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Chapter Fourteen
Aknock sounded on Dinah’s door, the one that led to the sitting room she shared with Henry.
“Breakfast is here,” he called from the other side.
“Thank you,” she called back. Standing, Dinah smoothed down her skirt and looked herself over in the large mirror which had shown up, most unexpectedly, only a few days after she’d let the random comment slip at dinner that her small mirror above her dressing table was hard to use. Henry never said the large mirror was from him, but honestly, who else would it be from?
Her morning dress all in place and her hair half up, half down, Dinah opened the door and stepped into the sitting room. Henry was already situated in one of the small chairs across from the settee on the far side of the room. It had been two weeks since she and Henry had wed, and in that time, a sort of pattern had wordlessly developed between them.
They ate breakfast, just the two of them, each morning; he on one of the small chairs, she on the settee across from him. Their days and afternoons were more varied; sometimes they were spent with his family, sometimes with just the two of them. Dinner as a family was a must; she’d had that impressed upon her more than once. And, as the day came to an end, they’d sit on the courting bench and recount their day. The pattern had developed seamlessly, without force or coercion. It was comfortable, amiable.
And yet, it was also invariably platonic.
“How are the eggs this morning?” Dinah asked, taking her usual place on the settee.
“Not as dry today, but sinfully devoid of salt.”
Dinah laughed softly. “Honestly, I am more and more thankful every day that I am not the chef of Angleside Court.” He never failed to find fault with the food. Though, perhaps it was just that her own upbringing was lowly enough, she hadn’t developed as refined a palate. Dinah picked up some eggs with her fork and brought them to her mouth. It took her remembering all of Lady Blackmore’s training on how to be a proper lady to stop the pleased moan that threatened to break free of her. “You are a cockscomb, Henry. These eggs are delightful.”
“They lack salt.”
“Then ask for more salt.” Dinah placed another bite of eggs in her mouth. They were warm, melting between her tongue and the roof of her mouth as though made of butter. Honestly, she couldn’t find any fault.
Henry was silent for a moment and appeared to be weighing his response. His dark hair was long about his face, loose and with a bit of a curl to it. His jaw line was more prominent from this angle, and it looked as though he hadn’t yet shaved this morning. How prickly would it be if she ran her hand down his cheek? Down his neck? He was fully dressed for the day, sadly. No more jacket-less, cravat-less, open-shirt Henry for Dinah. He hadn’t once allowed himself to be caught in any state of undress since that first night.
Her face warmed just at the memory, and she found she had to look away or be caught ogling her husband—a man who would certainly not be happy if he did catch her in the act.
“Mr. Voss has only grown more sensitive about his cooking in his old age,” Henry said slowly, seemingly oblivious to the turn her thoughts had taken.
Dinah took a long drink of her morning chocolate. It was yet another thing that had simply shown up on the breakfast tray Henry’s valet brought in the day after Dinah mentioned to her abigail that she’d always dreamed of enjoying chocolate in the morning. How Henry had learned ofthatcomment, she had no idea. He hadn’t been anywhere about.
Unless he’d taken to secretly hiding in her room. The thought, ridiculous though it was, sent a thrill coursing through her.
“I think that’s sweet,” she said; if she didn’t keep her thoughts to eggs, toast, and their usual breakfast routine, she was liable to say something unforgivable...like how she was undeniably falling for her own husband. “Then feel free to vent all your frustrations to me instead of him.”
Their conversation moved away from breakfast and toward their day in general. A small problem regarding a few of the houses near another estate had come to Henry’s attention. Though Henry doubted it would require him to remove himself from London to see to the matter, he would need to spend the morning going over the details with his man of business and making decisions on what was best to be done. Dinah had a letter from Charlotte she wished to respond to. Though she didn’t say as much aloud, she’d rather hoped to have more to tell the dear woman by now. Things such as ‘My husband and I have found rather a strong preference for one another’ or perhaps ‘You were right; all that was needed was time.’ Anything more than what she currently had to say. ‘I have learned that I prefer eggs more than my husband does.’ Certainly, Charlotte would read that and know immediately that Dinah wasn’t as optimistic in her choice of husbands as she pretended to be.
Perhaps she could put off writing the letter one more day.
“Any more news from Mr. Harding?” Dinah asked. It was one topic that was safe for them to discuss. It never forced them to admit their slightly disappointing situation to each other or even themselves. Most ironically, it was also one topic that was completely forbidden around anyone else. “I have heard no reports of smugglers in these parts as of late.”
Henry grunted. “I half wish there were. Then, at the very least, I could find someone to tail.” He shook his head, returning his plate to the low round table between them. “It was always a bold move on their part to bring smuggled goods through London’s port.”
“I suppose it was the boldness that made it work.”
Mr. Harding had stopped in for a quick visit a few days ago to let them know that Adele was once more safely with her father. And though Henry grew noticeably upset when smugglers were discussed, he didn’t seem to hold her responsible for losing his chance at justice any longer.
“Too true,” Henry said. “Mr. Harding was so focused on the ports further south, he would not have even looked in London if not for a small bit of information I stumbled upon.”
They spoke of this nearly every morning, to some degree or another. Clearly, not being able to bring Spade to justice was steadily eating away at Henry. “Have you considered removing yourself back to the country, then?” It was at Kingcup Estate, which she’d learned was halfway between Dover and Hastings, where Mr. Jacobsen had been killed, after all.
Henry shrugged. “I hate to leave before every opportunity here in London has completely dried up.” His gaze swung over to her. “Would you prefer life in the country?”
A wave of enticing tingles coursed through Dinah. He was envisioning her, there beside him, a given part of his future. And he wasn’t asking heraftercoming to a decision, orafterhe weighed all other pros and cons. Her thoughts on the matter had been first in his mind. A sudden and intense yearning filled her. How close she and Henry were to having the relationship she’d always wanted. He was considerate, thoughtful. They rubbed together quite well. The few times he drew near her, she never failed to feel an intense pulsing throughout her entire body, one that left her aching to take hold of him and close all distance between them.
And yet, he’d shut himself off from her, at least in that regard.
For all his kindness and passion for life, which she was not blind to, he always satacrossfrom her, never beside her. He spoke with her each night before bed, but not once since that first night had he shown any indication of wanting more than just conversation. In the past couple of weeks, they’d ridden through Hyde Park together, seen the opera with Emily and David, taken strolls through the gardens—and not once, not a single time through all of it, had he ever taken her hand or allowed his gaze to drop to her lips.
