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He stepped into the room and looked around. He had brought a change of clothes with him for evenings with his grandmother, but it had struck him on the way upstairs that they would be badly creased.
Not so.
He saw his shoes first when he glanced toward his bag. They were side by side on the floor, and if he was not mistaken, they had just been freshly polished.
“I hope I did not leave any smudges,” she said, still looking at him through the mirror. “I have had no training as a gentleman’s valet.”
“Good God, Nora,” he said irritably, “you did not polish them yourself, did you?”
“Since it did not seem likely that you would risk allowing me to shave you,” she said, “I had to think of another way to earn my keep.”
It might have been a joke, but her tone of voice said that it was not.
He sat down on the side of the bed to pull off his boots one at a time. His shaving things were set out neatly on the washstand, as they had been earlier. It looked as if some steam was rising from the water pitcher. His evening shirt was hanging on the knob of one wardrobe door, his evening coat on the other. Both looked freshly ironed. So did his spare neck cloths, which were draped over the edge of the washstand.
“Did you do all this yourself?” he asked, remembering with an i
“Yes,” she said.
“It looks,” he said, “as if you would make someone a good wife.”
The words did not come out sounding like a compliment.
“Oh no, thank you,” she said, and she leaned forward and continued with the task of pi
He did not attempt an answer. He shrugged out of his coat, removed his neck cloth, hesitated a moment, and then pulled his shirt off over his head. If she did not like being in a room with a half-naked man, then she might leave. He crossed to the washstand, poured some of the water into the bowl-it really was hot-and proceeded to shave.
She finished what she was doing at the mirror, knelt by her valise, and busied herself with tidying its contents. He half watched her through the small mirror above the washstand.
Her hair looked prettier than it had earlier. It was still smoothly brushed back from her forehead and ears, but the knot was higher on her head, emphasizing the length of her neck and the perfection of her profile. She did not need curls or ringlets, both of which she had had in abundance as a girl.
He rinsed off his razor and gave himself a quick wash from the waist up. He washed out his hair and toweled himself dry before reaching for the newly ironed shirt.
“How did they manage to persuade you,” he asked her, “that we were not married?”
The question clearly took her by surprise. She looked up from her valise, her eyes coming to rest on his still-bare chest for a moment before looking up into his.
“The man who married us was not a clergyman,” she said. “I was not of age. We had not-” She stopped abruptly, and her head dipped to the valise again.
“Consummated the marriage?” he said. “That would have made no difference. It is not a prerequisite for a valid marriage. Did they persuade you it was? And did you tell them we had not yet slept together? Did they ask you?”
“Did they ask you?” She flung the question back at him, looking up at him again, defiance in her eyes and the tightness of her jaw.
“They did,” he said.
“And-?”
“I told them it was none of their business what I did with my own wife in the privacy of our own bedchamber,” he told her.
“But you must have agreed with them,” she said, “that we were not really married.”
“Must I?” He tucked his shirt in at the waist, as her eyes followed his movements.
“You made no effort to stop me from leaving the i
It struck him suddenly that perhaps she did not know. Indeed, it was very probable that she did not, though he had never considered the possibility until now.
“That would have been somewhat difficult to do,” he said. “It was two days before I was fit to travel. By that time you were long gone.”
She looked steadily at him as she closed her valise.
“Before you were fit?” she said. “What do you mean?”
“I had dared to run off with their little girl,” he said. “I, a mere secretary. I had run off with their last remaining hope of avoiding financial ruin. I had married her, moreover. What do you think I mean, Nora?”
No, she had not known. That was obvious in the widening of her eyes now and the paling of her cheeks.
“They beat you?” she said.
“Two against one were rather powerful odds against me,” he said. “Even so, they did me something of a favor, Nora. They made me realize what a sad weakling I was physically. They caused me to turn my attention to fitness. They would not have had such an easy time of it if I had been then what I am now.”
“They beat you,” she said, sitting back on her heels. “So badly that you could neither stop me from leaving nor come after me.”
She was not asking questions.
“It is what men do,” he told her, reaching for his coat, “when they are a
“They did not tell me,” she said.
“I am not surprised,” he told her curtly.
Though he imagined they must have both been quite raw-knuckled. Had she not noticed? And if not, why not? How upset had she been during that journey back into England? She had not known they had given him a thorough drubbing. She must have expected him to come to their room while she was packing. She must have expected him to stand up for her against her father and brother. She must have expected him to stop them from taking her away. And when he had done none of those things, she must have expected that he would come after her at any minute.
Because he was her husband, and it was what husbands did for their wives.
How soon had hope died?
How soon had she begun to believe her father that theirs had not been a real marriage after all, that he had merely taken advantage of a young, naïve wealthy i
She had been eighteen years old, for the love of God. How could she have held firm when she did not even know all the facts?
“Nora,” he said.
But he was interrupted by a tap on the door. She crossed the room and opened it a little way while he reached for one of the starched neck cloths.
“The carriage is here,” she said as she closed the door again. “Oh, here, let me help you with that.”
She came hurrying toward him.
“I used to do it sometimes for Papa,” she explained to him when he raised his eyebrows. “After he…Well, after he no longer had a valet.”
Because he could not afford one. Ryder had lost everything. He was fortunate indeed to have avoided debtors’ prison before his death. His son apparently had shown some backbone and had acquired employment.
She busied herself about the task while he held his chin up and felt the warmth of her fingers close to his neck and looked down into her face, frowning in concentration and very close to his own.
There was something uncomfortably domestic about this.
“I hope,” she said, “you do not favor elaborate knots. But you used not to.”
And then she darted a look up at him and bit her lip, presumably at the memory of a long-ago era.
“A secretary,” he said, “ought to have no more ambition to outshine his employer than a lady’s companion ought to have to outshine hers. But no, my tastes have not changed.”
She finished her task in silence, took a step back, and looked up at him.
Was that hurt he saw in her eyes?