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"Thank you, Your Grace," she replied formally.

"Hugh," he corrected firmly.

She did not acknowledge his rectification. Instead, she turned her attention to her plate, slicing a pastry with such vicious satisfaction that Hugh momentarily wondered if he was imagining it was him.

He would have to work harder at winning her over. While Hugh’s tastes in the bedroom were a touch broader than most, they did not stretch to masochism or mutilation.

Any further conversation with his wife was halted by the arrival of the other guests at the table. He spent the next half hour in silence as his mother and Lady Limehouse monopolised Anna’s attention, chattering about what parties she must attend, shops she should visit, and a whole host of other activities that would keep a new wife busy.

“You look as though you’ve eaten a lemon dear,” his mother commented, as she noted the look of annoyance on his face.

Hugh, who had spent the last half-hour listening to Reverend Potsley chew—at the same volume as he spoke—with one ear and his mother drawing up a busy itinerary for his bride with the other ear, frowned in response.

“I was contemplating on whether my plan to remain in London is fair to my new wife,” he answered darkly, “Perhaps we should retire to Kent so that Anna has time to adjust to her new title in privacy. By the sound of it, you and Lady Limehouse have so many engagements planned that she will not have a moment’s rest.”

Nor would she have a moment to warm his bed, Hugh thought sullenly. Not if she was galivanting across town every evening with his mother.

To his consternation, his mother did not take his concerns onboard. Instead, she looked rather amused by his words, as though she understood his true motivations.

“We shan’t steal her away from you entirely, dear,” Edwina replied in a tone meant to placate. “But you were right that it is prudent for you both to remain in London for now. You should be seen in society, attending the right events, presenting yourselves as a happily married couple to counter thescandalof your hasty engagement.”

Her last words were delivered with a scowl of disapproval, which both Anna and Lady Limehouse replicated. Recognising that he was outnumbered, Hugh threw up his hands in defeat.

“Alright,” he groused, “I concede defeat. But, you will allow Anna a day or two to rest.”

“The Lavery’s ball isn’t until Wednesday,” his mother answered primly, “That should be time enough.”

Hugh bristled with annoyance, but before he could offer a sharp retort, Lady Limehouse interrupted.

“Now that’s settled,” the viscountess said, gently laying their discussion to bed, “We should toast to the happy couple.”

The young footman, who had barred Hugh’s entry the night before, sprang forward to fill their glasses with champagne. He filled Hugh’s glass to the brim, offering him a conspiratorial smile. Solidarity amongst men, Hugh thought, glad that the footman was at least on his side.

"To the new Duke and Duchess of Falconbridge," Edwina proclaimed, as she lifted her glass in toast. "May your union be blessed with happiness, longevity, and a brace of grandchildren to keep me amused."

Hugh did not miss the slight widening of Anna's eyes at his mother's reference to their future offspring. While she raised her glass with the others, she then took what appeared to be a fortifying gulp rather than a genteel sip of champagne.

"HEAR, HEAR!" the reverend contributed, causing several pieces of fine china to rattle dangerously. "TO MARITAL HARMONY AND FRUITFUL LOINS!"

Lady Limehouse choked discreetly on her champagne.

On that auspicious note, the breakfast ended.

Hugh bid his mother and Lady Limehouse goodbye, then waited patiently for Anna to say her farewells to the household staff. She lingered for an interminable length of time with the maid and the footman, her eyes misty with tears.

“They will follow us to Falconbridge House when your father returns,” Hugh assured her, “Josie will follow later with your luggage.”

A second carriage had been employed to ferry his wife’s belongings to her new home, but as they passed the lone, battered portmanteau in the hallway, Hugh realised that such measures had been unnecessary. His mother was right about one thing; the Duchess of Falconbridge needed to go shopping.

With a final goodbye to their guests, Hugh and Anna departed the house on Berkley Square for Hugh’s St James’ residence.

Hugh allowed his hands linger a tad longer than necessary on Anna’s waist, as he assisted her into the carriage, then followed her inside.

At last, a moment alone with his prize.

CHAPTER SIX

ANNA SETTLED INTOthe plushly appointed interior of the carriage, arranging her skirts with trembling fingers. Falconbridge's hands on her waist had set off a strange warmth, deep inside her, that left her feeling entirely discombobulated.