhaps she, too, had found the time together pleasant or perhaps it was relief that her new husband had managed to control his bad temper for this first evening together.
