“I avoid anything that requires singling out a specific female. The speculation is too great. I only dance with family. I always seem to have a cousin or two in London for the Season.”
Adelaide blinked. What a lonely existence. How would Griffith ever find a wife if he didn’t participate in one of the hallmarks of aristocratic courtship? Not everyone could expect a floor to give way and make the decision for them.
Nervous laughter lodged in her throat, but thankfully the dance separated them for a moment to allow her to regain control before needing to speak again.
As the set continued, Adelaide tried to subtly steer the conversation to his brother, though she had a feeling he knew exactly what she was doing and she wasn’t gaining any knowledge he didn’t specifically want her to have—which wasn’t anything Trent hadn’t already told her. When the dance set ended, Griffith escorted her to Trent’s side on the opposite side of the room from her mother.
Wondering if she was actually free of her mother for a while, Adelaide looked around as Trent talked with a man she’d met earlier but whose name she had forgotten . . . and her gaze connected with her mother’s, and she actually wasn’t frowning for once. Perhaps the reminder that Adelaide was now solidly connected to a duke had softened her disapproval. She was, however, headed in Adelaide’s direction. Adelaide’s shoulders sagged.
Then her mother’s eyes cut to the left and she changed direction, veering off to the door leading to the women’s retiring room.
Adelaide glanced over, wondering what had caused her mother’s change of mind. The old man from earlier stood a few feet away, drinking a glass of lemonade and talking to a younger man who was most definitely related to him, given the shape of the nose and chin.
She waited for a break in Trent’s conversation before leaning in. “Who is that man?”
Trent followed her gaze. “The Duke of Spindlewood. Why? Would you like an introduction?”
“Yes.” Adelaide wound her arm into his. “I believe I would.”
Chapter 15
Sweat ran down Trent’s face, stinging his eyes and threatening to impede his vision, a dangerous thing when a man was in the ring with Gentleman Jack himself. He feinted left and threw another punch that was easily blocked by the seasoned boxer who immediately threw a punch of his own. Trent managed to block it, though without the finesse of the other man.
Finally the prizefighter stepped back, declaring they’d had enough. “You’re a bit heavy on your feet today, Lord Trent.”
Trent grunted as he climbed out of the ring and joined the mass of men milling about the exclusive boxing club.
“Feeling a bit off today, Hawthorne?” Lord Worthorp slapped Trent on the back and handed him a linen towel to mop off the sweat. “Not surprising, considering you haven’t been in for weeks. I think even I’d be willing to have a go at you after that long of an absence.”
Trent had no idea what to say to the man, so he buried his face in the towel. Bringing up his marriage would only lead to questions or worse, comments and jokes he had to pretend to go along with even though he hadn’t a clue what they were talking about. He had no idea what it was like to have his wife change his regular menu or throw the servants into chaos. He could only hope another man would inform Lord Worthorp and they could find their teasing hilarious and leave him to shrug in silence.
As he’d hoped, another man, whose voice he didn’t recognize, decided to join in the good-natured ribbing. From the sounds of shuffling feet, the conversation was drawing the attention of more than one other man.
“Haven’t you heard, Worthorp? The infamous Lord Trent is no longer on the market.”
Worthorp laughed and slapped Trent on the back, forcing him to pull the towel from his face or look like an idiot. “I had no idea you were married.”
“Neither does Hawthorne.” Mr. Givendale pinched a bit of snuff from his tin before grinning like a man who was betting on a race he knew was rigged.
Trent did his best to look like Griffith at his haughtiest and didn’t grant Givendale an answer.
Worthorp looked from Givendale to Trent and back again. Obviously debating the merits of friendship versus good gossip. “What do you mean?”
Trent bit back a sigh. This was London. Good gossip always won.
Givendale leaned against the wall. “Lord Trent here is residing over on Grosvenor Square these days. I doubt he’s even seen his wife since he left her in Mount Street yesterday afternoon.”
How could Givendale know Trent had returned to Hawthorne House after taking Adelaide riding yesterday? He’d had the servants take his curricle around back and then he’d ridden his horse over to Hawthorne House.
Worthorp looked at Trent with surprise. “No—you’re not.”
“I had business with Griffith last night, and we didn’t finish until late. It made sense to stay at the house last night. Contrary to what Givendale seems to think, it is not a change of residence.”
The other man in the group, whom Trent still didn’t recognize even after seeing his face, clapped a strong hand on Trent’s shoulder. “Good. I’d never believe it if you couldn’t talk your way around your wife. You’ve always been able to charm the ladies.”
Trent winced at the suggestive look in the man’s eyes that implied Trent had done much more than pull a smile from a nervous wallflower or two. How was a man supposed to correct an image like that? There was no evidence, no reason for anyone to make such a claim, when he hadn’t ever done so much as pull a lady into an alcove to steal a kiss. He supposed he should just let people think what they were going to think. He and God knew the truth, and one day soon Adelaide would as well. Those were the only people who mattered. Weren’t they?
“Have you met the lady yet, Stapleton? She’s quite charming herself.” Givendale lowered his face to look at his snuff box before tilting his eyes back in Trent’s direction.
Trent shrugged out of his sweat-soaked linen shirt and dropped a clean one over his head, trying not to look concerned. Givendale had never been one of Trent’s favorite people, but they’d never had a row. So why did the man seem determined to bedevil Trent at every opportunity? And why was he so interested in Trent’s marriage? Whatever the reason, it was time to put a stop to it.
The boyish grin Trent plastered onto his face might have been a bit overdone, and it certainly felt silly, but then again wouldn’t a man who was happily married be likely to grin in just such a way? “She is rather charming, isn’t she? Why else do you think I married her before any of you lot got the chance to meet her? There’s not another one like her in all of England, boys. You’ll have to settle for who’s left.”
Stapleton snorted. “Another Hawthorne beset by love. It’s like a curse with your family.”
Yet one more stone on the monument to Trent’s unsuitability to ever take over as head of the family. He’d be grateful if it didn’t come with a life sentence to a woman he didn’t love.
“Have you looked into the horses racing about this year?” Givendale asked. “I’ve been thinking about investing in a stable. Rumor is you’ve just acquired one along with your wife. We should discuss it sometime.”
Had he? He knew her dowry included an estate in Suffolk, but he’d thought it just that, an estate. Did it have horses on it? Was this something he should know? “Of course. Any time.”
With a final nod to the group of men, Trent left the building, doing his best to avoid the knowing smile still on Givendale’s face—and the niggling idea that holding his wife’s hand was quite a bit different than holding her heart.
Two days later Trent was still mulling over the thought as he leaned against the billiard table in Hawthorne House, idly rolling the balls across the smooth green surface with no real rhyme or reason. How long did a courtship take? What did people even do when they were courting? The clacking of the balls against the bumpers and each other was somewhat satisfying, but it didn’t answer any of his questions.
He knew couples went r
iding together, and they’d done that every day for the past four days. Rotten Row was becoming more and more crowded as London’s aristocratic population settled in for the Season. People barely glanced at them now as they rode along, Trent pointing out the same sites over and over again because he didn’t have anything else to say. Neither of his sisters had taken conventional routes to marriage, but they’d had some suitors before finding their husbands. Trent had just never paid much attention to what they did.
Flowers were obvious, and he’d taken a large bouquet of them to the house when he took her riding the day after the ball. Sweets were often mentioned by the women in his family as well, so he’d asked Griffith’s chef to create one of his famous sugar confections. That too had drawn a serene smile and a thank-you from Adelaide, though Mrs. Harris had sniffed and frowned even as she gave the elaborate creation an intent examination. He hadn’t taken any gift yesterday and yet he’d still been granted the same greeting, the same smile, the same everything. He wasn’t accomplishing anything other than becoming adept at maneuvering his curricle in a crowd, and he’d already been a rather better driver than most of London.
There were couples that announced their engagements mere days after meeting each other. Shouldn’t Trent at least feel like he was making ground? It wasn’t as if he had to convince Adelaide to marry him. He simply had to convince himself they were actually married. Why was that so difficult?
He’d driven his curricle over to Hawthorne House last night, hoping that it looked less suspicious than him simply riding his horse. The grooms were shining the vehicle, readying it for his afternoon ride, but he considered borrowing Griffith’s carriage, since the sky looked a bit heavy. How desperate was he if he took her riding in a closed carriage that he couldn’t even drive himself? Where was his famed charm and creativity that he could think of nothing else to do with his wife besides ride down an old dirt lane in the middle of a park?
The smirk that had been on Givendale’s face two days ago sliced through Trent’s memory, firming his resolve to do something special to court his wife today. He would not let a day go by that they didn’t do something together in an effort to create some sort of affection or at least connection between them. He would take the carriage and they could go for a walk if the weather held out. That was at least a bit different than going for a drive. If it rained, though, they would have to visit in the drawing room. With nothing to look at but each other and the curtainless window.
He still hadn’t asked about that window covering, though he probably should. Surely she was planning on replacing it soon. Didn’t all women yearn to redecorate? Claim a space as their own? Maybe Adelaide was having as much trouble accepting the situation as he was.
He wouldn’t know unless he talked to her about it.
And if the conversation went nowhere? If they ended up staring at each other with nothing to say? Trent rolled a billiard ball around with his flattened hand. There was a fine chess set in his study. Surely the precious progress they’d made, little though it may be, could withstand a bit of intellectual competition on a chessboard. It wouldn’t be at all strange to play a friendly game of chess without an inkling of conversation.
He gave the ivory ball a particularly hard shove, sending it ricocheting across the table, scattering the balls until the entire table appeared to be in motion.
They could do dinner. He had taken her riding and now he would take her to dinner. At least then they could blame any lack of communication on being too polite to speak with their mouths full.
Her mother had arrived.
To be honest, Adelaide was rather surprised it had taken the woman four days to make an appearance—assuming she’d taken the ride on Rotten Row the day she’d returned to London. She might have been in Town upwards of a week.
And now she was in Adelaide’s drawing room.
The one without a curtain on the window.
The one that had borne up well under more than two decades of use but was still showing the age of the decor.
The one that Trent picked her up in every day so they could ride through the park like near strangers.
Adelaide supposed she should be grateful for those rides. They were certainly the highlight of her day, as she spent most of the remaining hours wandering the rooms trying to avoid the staff while she worked her way through the books in Trent’s—no, their—small library. Still, she’d thought he’d have moved home by now. She’d been peaceful and serene. Nothing like the irate woman that had sent him packing in the first place. There was nothing else she could do to convince him that she would be a proper, meek wife. The small smile and soft words had always been enough to appease her mother.
The mother who was even now sitting in the drawing room.
Alone.
Probably making a list of all the ways Helena would have handled this situation better.
Mrs. Harris was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. “Tea, my lady?”
Adelaide nodded, wanting to smack herself for not thinking to request a tray. She had never liked the stuff, but everyone else seemed to consider it a social necessity.
Taking one last deep breath, Adelaide pushed the door open and entered the room.
“I don’t know how you expect to make the most of your new position if you don’t take advantage of everyone’s current curiosity. You’ve been seen in the park so often that hardly anyone talks about you in the shops anymore.”
Adelaide stumbled to a stop three feet into the room and blinked at her mother. “Good afternoon, Mother. I’ve ordered tea.”
Mother huffed out a breath and lowered herself to the sofa. “Of course you’ve ordered tea. I’ve taught you to always do so even if the guest claims not to want it.”
Confusion drew Adelaide’s eyebrows together. When had her mother taught her anything about tea? Perhaps she assumed that teaching Helena was as good as teaching both of them, but Adelaide had never been allowed to sit in on the lessons unless they needed another person. Still, it wasn’t worth bringing up now. There was nothing to be gained from it, since Adelaide didn’t think she’d need to know much more than how to keep her skirt out of the carriage wheel and not embarrass herself in a ballroom. Both of those she could manage nicely. “Of course, Mother.”
“Have you been by to see Helena yet? She got into Town three days ago.”
Adelaide had left a card, the only calling card she’d actually left anyone, but at that time Helena hadn’t yet arrived. “No, she wasn’t there when I went by. I didn’t know she’d returned to Town.”
Fenton entered with the tea tray, setting it lightly on the low table before bowing his way out of the room. Mother picked up the teapot before Adelaide could say anything. It was impossible to tell if the slight had been deliberate, but Adelaide let it pass. Even if it were, what did it matter if her mother thought she had the upper hand? It was simple enough to smile and nod and then ignore her wishes.
Adelaide didn’t really care for pouring tea anyway. She accepted the cup of tea with a splash of milk, noticing that the delicate white tea service trimmed in gold was more elegant than the service she saw when Trent had tea delivered. The fact that she hadn’t known they had two complete tea services bothered her.
“I saw her the day before yesterday. She’s doing well but is anxious to establish herself a bit more. They’re sure to have children soon, and she’s worried she’ll lose some of her status during her confinement.”
Adelaide tilted her head as she watched her mother sip tea, wondering if the older woman even realized the implications of what she’d just said. Helena had barely had a chance to shake the country dust from her hems before Mother had gone to visit. And yet this was her first time coming to Mount Street.
“I’m sure Helena will have a fine Season.”
“Of course she will.” Mother set her teacup down. “With your new connections it shouldn’t be difficult to secure her a few more coveted invitations.”
Adelaide seriously
doubted that she had more pull than her mother. Mother was a countess, after all. Adelaide was just married. “My position is merely circumstantial. Trent isn’t due to inherit a title.”
“Hmm, yes, not unless something happens to his brother. The duke is still unmarried, so your husband would be the next in line should something unfortunate occur.”
“Mother!” Adelaide fumbled her cup to the table, cold shivers making small bumps rise from the skin of her arm. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
Mother sighed, lowering her chin to spear Adelaide with a chiding glare. “Really, Adelaide, accidents happen. The duke wouldn’t be the first man to die conveniently.”
Memories of the large man dancing with her, welcoming her to the family, contrasted with the callousness of her mother’s statements, making Adelaide shudder. “Perhaps we could discuss something else?”
Mother sighed. “Very well. But you would do well to take advantage of people’s curiosity. Right now you’re a novelty. You could get invited anywhere and easily request that Helena and I come with you. Everyone would understand your desire for a friendly face.”
Adelaide rather thought everyone would expect her husband to be the only comforting presence she needed, but she knew better than to say anything. Smile and nod. Smile and nod. Most of the time Mother would forget what she’d asked of Adelaide in the first place.
Dear God, don’t let this time be the exception.
Chapter 16
Trent dropped to the pavement and sent an anxious look at the sky. They weren’t going to be able to go for a walk. The weather was entirely too unpredictable to risk taking Adelaide out in it. Still, he didn’t want to forgo his visit. He was trying to shove weeks if not months of courting into as short a time as possible. He couldn’t afford to miss a day because of the threat of rain. This was England, after all. He’d never get anywhere if he limited himself to blue skies and sunshine.
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