Page 35

“You could ride ahead,” the younger Ruthven said, with a bold tilt to his chin. “I can take care of the ladies. It’s only a short trip.”

“I don’t doubt you, little brother. But the traffic is so heavy, and the weather chancy— I wouldn’t rest easy. There have been far too many accidents.” That didn’t help Elinor’s unease, and she eyed the ale casks at the far end of the room. Is it too late to order a drink?

“The kitchen have secured us a basket,” Cecilia announced, breezing back among them. “In addition to the treats Evie sent, we shall have a fine if movable feast.”

“Brilliant.” Tristan favored her with a grin. “I’ll finish settling with Martin about following, and you three get resettled.”

Elinor’s shoulders slumped. She knew his position—as a soldier, and even as a landowner and investor—meant being away from home often. But she did hope for at least a wedding night together. “Come,” she said to Cecilia. “I believe by the time we get to London, you and I will be experts at cards.”

Cavendish actually smirked as he reached out to take the basket from Cecilia, and the two women walked arm-in-arm back to the carriage. Once Tristan returned, they played a few rounds while enjoying their makeshift meal, until the sun set. The carriage’s lanterns did not give enough light to play by, nor was the swaying and jolting along a heavily traveled road made of ruts and stones helping anyone’s temperament.

Cecilia announced she needed a nap and Cav curled up against her. Elinor’s gaze remained locked on the window despite not being able to see anything but black night beyond the lanterns’ paltry glow. Rain pattered against the windows and roof, slowly, then built a drumming crescendo that drowned out Elinor’s thoughts. Perhaps a small blessing considering all she could think about was how they grew ever closer to London.

She had no idea of drifting asleep, but all at once she found herself resisting consciousness. She felt warm, secure, and though rain still whispered against the groaning, rocking coach, felt… Safe. Perhaps from the scent of Tristan’s soap, or the rise and fall of his chest against her cheek and his steady heartbeat keeping her calm. His arm encircled her shoulders, his grip firm enough to reveal that he remained awake. Her eyes opened to the sounds of other carts rattling over cobbles, and distant hails of food-purveyors and watchmen.

Across the coach, the dim starlight revealed Cavendish’s silent form, his arms folded over his chest, his head bobbing with the carriage’s uneven motions. A gray wool blanket covered Cecilia to her slender shoulders, and her dark head lay on the green-cushioned wall, her breaths deep and even. Elinor looked up at her husband. Tristan’s raven hair hung loose, equally dark stubble shadowed his square jaw, and exhausted smudges ringed his glittering eyes. “Have you not yet slept?”

“We are almost to the townhouse,” came his quiet reply before his fingertip grazed her cheek, and he put his palm against her face, holding her close.

“And you’ll rest there?”

“I’ll sleep later. I want to be sure you are safely with Mrs. McKenzie before I set out.”

She sighed and leaned into the hand holding her head. If this was all she could get until his return, she would savor it. “And how might I be assured of your safety when you are away? Especially if you’ve gone all this time without resting.”

“I’ve gone far longer in worse condition.” She saw his teeth flash in the moonlight as he smiled before his lips found hers for a too-fleeting kiss. “And with nothing so lovely waiting for me at home.” She brought her head up, ready for another kiss, felt him oh-so-close and—

“Ho! Here we are, m’lord!” Their temporary coachman’s Northern accent cut the intimacy short as Cav jerked awake and Cecilia yawned.

The immediate rush and crush of disembarking made her nostalgic for the inn yard as footmen opened the doors, and unfamiliar servants bustled about, some holding lanterns up to light the unloading of bags and carting of objects into a looming, alien house. Elinor stared up at the benighted edifice, trying not to shiver as the London accents and strangers’ business echoed and eddied around the carriage.

“Miss Cecilia, you mustn’t take chill!”

“Fields, over here with that light…”

“My lord, there’s a letter in the parlor just came not half an hour ago… oh, Lady Asherton!” The title drew Elinor’s attention back to the ground level, and she stared at the speaker through the open door.

“Mrs. McKenzie, our housekeeper here in Grosvenor Square,” Tristan whispered as he helped Elinor down onto the wet cobbles. “Mrs. McKenzie, my lovely bride is exhausted. See she gets to bed.”

And then he was gone, leaving a phantom kiss on her cheek, vanishing with yet another letter and one of the unknown footmen on a pair of dappled horses, leaving her to Cecilia’s murmured apologetic words, and the strange Mrs. McKenzie’s unceasing efficiency.

“This way, Lady Asherton,” Mrs. McKenzie said. “We’ll get the bags and all else seen to in due time, my lady. Let’s see you settled for the evening.” Elinor had no choice but to trust her right now seeing as how she could barely keep herself upright, and with a thankful smile aimed at Cecilia, she followed the housekeeper into Tristan’s home. Wait, our home. My home?

I am the lady of this house, aren’t I? A countess… She froze, staring up at the house, her eyes wide as she took in the height of it, imagining vast halls inside, lined with rooms she’d never sort out and filled with staff she’d never remember the names of…

Mrs. McKenzie took a few more steps before realizing Elinor was not fast on her heels, and turned sharply, confusion quickly giving way to understanding. “No reason to set yourself to worrying until you’ve had a proper sleep in a proper bed, my lady. Come along.”

Elinor managed to nod and followed her inside, feeling like a lamb to the slaughter. Shadows and darkness hung heavy inside, dancing with the flames of a few scattered candles, and doing all the more to hide the house from view. Exhausted by even attempting to guess the wall color, she focused her vacant eyes on Mrs. McKenzie’s back. First impressions could come tomorrow, she decided as they mounted a vast staircase, and made their way along an upper floor. The housekeeper finally opened an arched door and moved aside. Elinor hesitated, blinking in the sudden light from within, verses of the ghastlier sorts of ballads playing in her head, but got her mind straight and stepped over the threshold.

And into a separate world.

A merry fire crackled along in a marble fireplace, lighting up red walls and a massive, canopied bed hung with black and scarlet. A young maid was warming the bed and bobbed a curtsey as Elinor entered. “Milady? Shall I take your coat?”

“Oh. Um. Yes.” The maid carefully pulled off the wrinkled coat and took it off to hang up or clean or maybe burn. Who could tell in a household like this? Elinor was too busy gaping at the bed to concern herself with her wardrobe’s fate, because from this angle she couldn’t look anywhere else. The bed was massive, covered in furs and pillows. Even sharing with her husband, it seemed there would be plenty of room to spare…

But she wasn’t sharing with her husband. Not tonight. I don’t even know if we will share a room. The thought shocked her out of her wonder, leaving her adrift with her exhaustion in a sea of Aubusson carpet and mahogany furniture. The maid returned and suggested removing her gloves next. Elinor mutely followed directions, and the girl helped her undress down to her shift before producing an unfamiliar night rail. “I can see if one of yours is ready to be unpacked, ma’am?”

“No. It’s fine.” This one was far costlier than Elinor’s, a confection of costly silk trim, filmy gauze, and delicate lacework. Her parents had seen her fitted with a new trousseau for the wedding, but nothing as outlandish as this. She traced the lace with a wary fingertip. “Whose is it?”