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I have a wife who can mend an oven,he thought to himself with a smirk. He wondered what other hidden skills she had, this wife of his. The thought titillated him beyond belief.

“I actually came here to ask you about married life,” Rebecca divulged, taking a seat opposite him at his oak writing table. “And speaking of married life, where is your wife?”

He lifted his gaze from the papers that surrounded him, shrugging. “I wouldn’t know. Why?”

“Why?” she frowned. “How can you not know where your wife is?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Because we are not joined with an umbilical cord? She is… around here somewhere, minding her duchess business. I don’t have to chaperone her for that.”

“But you are her husband,” she reminded him of something he knew very well.

“Husband but not her keeper,” he was adamant. “She is still her own person, and she can do whatever she pleases as can I. Nothing has changed.”

“It has,” she corrected him.

“Well, perhaps only minor technicalities have changed, but the essence has not,” he urged. “I simply have another person living here in the manor with me, and we are adjusting our lives to each other… for the time being.”

“Jonathan, you can’t possibly mean that—” she started, but a knock on the door interrupted her.

“Yes?” he called out eagerly, grateful for the intrusion. The door opened momentarily, and the butler appeared.

“I apologize, Your Grace, but there is a letter here for you,” he announced. “It arrived with the late morning mail just now.” The man walked over to Jonathan’s writing table and placed a letter on it. He bowed respectfully then closed the door behind him.

“A business letter?” Rebecca asked.

“Probably,” Jonathan shrugged.

He took the letter in his hands. The letter, penned on creamy, thick paper, bore the elegant watermark of a reputable stationer. Carefully folded into thirds and sealed with a dollop of deep red wax, the seal was imprinted with an intricate family crest. Upon opening, it revealed neatly spaced lines of black ink, each stroke executed with the precision of a practiced hand. He sighed upon reading it.

“What is it?” Rebecca inquired.

“Just some silly thing I would rather not attend,” he tried to evade her questioning although he knew that it would not work.

“What sort of a silly thing?” she demanded to know.

“Lord and Lady Weatherly are hosting their annual dinner party,” he explained, referring to a relatively young married couple whose estate was nearby.

“How lovely!” Rebecca clapped her hands joyously, almost like a child. “Why, that would be a splendid opportunity for you to show off your wife.” Jonathan rolled his eyes at the suggestion. Before he could say anything to that, she continued, “It is important to present yourselves as a happily married couple, Jonathan, seeing that you married because of the scandal… whichyouwere responsible for, mind you.”

Jonathan swallowed heavily. His cousin was right. All of this was his fault. He couldn’t bring himself to think with the right head, and now, he was paying for the consequences.

He tried to remind himself that at least some good would come of it. He would bed his wife. He would taste her again and have her in his arms. And then, as usual, he would lose interest in her. That was what always happened. He couldn’t find a reason why it would be any different now.

“Fine,” he pouted.

“Oh, do not be like that.” She grinned, amused by his behavior. “I shall see you both there.”

“How lovely,” he grimaced, much to her amusement.

“Now,” she said clapping her hands again, but only once this time, “how about a game of Pall Mall?”

“Now?” he frowned.

“Yes, now,” she confirmed. “I don’t see you busy with anything else.”

“Actually, Iambusy,” he urged. “Very much so.”

“I beg you to reconsider,” she said, pacing about the room and walking over to the window where she stopped to take a look. “You know, I’ve always liked that pond of yours.”