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“Is my wife awake?” he asked as he shucked off his coat.
The butler shook his head. “No, my lord. She awaited you some time but went to bed about an hour ago.”
Cillian eyed the man, finding no hint of judgement in the man’s expression yet he was certain he’d heard censure in his tone.Why did you leave your new wife alone all day?it said.
It was not the best way to spend their first proper day of their honeymoon, he had to admit, but what choice did he have? He could hardly deposit a half-drowned girl at her father’s doorstep and dash off.
He made his way upstairs and paused by the door of her bedroom. He went to rap his knuckles on the door then stilled. She might be fast asleep. A hand to the doorknob, he listened for noises and heard nothing but silence. What was he even going to say?I took an unexpected dive into the sea and didn’t even manage to send word I was well so I left you alone on the first day of our honeymoon?
His first test as a husband and he feared he’d already failed.
Chapter Five
Ivy had been to many a grand house. After all, Father’s title had been bestowed upon him long before she was born, and their house had been completed when she was but a baby. However, none seemed as daunting as the seat of the Viscount Hartwood.
Her new home.
It was hard to picture the building as home. The red brick frontage hinted at its historic past whilst the grey roof tiles and elegant balustrades and balconies made the house look more French than Elizabethan. Ivy tried to recall what the rest of the history she had learned of what was to be her home but now she was here, it all fled her mind. Was she really to be mistress of all this?
She stole a peek at Cillian who remained tucked back against the carriage seat, apparently entirely unbothered by the sight of such a grand building.
She leaned forward and curled her fingers around the edge of the open window to peer closer. Servants gathered by the front door, a long line of black and white. Soon, they would all be under her command.
Her throat tightened.
“It’s lovely,” she said.
“I’m not certain one can describe such a house as lovely.”
She twisted to eye him. “Well it’s hardly hideous.”
“No, but lovely summons to mind soft things, pretty things.” He glanced her over and a furrow appeared between his brows. “That building is a great big slab of a thing—hardly lovely.”
His sour expression was about the most animated she’d seen him all week. Their honeymoon had been one of silence, stilted conversation, and long walks.
Alone of course.
She allowed herself a wry smile. Her sisters would be astonished to find out she missed all the noise and bustle of them coming and going. Despite both Clementine and Violet now being married, scarcely a day went by when she did not see them. Next time they were together, Ivy vowed she would not vanish once, not even to do some knitting.
Besides, she’d never knitted so much in her life during her time at Devon. If anyone needed a scarf or gloves or a blanket, she had dozens now.
It wasn’t that her new husband was rude as such. It’s just he did not seem to know what to do with her. Not that she had any better ideas and she’d surprised herself by being angry at him for vanishing on the first day of their honeymoon. He’d said nothing the next day and she’d been too shy to ask where he’d been. Too embarrassed too. What sort of a person scared away their husband within a day of being wed?
Apparently, he did not wish to consummate the marriage either yet so where did that leave her?
Aware of the slight flourish of heat that worked its way into her face at firstly, her humiliation, and secondly, the stupid, foolish idea that actually she had almost wanted to partake in the act after seeing his bare arms, Ivy thrust her head back out of the window as the carriage curved around the gravel path to come to a stop in front of the house.
At least now they were at the house, she would have something with which to occupy her time.
After Cillian handed her down from the vehicle, he introduced her to the servants. She wasn’t certain what she expected from them and could probably blame formality and an uncertainty over their new mistress but there was a coldness to them all, as though they were eyeing them with mistrust.
Or, to be more precise, Cillian.
What had her husband done to offend them all?
“Mrs. Bradford will show you to your rooms,” Cillian offered, gesturing to the slender housekeeper who looked as though she might well have been here from the Elizabethan times.
Topped with shocking white hair cinched tight, every part of her face was lined, and sun spotted. She gestured for Ivy to follow her into the house and moved far more briskly than anticipated. Ivy found herself breezing past huge portraits, painted ceilings, and far too many taxidermied animals that left her with a bitter taste in her mouth.
