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“Fine,” Charles relented. “But you know Mother will give you hell for this.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“You have until after breakfast,” Charles warned. “Don’t think you can put off this conversation like everything else.”

Edward said nothing, but it wasn’t until after his brother had left that he realized his hands were clenched into tight fists.

Conversations with his brother had him feeling like Charles should have inherited the duchy. There was always something wrong with any decision he made in his brother’s eyes.

Edward shook off the unpleasant feeling and peered out the window of his study at the now bright morning outside. It was good weather for a ride, and he intended to enjoy his favorite morning activity.

His mind wandered back to his little wife, wondering if she’d be awake now.

What did she like to do in the mornings?

He dreaded facing her, especially after he hadn’t returned to their chamber last night. He hoped she hadn’t thought too much of his absence.

He stared over the lush green field stretching out before him and breathed in the crisp countryside air, his stallion beneath him. To think only a week prior he’d been in the same spot, albeit freer and not at all worried about a wife.

He would never admit it out loud, but he feared greatly he’d somehow become the one thing he’d never wanted to become by trapping Arabella in something they were both wont to forget.

For now, she might harbor anger against him, but in a few months, she may learn to be indifferent towards him, no longer seeing the need to make things work between them.

He feared greatly he’d dampen the light he’d seen in her that first night. But worse of all, it was too late to make things right.

“We better head back home, Dash,” he murmured, running a hand down the side of his stallion.

He returned just as the morning meal was about to be served and rushed his ablutions.

He didn’t want Arabella to have to deal with his family on her own, but to his surprise, it seemed she too had a late start to the day. She was standing nervously at the door to the dining room, her hands clenched into fists.

He appreciated the elegant figure she cut in her simple yellow day dress. She was smart not to choose something ostentatious for the first meeting with his family, and once more he appreciated her maturity. She really made a perfect wife, but here she was, wasting it on him.

He shook the thought out of his head and moved to stand beside her, obviously startling her.

“Good morning, Duchess.”

ChapterTen

“Oh, sorry, Your Grace,” a young maid quipped, attempting to step out of the unfamiliar chambers.

Arabella sat up sharply, looking around and then remembering how she’d come to be in the large bed.

Her hands slid to the other side of the bed, and she frowned when she felt the cold sheets. She wondered where her husband had slept.

If he couldn’t bring himself to sleep beside her on their wedding night, how was his family going to accept that they were well and truly married?

“It’s all right…”

“Matilda, Your Grace.”

“Matilda. Where’s His Grace?” Arabella asked, sliding out of bed.

“He’s gone out riding, Your Grace.”

At this hour?

“’Tis a habit,” the maid supplied as though hearing her thoughts.