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“The idea that a husband and wife should sleep apart is ridiculous,” he rumbled. “That’s for aristos, not peasants like me.” He tugged on her wrist, and she had no choice but to edge back beneath the covers. “Whatever our arrangement for now, know this, A
Simple words, yet her heartbeat raced when she heard them. “As you like.”
He released his grip on her, and exhaled. “Don’t like it at all. Not now. But I will ... at some point. Now sleep.”
He continued to baffle her. Yet he was her husband, and according to the law and to the Church, that made him her master. “Good night, Leo.”
“Good night, A
He rolled over heavily. Within a few minutes, his breathing slowed and deepened. He slept.
Leaving her alone and awake, staring into the dark.
It didn’t surprise A
This was not her bed. She suddenly remembered: she was married now. Married, but a virgin. Leo had touched her, and it had been both wonderful and terrible, until fear had overtaken her with humiliating ferocity. He’d been kind, and stopped. They had then spent the whole of the night together, chaste as schoolfellows. Now he was gone.
Her eyes opened to images of menacing flowers and vines tipped with thorns. The bed hangings. She pushed the fabric back to reveal the room. Someone had come in during the early hours to tend the fire, but now A
She shook her head at her foolishness. Merely an adjustment to life in a new house.
The gilt bronze clock on the mantel showed the time to be well after nine. Not an unusual time for her to awaken, but perhaps Leo liked to rise earlier. He probably waited for her to join him for breakfast downstairs. Though their marriage had begun in a rather ... unconventional ma
A
After tending to her needs and washing up, she emerged from the closet and found the curtains pulled back and an apron-wearing girl waiting for her.
“Good morning, madam.” The girl bobbed a curtsy. She couldn’t have been more than a year younger than A
A
“Has my clothing been unpacked?” Nearly all of her garments had come straight from the mantua maker, but some were hers from before.
“Yes, madam. Is there a particular gown you want?”
A
“I trust you, Meg,” she said.
The girl brightened and hastened to the other clothespress. Eventually, she emerged with an open gown of peach-and-green Indian cotton, as well as all necessary undergarments. A
As Meg fastened the dress, A
You haven’t married Bluebeard, for heaven’s sake.
As if to counter her own fears, she said aloud, “Do hurry, Meg. I want to join my husband for breakfast.”
The maid blinked up at her. “He’s gone, madam.”
Now it was A
“I only started working here last week, making ready for you, but the master always leaves the house by seven.”
“Where does he go?”
“To Exchange Alley, I reckon.” Meg glanced at her from beneath the frill of her mob cap, perplexed by A
“Of course,” A
“The master had Cook fix you a proper breakfast. Eggs, bacon, seed cakes. It’s waiting for you downstairs.”
She couldn’t refuse, not without possibly insulting the cook. Since A
After Meg finished her toilette, A
Stop this ridiculous ghoulishness! She never indulged in thoughts of the macabre—she stayed clear of the hangings at Tyburn, and even went out of her way to avoid the occasional traitor’s head piked on Temple Bar.
It was simply nervousness at her unfamiliar surroundings, and trepidation as a new wife. Last night had been very tumultuous, so there might be lingering emotions. But there was truly nothing to fear. These awkward first days would soon pass.
Yet as she made her way down the stairs, that prospect seemed dim. It felt even farther away as she entered the dining room. Without all the guests from the day before, the chamber was an empty cavern scoured by gray morning light. All signs of the wedding celebration were gone—not even a crumb or wine stain on the carpet. Almost as if it had never happened, save for the music and laughter ringing in A
The large table was laid for one, and as A
“Please tell Cook that the meal is delicious,” she said to the footman, who bowed. “I trust we will have more exquisite dishes for supper.”
“Suppose so,” the footman said. “Seeing as how the master don’t take no meals here, I wouldn’t know.”
“No meals at all?”
“Maybe a cold collation late at night, but he’s often out.”
“Are we to expect him today?”
The footman shrugged.
Leo’s absence at the table and in the house was a silent humiliation. Had she so little to offer her husband beyond her bloodline that he willingly left their bed to attend to business? She had believed him compassionate when he’d forestalled the consummation of their marriage. Yet now, with her alone in his house, alone in every way, she wondered if it had been kindness or merely disinterest. If the scandal rags were to be believed, Leo was accustomed to wild living, indulging in every vice. Nothing checked his desires, his impulses.