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There was an underlying bitterness that he couldn’t decipher.
“You did not wish that he was termed a gentleman?” David asked.
“So that I could attend parties with people who thought themselves better than me? No, my lord.”
“Well, don’t worry that your days will be filled with theton’sevents, Victoria. I don’t care for such things myself.”
And they went on with their quiet dinner. Again, David was surprised to find how often his gaze settled on her. Surely it was because she was a new facet of his life that he would have to work around.
After they’d finished their custard, David pushed back his chair and cleared his throat. “I’ve already hired a lady’s maid for you. She will escort you to the master suite. I’ll join you soon.”
Her face went pale.
6
Victoria stood very near her new husband; he loomed over her, so much broader and taller than the men of her acquaintance. He took her hand and she tensed, knowing how damp her palm was inside her glove.
He placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles that she felt even through the fabric.
“Until later,” he murmured.
When their eyes met, when he really, trulysawher, there was a connection, a heat between them she had never experienced. She could feel him watching her even as she followed the maid to the second floor.
Before she knew it, the maid opened a door and led her inside a spacious room, lit with candles, and decorated in green and red and gold. There was a large four-poster bed and chaise, but also, to her relief, a desk. Another door on the far side of the room must lead to Lord Thurlow’s chambers.
Well, she would simply not think about that yet. Her own small assortment of garments had already been put away in the drawers and wardrobe. There was a hip bath steaming before the hearth, and she was glad for the chance to relax.
After introducing herself as Anna, the maid left and Victoria was alone, soaking in the tub, trying to dissolve away the day’s tensions. But she couldn’t stop looking at the door to Lord Thurlow’s room. He had every right to just walk in, surprising her in her bath, or while she was dressing. Would he? After all, what did she even know about him as a man?
But no one disturbed her. She finally got out of the tub, dressed in a silk nightdress and matching dressing gown, then sat before the hearth and brushed out her hair, drying it by the warmth of the grate.
She couldn’t stop thinking about what her mother and Mrs. Wayneflete had told her about a woman’s wedding night, even though Lord Thurlow had promised to wait. Both women had stumbled over their words with embarrassment. Finally, Mrs. Wayneflete had told her that a man put part of himself inside her, and that although it would be awkward, it was necessary to make a baby. To Mama’s shock, the housekeeper had insisted that her “dear Harold” had made sure she enjoyed herself.
That had actually made Victoria feel better.
As if she’d mentally called her husband, his door vibrated with a knock.
She cleared her throat. “Come in.”
The low candlelight made him seem darker, even more a stranger. Her pulse fluttered in her throat and sounded loud in her ears as she stared at him. He still wore trousers and a shirt open at the neck, but he’d wrapped a robe around himself in place of a coat. It was strange to see his throat looking so bare, strange to be in a man’s presence wearing so little herself, although she was as covered as she would be by day. But without a corset and petticoats, she felt positively unencumbered.
He stopped to stare at her for a moment, and she remembered that he’d never seen her with her hair down. But hedidn’t say anything, just brought a bottle of wine and two glasses to the little table near the hearth.
After pouring for each of them, he lifted his glass. “To our marriage.”
She gratefully took a sip of wine and tried to imagine that it flooded her stomach with warmth and courage, overshadowing this cold feeling of worry that never left her anymore. She was married; she had helped save her family. If he had changed his mind about their wedding night—even if he’d simply “forgotten” their agreement—she would accept it.
Lord Thurlow sank down in the chair opposite her, his legs parted, his body more casually relaxed than she’d ever seen it. He was still watching her with those pale eyes, assessing her. What was she supposed to do? Wouldn’t he tell her?
He glanced at the brush in her hand. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your preparations. Please continue.”
Her eyes widened, and she almost wanted to giggle with nervousness. He was going to sit there and watch her brush her hair?
But he did. She combed through the damp strands, holding the curls out to the heat of the grate, while her new husband stared at her, sipping his wine occasionally. Her hands trembled so much, she didn’t dare lift her own goblet again, for fear of spilling it all over the new nightclothes Mrs. Wayneflete had insisted she purchase.
“You don’t need to be so frightened of me,” he finally said.
Her gaze met his. “I’m not frightened of you, my lord, but I will admit to nervousness about the unknown.”