She understood why. He cut an elegant figure in buff breeches, a deep blue coat that seemed molded to his shoulders, and tall boots that gave him a sportsman’s air.
His clear gray eyes went right to her. His gaze held an assessing look as if taking her measure. Had he spoken to her maid and learned that she was refusing to pack?
Her stomach fluttered with an unsettled feeling. Guilt wanted her to look away. Courage made her face him and it was as if she was truly seeing him for the first time. No, not as a fashionable gentleman, but as a man who had already done for her more than she had the right to ask.
And she wouldn’t go to the country with him?
What was there for her here? Leonie didn’t have an answer.
He had met Willa and Cassandra before. They had been a bit shy around him. However, today, Cassandra spoke in her blunt, forthright way. “My lord, you have my approval.”
“And mine,” Willa chimed in, a becoming blush to her cheeks as if she had been caught thinking something she shouldn’t.
“Well, thank you, Miss Holwell, Miss Reverly.” He shot Leonie a confused look.
“We were talking about flowers,” she explained dryly, knowing he would not understand.
Her statement sent Willa and Cassandra into peals of laughter, and that confused him all the more.
“Have I interrupted something?” he asked.
“Why would you think such?” Leonie said.
“I have sisters. I know when women have their heads together.”
Sisters? She had not known that. In fact, there was little she did know about this man she had married. Here he was, aware of the most intimate details of her life and she had not cared to ask if he had family.
The omission was humbling. Was she truly that self-absorbed?
Willa and Cassandra were taking their leave. Leonie rose to her feet, reaching for the duties of a good hostess to regain her balance.
Roman bowed over their hands, a gallant gesture that pleased them. Willa mouthed to her the words, “You are fortunate.” That, too, gave Leonie pause.
Roman stepped out of the way to let the ladies pass so that Leonie could walk her friends through the receiving room to the front hall, but halfway there, she made a decision.
She stopped. Willa and Cassandra came to a halt as well, assuming that she wanted a moment with them in private, and she did.
“I want you to know that my lord and I will be leaving today for his country estate.”
“You are going from us?” Willa said.
“He is anxious for me to see—” Leonie broke off. She knew he had told her the name of his home but she could not recall it.
“Bonhomie,” he supplied easily, coming up behind her. He placed his hands lightly on Leonie’s shoulders, the gesture husbands made toward wives hundreds of times a day.
She tried not to flinch. Cassandra and Willa did not notice, but he knew. She could tell because he removed his hands. He was that sensitive to her slightest gesture.
“Yes, Bonhomie,” Leonie said, forcing a smile.
“When will you return?” Cassandra wanted to know. “I am having a salon three weeks from tomorrow. Will you be back for it?”
Leonie looked to Roman. What were his plans?
“We shall see,” he said to Cassandra.
“Please come back for it. I have hopes for an interesting program and I need people to attend.”
“I know,” Leonie said. “Although I am relieved I did not miss the ‘passion flower’ poet.”
Willa laughed, a laugh she stifled with the back of her hand to her lips. Cassandra shook her head with good nature. “May we see each other soon.” Cassandra gave Leonie the kiss of a dear friend. Willa followed suit and, too soon, they were out the door and Leonie was alone with her husband, the footman minding the door having gone out to open the coach doors for Willa and Cassandra.
Roman spoke first. “Your maid said you told her not to pack.”
“I did. But now I need to tell her to pack.” She drew a deep breath and faced him. “When do you wish to leave?”
“I had thought in the hour.”
“I will be ready. Now, if you will excuse me?” She didn’t wait for an answer but moved toward the stairs, her current supply of courage spent.
“Leonie?” His voice stopped her. She hesitated, her foot on the next stair. He came around the staircase so they could see each other over the bannister. “What made you change your mind and decide to come to Bonhomie with me?”
Her husband was no fool.
He also treated her with more honesty than her parents ever had. Furthermore, other than Willa and Cassandra, she truly had no ties to London. For some reason, being alone had lost its appeal.
“You have sisters.” On that cryptic answer, she hurried up the stairs to pack.
Chapter 11
Leaving her parents’ home was surprisingly simple.
On the way to her room, Leonie decided to tell her mother she was leaving. She knocked on her mother’s door but her maid, Anna, answered. “Madam is indisposed.” She spoke in whispers through a cracked door.
Leonie understood what was truly being said. Her mother had probably imbibed too much wine and whatever else at the wedding party . . . just as she’d had too much brandy. “Does she know I am leaving?”
“Lord Rochdale informed her that the two of you would be departing.”
“Ah, well, then, tell her I will write.”
“Yes, my lady.” The door closed.
Leonie stared a moment at the hardwood. She then turned and looked down the hall to her father’s room. He had still not returned. She debated informing his valet of her departure but dismissed the idea.
“I spoke to him earlier,” Roman’s voice said behind her. “He knows we are leaving.”
Slowly, she turned to him. “I fear where you had to go to find him. Years ago, I left without a backward glance. I didn’t think they would care. I didn’t believe anyone cared.”
“I’m certain they were worried when you eloped.”
“My father’s only worry was protecting his investment. I pray you received my dowry?”
He hesitated as if he didn’t trust her mood, and why should he? She’d not behaved well the past two weeks. “I have.”
“Very good. I shall pack.”
She went to her room. Action felt good. Leaving London would not be a bad thing, she realized. Like Willa and Cassandra, the gossips would speculate about her reasons for missing her own wedding party. Some would be titillated, others scandalized. And herself? She didn’t care. All those doubts had vanished once she’d made her decision to not fight her husband on the issue of traveling with him.
Minnie had already started the packing. Leonie watched the maid sort through her clothing for a moment before saying, “Will you come with me, Minnie?”
The servant’s eyes widened and then softened. “I wish I could, my lady.”
“But you don’t wish to leave your Charles?” Charles was the butcher’s apprentice. He and Minnie had been sweethearts since they were children.
“We will marry soon.”
“Send me a note when you do,” Leonie said. “I will want to know.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Leonie looked around at her possessions spread all over the room. “Very well, I shall be my own lady’s maid—”
“You have a husband who can help you,” Minnie quickly interjected.
“I have a what?” Leonie asked, the maid’s response taking a moment to sink in. When it did, she felt herself blush. “So I do.” She busied herself helping Minnie with her packing.
“Don’t worry about those perfume bottles,” Leonie said as Minnie gathered the heavy glass bottles. “In fact, here, you take them.” She knew the maid tried the scents from time to time. She probably wore them more than Leonie did.
“You should keep one,” Minnie protested.
“I wouldn’t know which,” Leonie offered, and waved the m
aid on.
The milled soap was a different matter. Leonie wanted to take the three bars she owned. She wished she had more but certainly she could buy it wherever they were going—
Wherever they were going? Where were they going?
She was startled to realize she didn’t know the location. And what was the name of her husband’s estate? She’d forgotten it again. Bonne Chance?
Leonie shook her head. That was not it. What decent Englishman had a French title for his home? A pretentious one—and Roman was anything but pretentious. Bonhomie. That was the name. She would have to learn the story behind it.
With Minnie’s help, everything Leonie felt she must take was folded into one trunk. A valise was packed for her needs on the road. “I will send for the rest,” she told the maid.
“Yes, my lady. I will have it prepared. Thank you for asking me to go.”
“I will be sorry to lose you,” Leonie answered, and then realized another concern. “Here, let me write a letter of reference. I don’t know if there is a lady’s maid role for you in the house.” And she wouldn’t count on her mother to think of those details. She would bring it up with Mrs. Denbright, the housekeeper. “And money . . . ? I should see that you have some.”
“Lord Rochdale took care of me,” Minnie answered.
“He did? When did he do that?”
“Perhaps an hour ago.” When Leonie was with Willa and Cassandra. “He was very generous.”
“Of course, he would be,” Leonie answered, caught between resenting his high-handed manner and relief that he had seen to Minnie. She masked her uncertainty by writing an excellent letter of reference for the maid.
There was a knock at the door. “Yes,” Leonie called.
“Lord Rochdale wishes to know if you are ready to leave?” a footman said through the paneled wood.
Leonie looked at Minnie. “Is this all?”
“That you said you wished to take, my lady.”
“Very well.” Leonie opened the door. “Besides the trunk, there is a valise on the dressing room bench that is my personal luggage. Please carry that down for me.”
“Yes, my lady,” the footman said. “I shall have two of the other lads carry your trunk down.”
“Yes, please.” Leonie put a green silk pelisse over her dress, gathered her shawl, her hat, and her gloves from Minnie, and took one last look around the room. She’d lived in the room, this house, for almost five years and yet it did not feel a part of her.
As she walked down the hall, she passed the study. A glance inside told her the brandy decanter was right where it always was.
She could use a nip, and that bothered her because now was not the time for such thinking. Besides, after what she’d done at her wedding, she should swear off spirits completely.
Therefore, she walked by the room. Her days of nipping were behind her. She even felt a touch noble in making her decision.
Downstairs, not only was Roman waiting for her in the front hall, but Yarrow as well. A footman was carrying a trunk out for him.
“Are you leaving my father’s employ?” she asked with some dismay.
“Yes, my lady, I am.” Yarrow looked to Roman before saying, “I am joining your husband’s staff.”
“I don’t have staff, Yarrow,” Roman said. “You will find we are threadbare at Bonhomie.”
“I look forward to the challenge,” Yarrow answered.
Leonie’s first reaction was relief. She would have someone she knew with her. She glanced at Roman, wondering if he might have anticipated she would appreciate a familiar face. “I’m glad you are coming,” was all she said.
They had to step out of the way as the footmen carried her trunk out the door. “Yarrow will ride with the wagon carrying your trunk and some other items I purchased.”
Leonie glanced back up the stairs, wondering if all the commotion roused her mother. Apparently, it hadn’t. She set her hat on her head and pulled on her gloves. Folding her shawl over her arm, she said, “Shall we go?”
And it was as easy as that.
On the way out, she dared to ask, “By the by, Roman, where are we going? Where is Bonhomie?”
“Somerset,” he answered, and smiled as if the word alone gave him great pleasure. The name meant nothing to her because she’d rarely traveled outside London. She did like the sound of it.
A hired post chaise and driver waited on her parents’ elegant street. Behind it was a wagon pulled by two draft horses. The wagon bed was covered with a tarpaulin so it could weather a long trip. The bed was apparently piled high. Roman had not wasted time spending money.
Yesterday’s rain had given way to an overcast spring day. She hoped any further rain held off. She had no desire to be caught in a spring storm.
Leonie gave the wagon bed a curious look. “Tools,” Roman explained. “We needed a new plow and other items that are of far better quality in London that what I can find in the country. There are also bags of seed.”
“To grow what?” she asked.
“Corn, barley, every vegetable you can imagine, and flowers.”
“Flowers?” Her valise was placed in the boot.
“My mother wishes a flower garden.”
His mother. He had sisters and, of course, a mother.
The trunks were placed under the tarpaulin. The work was supervised by an officious redheaded gent. Roman introduced him to Leonie as his valet, Duncan Barr.
Barr nodded and bowed but Leonie sensed he was very protective of his master. He might even know the full story about herself and Roman. Men often used valets as confidants. She felt slightly uncomfortable around him. Barr seemed to sense her unease—and liked it.
Fortunately, he was riding with Yarrow. It would only be she and Roman in the coach.
After a few last orders, her husband helped her into the coach and climbed in after her. He shut the door. He gave a wave to the post boy and, with a cluck, the horses moved out.
Leonie turned on the hard leather seat for a last look at her home out of the window. Yarrow and the wagon had not left yet. He was speaking to the footmen, obviously giving his farewell lecture. Mrs. Denbright was in the door with Minnie but there was no one else.
Still, she found herself watching until they turned the corner.
And then, she was alone with her husband.
Leonie pulled off her gloves and folded her hands in her lap, conscious that he seemed to take up an inordinate amount of room in what were now very close quarters. His hat was on the seat between them. She realized she still wore hers. She undid the ribbon and then stopped.
“Is something the matter?” Evidently, he was as aware of her as she was of him.
“I realized there isn’t much room to stow my bonnet.”
“We can make room beside me,” he offered, moving his hat over to his side of the coach, and bringing himself closer to her.
Leonie’s chest tightened. She found she needed to think to breathe. She could well imagine Cassandra making something romantic about this situation. She would never understand Leonie’s uncertainties.
“Or we can set both hats between us.”
Her gaze went to his. His expression was carefully neutral, unthreatening.
She took off her hat, and then handed it to him, trusting him to decide.
Was it her imagination? Or did he lean in as if to see if she’d had a nip?
“No, I have not had anything to drink,” she said.
“I didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t need to.” She shifted her weight on the seat. “I mean, I don’t blame you. I was not at my best yesterday.”
“It is behind us.”
“Truly?” she challenged.
His gaze met hers, and then he answered kindly, “Truly. We are married. We have a future. That is all that matters.”
She looked down at the ring. “It is lovely. Perfect, even. Thank you.”
“I had hoped the woman I gave it to would appreciate it.”
“She does,” Leonie dared to admit, and was rewarded with one of his rare smiles.
She hadn’t realized that he did not smile often until this moment. The expression transformed him. He was a handsome man but the smile, well, it softened the hard edges . . . and she remembered how he had been when they were younger, before all that had happened.
“Does your mother live at—?” She paused, once again forgetting the name of his estate, of her new home.
“Bonhomie.”
She repeated the name. “I shall remember it.”
“My hope is that you grow very attached to it, as attached as you are to London.”
They were moving out of the city. The houses were less dense; the traffic lessened.
“I’m not that attached to London,” she confessed.
“You wanted to stay here.”
“True, but only because where else can I go?” She turned to him. “Tell me about your home.”
“Our home.”
Leonie wasn’t quite certain he was right. To be “our” home, she would have to like it . . . and she wasn’t certain of him let alone a place she had never visited. Still, she dutifully said, “Our home.”
The expression in Roman’s eyes said he knew she was pacifying him, but he launched into a wonderful description of this place called Bonhomie. He spoke of its manicured lawn, the deer park, the fields he would have turned with the new plow. It had been an old abbey until the house and the lands surrounding it were gifted to Lord Rochdale during the Reformation.
“I can see you as a Roundhead,” Leonie told him.
He laughed. “Unfortunately, I can see myself that way as well. The house has seven bedrooms.”
“Your mother and your sisters live there?”
There must have been something in her voice that caught his attention.
“On the grounds, yes,” he said slowly. “And my stepfather.”
“I did not know about your family,” she explained. On one level of her consciousness, she was asking out of curiosity and because these people would soon mean something to her. On another level, she was becoming aware of an unexplained nervousness. She thought of the hour and how she hadn’t had her usual nip . . . but that couldn’t be a reason for a touch of anxiety? Could it? “They were not at the wedding.”
If Ever I Should Love You Page 12