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“Do you like it?” Simon asked, watching Marion’s face carefully.
“It is beautiful,” she said, and he could see the honesty in her eyes as she turned to face him, the dark orbs bright and excited. “I think it is the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m surprised you can say that.” Simon laughed, but secretly was very pleased. “You have lived at the Brixton estate for over a year now, and before that, at Eleanor’s father’s estate. Both are grand houses, newly built.”
“They are lovely,” Marion conceded, smiling brightly, “but as you said, they are new and this…” Marion sighed, looking up at the arched windows and the old, weathered grey stone. “Is enchanting.”
You are enchanting,Simon thought, admiring the lofty gaze in her eyes, the smooth curve of her cheek and the light olive skin there. He wondered how it would feel to press a kiss there. Would she stiffen, full of fear, or would she perhaps tip her head back and gasp softly, as he had dreamed she might do? She turned suddenly to smile at him, and he felt himself reddening, worried that she could see his desire on his face. He swallowed hard and looked away, a little overtaken by the strength of his feelings.
“Let us go inside,” he said, opening the carriage door and stepping out, holding the door for her. “Let me show you the rest of the house.”
He offered her his hand as she stepped from the carriage, the creamy silk of her wedding gown beautiful in the bright golden sunshine. Hughes and the staff stood out in a line by the front door, ready to welcome their new mistress. Simon was suddenly absurdly proud of his household, perfectly lined up with their beautifully starched uniforms and their respectful, smiling faces. Hughes stepped forward and bowed elegantly before Marion, who looked completely shocked to be treated so formally.
“My Lady Reading, welcome home,” Hughes said politely.
“This is Hughes, my butler,” Simon said quietly over Marion’s shoulder. She nodded thankfully.
“Thank you, Hughes,” Marion spoke as elegantly as any new wife would be expected to, and Simon was pleased with her response.
“Please, allow me to introduce the staff to you.” Hughes gestured elegantly to allow Marion to step up and progress down the line of servants, letting them bow respectfully before her as they were introduced. Hughes took time for Marion to speak quietly with those of the staff who would personally serve her.
“This is Loretta,” Hughes said as the maid bobbed into a quick curtsey. “She shall be your lady’s maid. She comes to us from France.”
“Ah,” Marion smiled at the girl, and immediately slipped into an easy, French accent. “D’où venez-vou?”
“Paris, Madame,”Loretta responded, smiling happily at her new mistress’s linguistic ability.
“She has come especially for your service,” Hughes said.
“Is that so?” Marion turned to look at Simon with surprise in her eyes. “You sent for a French lady’s maid? For me?”
Simon nodded. “The Countess of Reading deserves the best.”
What Simon wasn’t ready to say in front of the servants was that he had especially sent for a French lady’s maid because he knew that Marion’s mother had been French, and it might help her settle into her new circumstances with more ease. He could see in her eyes that she was pleased, and noticed the way her voice became deeper and more relaxed when she spoke her mother tongue. He couldn’t help but find it attractive.
“This is Mrs Bolton,” Hughes said, “our housekeeper. Of course, she shall be on hand to show you anything you require.”
“Yes, My Lady,” Mrs Bolton said in her charming Northern accent. “I am here for your every need. Shall we start by bringing in your luggage?”
Mrs Bolton looked between Simon and Marion expectantly, and Simon knew his housekeeper was eager to get back to work. Mrs Bolton was a steady pair of hands, but she was a work-horse of a woman, and never liked to stop.
“Yes, Mrs Bolton,” Simon said, “that would be very helpful. Take the Countess’s trunks up to her chamber whilst I give My Lady a tour of the house.”
“It shall be done, Milord.” Mrs Bolton snapped her fingers and the household sprang into action around them, happy to be back to doing what they were good at. A few lingering housemaids loitered on the steps to gossip quietly about their new mistress.
“She is so pretty!” one of the little scullery maids whispered as she passed back into the house.
“Such a dress!” another whispered back.
“Back to work!” Mrs Bolton called loudly from her position supervising.
Simon offered his arm to his new wife and walked through the grand old wooden doors into the ancient, beautiful house. Their footsteps echoed on the ageing flagstones. Marion gasped, looking up to take in the vaulted ceilings with their wooden beams that had stood for centuries.
“It is very impressive,” she said, speaking quietly as if she was conscious of the way her voice carried in the large space.
“Yes, it can be intimidating,” Simon said, trying to make her more at ease. “But not all the rooms are like this. Come, let me show you the music room.”
With his wife on his arm, he took a deep breath and led her into the music room. It was an elegant room, certainly, with high ceilings and garrett windows, but it was also comfortable, with hung tapestries and soft furnishings. A marvelous grand piano stood in the centre, the focus of the room.
