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CHAPTERTWELVE
With Tom’s advice ringing in his head, Fergus ventured home early the next morning as soon as the storm cleared. He had slept well, despite the thunder. In the early morning light, the sun rose above the horizon, promising a warm, humid day. He pressed his stallion onward, hoping to arrive back at Hillow House before the air turned too warm.
He rode straight for the stable as soon as he was home, his clothes rumpled and stained with dust and sweat. The groom took the horse, asking, “How did he do for you?”
“Very well. I hope I find more time to ride moving forward,” he said quickly, realizing he barely noticed the groom’s glances at his face.
Hurrying into the house, he passed through the servant’s quarters, calling for someone to bring hot water up to his room. He took a backway up to his room, hoping to avoid seeing Edwina before he had a chance to change and find his mask.
James met him in his room, bringing a bowl of warm water. The mess from the previous day had been cleaned up, and a new mirror was brought up to the room. He avoided looking into it as he washed up and changed his clothes.
“Is Her Grace up yet today?” Fergus asked James.
“Yes, she is keeping herself quite busy this morning with her new project.”
“Her project?” Fergus asked, confused.
“You will see, Your Grace,” James warned him.
Fergus tied his mask on his face, feeling refreshed. For the first time, he noticed a large vase of flowers on an end table near the fireplace. The pale whites, blues, and yellows reminded Fergus of Edwina, from the milkiness of her skin, the pastel colors she wore, and the golden color of her hair.
“Is this a part of her project?” he asked, waving to the vase.
“You will see,” James said, shaking his head and quickly leaving the room.
Fergus frowned and followed James out into the hall, listening for sounds to tell him where Edwina might be. The scent of flowers filled the hall, the scent getting stronger as he descended the back stairs. On a whim, he pushed open the door to the study, finding every end table filled with vases of flowers, and two on his desk. He clutched his hands into fists and whirled around to find Edwina.
He found her finally in the parlor, arranging flowers in a vase on one of the tables. She looked up, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
“Oh, you are home at last!” she cried, smiling radiantly at him. Something in her smile told him that she was not genuinely happy as her voice was tight, and the words felt practiced. “Did you get caught in the storm yesterday? What a terrible squall!”
“Do you care to explain to me what is going on?” he asked her in a low voice, annoyed by her charade and whatever scheme she was planning.
She dropped the flower in her hand and turned to face him directly. “You told me to make myself at home.”
“What does that have to do with this?” he said, waving wildly at the flowers.
“This house is desolate and dark. I am bringing some life into these somber halls,” she explained, raising her chin as though to dare him to deny her.
“And you felt my study needed it the most?” he asked, the tone of his voice rising. “I looked in and can barely see my desk?”
She scoffed. “Hardly. I think it looks tasteful.”
He stared at her in shock, realizing she was intentionally trying to goad him. “What makes you think this is appropriate? Do you mean to annoy me?”
“I have to do something to get your attention!” she cried back at him, clutching her own fists in determination. “You have not shared my bed since we married two days ago, and you did not even return home the second night! For someone that insisted that we quickly marry and conduct the business of producing an heir, you seem to be in no rush to uphold your end of this deal!”
Anger flooded his chest. “What right do you have to make demands of me? This is not how a proper wife acts!”
“A proper wife?” she scoffed again, laughing menacingly. “Indeed. I have acted every bit the dutiful wife, waiting for you, being polite and kind and reassuring to you – even though you are the brute that forced my hand into this arrangement. Remember, if you want an heir, you must convince me to let you perform your share of the act.”
“You act like I still want to,” he growled.
“You must want to, or need to, at some point,” she pointed out. “For you will not be able to divorce me and marry someone else, unless you have powerful friends that can grant you a divorce despite the letter of the law. And if or when you finally decide to share my bed, and you want me to allow you in, you must start conducting yourself like a proper husband.”
“It has been two days!” he cried defensively.
“Yes, two days, and I have barely seen you!” she reminded him, her chest heaving with her breathless frustration. “You are my husband, and I have barely spoken to you more than three times in my life.”
