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Chapter 18

“Astrid?”

She turned to face her husband, who was standing in the doorway. Was it her imagination, or did he look nervous? “Conor?”

“We have a guest for dinner tonight,” he said.

“Oh.” Anxiety spiked through her.A guest. She had known that soon enough she would be expected to face the members of theton, to show that she was capable of fitting into this new world she had joined. But she had expected to have a little bit longer. “Who is it?”

“It’s my friend and business associate, Mr. Henry Wilson,” Conor said. “I believe you may have met him at the wedding.”

“Oh,” Astrid said. “I think I remember him.” The man who had told her all the kind things Conor had been saying about her. She had had trouble believing his words at the time. Now, after having lived with Conor, she could see that Mr. Wilson had almost certainly been telling her the truth.

It would be nice to see him again. He had gone out of his way to make her feel comfortable on what had otherwise been a very frightening day for her.

And he’s a commoner,she reminded herself.I’ll still have to act like the wife of an Earl, of course, but the stakes feel a bit lower with Mr. Wilson.Perhaps Conor had even set it up this way on purpose.

Maybe it was a test, to see how well she did.

Her hands fluttered nervously over the bodice of her dress. It was pale pink and made of silk, and Astrid felt slightly uncomfortable in it. She had never owned anything so fine, unless you counted her wedding gown. But the seamstress had just finished her first set of garments today, and they had been delivered an hour ago. Betsy had insisted that Astrid surprise her husband by wearing something new to supper.

Conor didn’t even seem to notice the gown. “Are you ready?” he asked, offering his arm.

Astrid took a steadying breath, nodded, and linked her arm through her husband’s.

He had never escorted her down to the dining room like this—formally, as though they were at a real social event. Usually he simply led the way down the stairs or waited for her to meet him there. The change in routine made her nervous again, and she clutched at his arm anxiously.

“It’s all right,” Conor said, his expression gentle and reassuring. “Mr. Wilson is a good friend.”

He showed her into the dining room. Sure enough, there stood the man Astrid had met at the wedding. He crossed the room, took her hand in his, bowed low, and kissed the backs of her fingers. “My Lady.”

Astrid flushed and looked up at Conor for help.How am I meant to address him?He was a commoner—there was no title to use. She didn’t want to get it wrong and embarrass her husband.

“Mr. Wilson,” she said finally, hoping she had it right. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“And you,” Mr. Wilson said smoothly. Astrid breathed a sigh of relief.

He looked her up and down. “I must say, that dress is absolutely stunning on you.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Conor did a double take. “It’s a new one,” he said, clearly noticing for the first time.

Astrid couldn’t keep the smile off her face. Two weeks ago, she might have felt overlooked by his failure to notice her new gown. Tonight, knowing him better, she was charmed. It meant that he hadn’t been staring at her simple cotton dresses for the last several days and waiting for the moment they disappeared from her wardrobe.

It meant he was more interested inherthan in what she was wearing.

“It looks very nice,” Conor said. “The seamstress did a wonderful job. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Astrid admitted. Her discomfort in the gown didn’t change the fact that it was absolutely lovely.

“Let’s take our seats,” Conor suggested. “DuBois will be in momentarily with the food.”

“I’ve told you again and again that you need to hire more staff for this place,” Mr. Wilson said, taking a seat. “You rely on DuBois for too much. You should have a separate staff for serving. Your butler is doing the work of five men.”

“No, he isn’t,” Conor scoffed. “There’s hardly anything to do around here. I never have guests. I never go anywhere. It’s only the two of us living here. Hiring extra staff would makemorework for DuBois, because he would have to manage them.”

“You always do things your own way,” Mr. Wilson said, shaking his head.