Page 21 of Entwined By Error (Madcaps of Mayfair #1)

Wherein Days Grow Insolently into Months

Blackbriar Hall was grander than Myra had imagined.

Her father had a great many homes, but none of them as beautifully decorated as this one.

Each morning, Myra would begin her day with a small breakfast in her bedchamber.

She would then find her way down to the kitchen to review the menu and discuss any household issues with Mrs. Bennion.

She didn’t know any of Mr. Northcott’s favorite meals, but it wouldn’t have mattered.

She chose the usual items—venison, poultry, and beef mixed with an assortment of vegetables and pies.

It was the sort of menu her mother would have planned, and Mr. Northcott hadn’t yet complained about any of the food, and so she continued in the same manner day after day, week after week.

Once she’d settled the household affairs each day, Myra sat at a beautiful mahogany desk in the corner of the drawing room to review her correspondence.

Her sisters were dedicated writers, each of them sharing their daily activities, but the ones she loved to read the most were from Juliana.

Juliana was in her first season and had somehow become a favorite amongst the men.

Her letters were filled with lively gossip from the ballrooms, enough to keep Myra laughing clear to supper each time one of the letters arrived.

Those letters were her only correspondence, unless she received something from her parents or Lord and Lady Hastings.

Even after months of being in residence, she and Mr. Northcott hadn’t received any invitations to local events.

No supper invitations, no soirees, no card parties.

It seemed the people of Bardsea were convinced the newly married couple had no desire for entertainment.

It was quite the opposite; she, for one, would have loved to attend a supper party or a ball.

When the drawing room lost its charm—or all her letters were written and sealed with the Northcott crest—she then moved to the morning room to work on her embroidery while awaiting any callers.

Since her arrival, the local vicar and his wife had visited.

They’d been pleasant conversation, enjoying the cakes and tarts sent up from the kitchen with the tea.

The vicar and his wife were the sort of people who spoke about the state of the roads, the weather, and previous sermons she had missed before her arrival.

They hadn’t returned since that first visit, and since she and Mr. Northcott had attended services each Sunday, Myra was certain that meant the vicar now considered his obligations complete.

When the ticking of the grandfather clock finally grated on her nerves—or she had pricked her finger one too many times—Myra would drift down the hallway to the music room, her favorite refuge.

She’d learned to play the piano in her youth, and although she wouldn’t consider herself a proficient, she enjoyed playing jaunty country tunes to liven up her lonely days.

On days when she was particularly lonely, she would sing.

Life at Blackbriar Hall was in many ways exactly what she had expected.

It was orderly, respectable, and proper.

In other ways, her life was nothing like what she expected.

When Mr. Northcott had said they would be cordial and spend time in their separate rooms, she hadn’t realized that he would stick to his study like a bear in hibernation.

Yet she rarely saw him, and in truth, she didn’t mind one bit.

Walking arm and arm with her Aunt Kingsley, Myra noticed Mr. Northcott and her Uncle Kingsley near the edge of the cliff in what looked like amicable conversation.

Mr. Northcott looked out at the sea, his hands clasped behind his back.

Her chest constricted for a moment as she found a new appreciation for her husband.

He didn’t have to entertain her uncle while she and her aunt spoke in private, but he had invited Uncle Kingsley to join him, without having to be asked, and that was far more than she expected.

“And how do you like marriage?” Her aunt squeezed her arm, pulling Myra’s attention away from the cliffside.

She took a moment to consider her answer. “There are many advantages to being married.”

“Such as?”

Myra laughed. “You know very well, Aunt. I can go where I want without a companion. No one faults a married woman for being an eccentric, at least to my knowledge; no one has declared me a madcap here in Bardsea.”

“When your uncle and I were first married, I remember thinking how very odd it was that no one cared about my shopping trips into town anymore. It was quite nice.”

“Exactly. I have visited the haberdashery twice a week since I have been at Blackbriar. I walk to the village on my own and no one has reproved me. It is a change I should recommend to all my friends and sisters.” Myra bit the side of her mouth, and then she amended her statement.

“Although I do so hope they marry for love.”

Aunt Kingsley stopped walking, pulling Myra to a halt. “Surely after these last few months at Blackbriar Hall your feelings have changed. Please relieve my mind and tell me you have forgotten Lord Southwood.”

“I do not think of him any longer.”

“Have you admitted as much to Mr. Northcott?”

“We do not speak about anything personal.”

“Dearest,” Aunt Kingsley said as she pulled Myra along the path. They walked a few feet before her aunt spoke once more. “How do you expect to fall in love if you do not speak to your husband?”

“I did not say we never speak. Morning and evening pleasantries are comfortable enough.”

“What about household issues?”

Myra bit her lips together. “I hardly need Mr. Northcott to advise me on the staff.”

“Yet if you allow him to help, it will show your willingness to be his friend and his wife.”

“Must I be both?”

“Surely there is something you admire about Mr. Northcott.”

She turned to look at her husband once more. “He is handsome.”

“A shallow observation. You can do better.”

Heat rushed into her cheeks as she turned away from her aunt. “Mr. Northcott is thoughtful. Far more than Lord Southwood ever was.”

“Ah, you have started comparing them to each other. What is your conclusion?”

“I think I am married to the better man.” Myra placed a hand to her stomach as she realized the truth of her words. Now that she had said them, she couldn’t possibly take them back. “Mr. Northcott does not leave for days at a time to conduct business matters.”

“Not yet. Surely, he must at some point. The property your father included in the dowry will have to be seen to.”

“I suppose. But there is a difference in his mannerisms. After he speaks with his steward or spends a day seeing to business matters, he is not distracted or bitter. He does not pace around the room like a man who has…”

She couldn’t finish the statement, for it was an assumption on her part.

Lord Southwood had seemed altered at times—agitated and ready for a fight.

Those traits had shown up after a few rides through Hyde Park.

She had ignored the viscount’s ill temper.

If her husband had those inclinations, he was doing a better job at hiding them.

“Like a man who what, dearest?”

Myra sighed. “Like a man who has lost his yearly annuity in a wager.”

“It is normal for men to gamble. Ladies want to dance and gossip, and while they do so, the men hide away at the tables. It is not uncommon.”

“Does my uncle gamble?”

“On occasion. But he has never lost his yearly annuity. Thankfully, he sets a limit and never exceeds that amount.”

“I do not think Mr. Northcott has an issue with gambling. If he did, I should know by now.”

“Both your uncle and I are happy you married Mr. Northcott. I admit, when you wrote about your courtship with the viscount, I was worried.”

“Why did you not say as much?”

Her aunt placed an arm around Myra’s waist, pulling her close. “You were convinced it was love. Nothing I could have said would have persuaded you otherwise.”

Myra laughed as she placed her arm around her aunt. “You are right. I have been a fool.”

“Then, how will you fix your marriage with Mr. Northcott?”

“I do not know.”

They walked in silence until they met up with Mr. Northcott and Uncle Kingsley.

Her aunt and uncle walked ahead of them, her aunt’s arm tucked snugly beneath her uncle’s.

Myra wished Mr. Northcott would extend his arm to her, but instead he held his hands behind his back, fingers laced together in a vise grip.

She stole a sideward glance at him, her tongue suddenly unsure how to speak, having admitted to her aunt he was a man of far greater character than she had imagined. But speak she must. “Thank you for spending the afternoon with my guests. I am very appreciative.”

His features softened in a manner most uncharacteristic, yet entirely charming. “I am happy to do so.”

She smiled up at him, hoping this could be the start of a different sort of truce between them, one where they didn’t spend so much time apart.

She almost asked him to commit to two nights a week in the drawing room after supper—she opened her mouth to say the words—but then lost her nerve at the last second as a footman ran up to them, a letter in his hand.

“This arrived only moments ago, sir. The rider said it is most urgent.”

Mr. Northcott accepted the letter and placed a hand on the footman’s shoulder. “Thank you, William. Rest here a bit and then take your time returning home.”

Myra watched as her husband broke the seal, the snap drawing her eyes to the tightly scrawled words. Two words stood out: trouble and Southwood. He’d crumpled the missive before she could read anything more.

“I must apologize, Mrs. Northcott and Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley, but the matter is most urgent.” He turned toward Myra. “I should return before the end of the week. If not, I will send word.”