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Chapter9
Darkness had long since descended, and the fire in the large hearth blazed in my new bedchamber. Mrs. Prescott had emptied the measly contents of my trunks into the wardrobe and refused my help, despite my persistent attempts. She hadn’t seemed comfortable with the offer, and I realized I had much to learn about the expectations of living in such a house.
I should have inquired better with James about the state of his home and income prior to accepting his proposal, but at the time, it had not mattered to me.
A knock rapped on the door, and I drew my dressing gown tighter, tying the sash in the front to keep it closed. Perhaps Lady Edith had already procured a maid and sent her up for comportment lessons.
I swallowed a snort at the very thought and went to the door. “Yes?”
“It is only me,” James said, but his muffled voice sounded as though it came from behind me.
I pulled the door open to find an empty corridor and closed it again, turning to face the door that led into James’s bedchamber just a few feet away. Nerves danced over my skin, and I crossed toward James’s room. It was unlocked, and I turned the knob easily and opened it to reveal James framed by the open doorway in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, his cravat discarded elsewhere.
The sight was possibly the most manly thing I had ever before seen, and it took great restraint not to stare at the triangle of skin visible at his open shirt collar or the way his skin dipped at the hollow above his collarbone.
“Good evening, sir.”
He smiled softly. “I only wanted to say goodnight. I missed you at dinner, but I do not fault you for retiring early.” He glanced over my shoulder at the rumpled bedclothes. “I worried I would be waking you.”
“No, not at all. I haven’t been able yet to fall asleep.”
“Is that typical for you?”
“Yes.” I had always struggled with falling asleep quickly. “Though I did wonder if I would be so tired from the journey that tonight would prove different.”
“It can be difficult to adjust to a new bed.”
We both grew silent, and I searched behind James for something to say. His chamber caught my interest, and I noted it was done similarly in blue, but on a darker scale. The walls were wood-paneled instead of painted white, and the silk hangings were navy instead of pale blue. It complimented my chamber well, though it maintained a masculine feel.
“Would you like to see the room?” he asked, noticing where my attention had drawn.
I shook my head and took a small step backward. Entering his chamber would feel intimate in a way that I was not quite ready for. Truly, I did not even know this man’s favorite color or least favorite meal. How could I explore his personal things before I had explored his mind?
“Perhaps another time, then. I do not wish to keep you.”
“I am not sleepy, James. It is only that I do not feel . . . well, we are strangers.”
A look flashed in his eyes that I could not decipher. Had it been sorrow or perhaps understanding? He relaxed a little and rested a shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his broad chest, and I smelled a whiff of his spicy cologne. It was different this time, however—less pure, as though it had mixed with James’s essence to give off an entirely unique scent.
“I would like for us not to feel as though we are strangers. How best do you think we might accomplish this?”
“Courting,” I said.
He nodded. “Of course, it will be a trial to find time alone with you. Mother’s list of things she would like to teach you spans the entirety of the desk in the library.”
The very notion caused me to step back. He seemed to sense my hesitancy and straightened. “You only need to do that which you are comfortable with, Felicity. No one will press you beyond those bounds.”
His eyes were earnest, and I knew I could trust him. “I want to do my best in this role, but I admit to being overwhelmed. It will take me time to learn what is required of me.”
“Mother has been mistress of Chelton for a long time, and she has much wisdom to pass on. I recommend learning from her, and I will do whatever is in my power to support you.” He smiled. “I even promise to steal you away from your lessons as often as you need me to.”
My lips formed a smile on their own accord. “So we might mend our way toward not being strangers.”
“Indeed. In fact . . .” He rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw, the full day’s growth appearing in a faint, dark shadow. “Perhaps we shall agree to share one fact each day.”
“One fact about ourselves?”
“Yes. Just think, by the end of our first year of marriage we shall know more than three hundred things about one another. We could hardly call our spouse a stranger at that point.”
