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She managed a sound that gave him the impression that she was listening, and he continued, “I’d always assumed that the army would be my life. I found it somewhat difficult to adjust to the demands of a gentleman of leisure.”
Ah, but you have adjusted, haven’t you, beautifully?
She merely nodded this time, biting her tongue to keep her sarcastic words behind her teeth.
“You will like Desborough Hall,” Hawk continued after he’d cracked a walnut between his long fingers. “It is a well-run estate.”
Does he believe me utterly stupid? she wondered. She wanted to tell him that she knew his intentions well enough.
“We will stay but one day. Then we must leave for Chandos Chase, my father’s estate in Suffolk. I’m sorry, Frances, that there won’t be more time for you to rest, but—”
“I understand, my lord. You wish to see your father as quickly as possible.”
“Philip.”
“Yes. If you wish, I shouldn’t mind continuing directly to your father.”
“No. We must stop. The horses are blown. I’m certain you’ll appreciate not riding in a closed carriage for a while.”
A very short while, she thought.
He fell silent, and Frances, after some minutes, decided his confidences, such as they were, were at an end. She carefully folded her napkin and placed it beside her plate.
“I will bid you good night, my lord.”
“Philip.”
“Yes, in any case, I am tired. I will see you in the morning.”
Hawk watched her rise, and his eyes went over her body. It won’t be too bad, he thought. He elected to say nothing to her. He would simply appear and get the damned business over with.
“Good night,” he said, and watched her walk from the private parlor.
To Frances’ delight, a tub of hot water was waiting for her in her bedchamber. At least there was one good thing about being in England. And there was a maid, whose name was Margaret. She sank into the water with a blissful sigh.
Margaret washed her hair for her. I’ve died and gone to heaven, Frances thought. No one had ever washed her hair for her before, save for that one time when she was twelve and ill and Adelaide had assisted her.
She thought of Desborough Hall, her future home, while Margaret combed her hair before the fireplace. She tried to imagine living there, not knowing a single soul, and shuddered.
“You’re cold, my lady?”
“No, Margaret. Is my hair dry yet?”
“Almost, just a few more minutes. You have beautiful hair, my lady.”
“Thank you.” I’m in England, she thought, and shuddered yet again. A foreign country. A foreign husband.
She wanted to cry, but she didn’t. “I wish to go to bed now, Margaret.”
She began to braid her hair, but stopped at Margaret’s gasp.
“I shouldn’t, my lady. I’ll comb it for you tomorrow.”
“Very well,” Frances said.
Ten minutes later, she was lying in the middle of her bed, her hair spread on the pillow, the room utterly dark.
She heard footsteps in the corridor outside her room, and frowned. Then the doorknob turned.
