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“Don’t worry,” Simon said courteously, holding both of her hands tightly. “All you must do is watch where they put things and defer to Mrs Bolton if anything concerns you. I shall return in an hour or two, and we shall dine quietly together in the little parlour here. Would that suit you?”
Marion nodded in relief, and Simon knew that he had said all the right things. She confidently entered the other room, and he heard her say, “Good afternoon, Mrs Bolton,” with a clear, gentle voice.
Simon smiled to himself, proud of her for her composure, and left to do some business with Hughes. After a few hours, knowing how long it took for a lady to arrange her closet appropriately, Simon returned to the little parlour to find Marion seated in one of the chairs by the fire, absorbed in a book.
“Good evening,” Simon said, sitting into the chair opposite her.
“Good evening,” Marion smiled, closing her book to look at him.
She looked very beautiful. She had changed out of her wedding dress into a more subtle gown of a soft coral colour. It brought out the luscious tone of her skin, and she had rearranged her hair so more of her dark curls lay around her neck. Simon wondered briefly how long her hair was when it was free-flowing down her back. Then he realised he was staring and coughed, uncomfortable, reaching automatically for the soothing peace of a book.
Marion seemed unaware of Simon’s awkwardness, her eyes having automatically returned to the novel she was engrossed in. Simon was surprised—she was such a practical, level-headed woman. He did not expect that she would be the type of lady to read novels, with their romantic plots and myriad characters. It was an intriguing insight into the possibilities underneath her pragmatic façade. Just as their first kiss that morning in the church had been. Simon had been utterly surprised by it, but not displeased.
“Good evening, my Lord and Lady.”Hughes interrupted Simon’s thoughts by opening the door, bringing in on a tray a selection of tasty morsels that were perfect for a light evening supper.
They ate in silence, the evening drawing in dark around them and firelight lengthening the shadows in the room between them. At the end of their meal, they read for a little while longer, but Simon began to feel the pressure of the end of the evening coming closer. It was their wedding night, there were surely expectations, but Simon knew there was no option of him accompanying her into her bedchamber tonight to consummate their union. He would never put that kind of pressure on an innocent lady who had never wanted to marry him in the first place.
“I think I shall retire,” Marion said softly, closing her book. Simon nodded, closing his gently.
He rose and walked her the few yards to the door of her bedroom. She turned to him on the threshold with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity in her dark eyes. She wasn’t sure what would come next. He wanted to reassure her. Gently, he took her hand and kissed it softly. He had only meant to do just that, but surprisingly, her thumb moved in his grasp. For a small, heart-stopping moment, she quickly caressed his chin as his lips were against her skin.
Simon looked up. Marion was looking down at him with one of her completely unreadable expressions that he found so intriguing. He stood up slowly and then, following his instincts, he placed his hand at the nape of her neck as he had done that morning at the altar, and lowered his lips to hers. Once again she surprised him, her lips moving enticingly against his. Once again, he felt that strange stirring inside that he had not felt for a long time.
Be careful! She is an innocent woman. This is a marriage of convenience. You must not frighten her.-
Then, as the kiss lengthened, another, darker voice spoke loudly.
You have a wife you loved! How does this honour her?
Simon pulled away, reeling his desire back in and biting his bottom lip, looking down at her.
“Good night, Simon.”
Her lips were so red when they had been kissed. His guilt and desire raged inside him and he stepped back. He took a deep breath.
“Good night, Marion.”
Chapter Nine
“The groundskeeper told me that an old fox got in them pheasants he’s been keepin’ for the hunting parties, My Lady,” Mrs Bolton said as Marion stood in the kitchen with her, going over the menu for the upcoming week.
“Oh, that’s dreadful,” Marion frowned. “How would you suggest we proceed, Mrs Bolton?”
Marion had become very accustomed to asking this question in the three weeks that she had been living at Reading Estate. Mrs Bolton was a steady hand who appreciated that Marion took the time to ask her opinions, and wasn’t too uppity to be gently guided on how to be the mistress of the house.
“We shall have to get more,” Mrs Bolton said in her practical way. “So they can be reared up well enough for the hunting parties later in the year.”
“Of course.”
“But more immediately, we must decide what to do with all those dead birds,” Mrs Bolton said.
“The fox didn’t eat them?”
“Not that old thing,” Mrs Bolton snorted. “Six all dead, their bodies left behind. We should smoke some of it, but we’ll need to use some this week.”
Marion had a strange out of body experience that she was part of these conversations, that her word was the final say. She was used to going to the table and being fed exactly what was offered to her, with no one asking her what she would most like to eat that night. Now everything in the grand old house was a series of decisions that ultimately lead to her. It was dizzying, this sudden level of respect and responsibility, but also pleasant. Marion had always wanted to have people to care for, to provide for. Now she had that, she was happy to be able to step up to this new challenge.
“Well, we shall have to be inventive. Let’s smoke some and use the others in this week’s menu—and perhaps roast one for Sunday dinner.”
