Page 34 of Counting on a Countess
She hadn’t said much about what her life had been like since the death of her parents. Thinking back to the way she’d described the condition of her home, her uncle had most likely neglected her as much as he did the ancestral house.
God only knew what else she’d endured. She deserved pleasure and ease in her existence. If he could give that to her, maybe he wasn’t such a selfish bastard after all.
“Shall we see the rest of the house?” he offered.
She gave him a wide smile that shot through him like a bullet. “Yes, please.”
They moved on to a bedchamber, furnished in hues of cream and peach. It faced the garden in the back of the house. “The lady of the house’s rooms,” he announced, then nodded toward a door set into the wall panels. “That leads to the master’s bedchamber. Convenient, no? Saves on chilly feet during treks in the night.”
She frowned. “We’re to have separate bedrooms?”
“Naturally.” Her bafflement was a puzzle.
“It’s only... my parents shared a room.”
“What of your aunt and uncle?” he asked.
“There’s only a handful of usable rooms at Chei Owr,” she said, spreading her hands. “They have one bedchamber, as well.”
Kit cleared his throat. “I can’t speak for everyone in London, but it’s common practice amongst thetonthat husbands and wives sleep apart. Too much affection is seen as rather gauche.”
“Of course,” she said at once. “City manners, and all that.”
“However,” he continued, “what is fashion but a set of arbitrary rules made by people we shouldn’t care about? If you want to share a room, that can certainly be arranged.”
“But,” she said persuasively, “I don’t want anyone to think less of you because you married some country vulgarian. If it’s the custom for a husband and wife to have separate beds, let’s follow that tradition.”
“As you like.” He’d planned on them not sharing a bedchamber, so why was he disappointed? “Would you like to see the rooms on the next floor?” The nursery was located there, but given the tenuous state of their current sexual situation, he opted not to point that out.
Before she could answer, her maid appeared. The woman bobbed a curtsy. “Forgive me, my lord, but I need to speak with the missus.”
“It’s likely some household business,” Tamsyn said hastily.
“No need for explanations,” Kit said with a wave of his hand. “The law may declare you my property, but as far as I’m concerned, the only person who owns you is you.”
Tamsyn smiled, then slipped out into the corridor with her maid. Their mingled whispers faded as they walked away down the corridor.
Kit gave the lady’s bedchamber one last look—hopefully, he’d be journeying here regularly—before moving on to the room that he’d occupy. He’d seen it before, though that had been more of a cursory examination. Now he walked to the windows that also looked out onto the garden and stared at the view that would be his for the foreseeable future. It was a dapper little garden, with neatly trimmed hedges and an oyster shell path, a fine place to take a cheroot on warm evenings.
How positively domestic.
Kit tapped his fingers on the glass, mulling over the way his life was unfolding. A bachelor one day, a married man the next.
He usually dined at a chophouse before seeking out the enjoyments of the night. Theaters, gaming hells, private rooms abundant with women.
He’d return to that soon enough.
In the meantime, they’d find a way to live comfortably together as husband and wife, learning each other, discovering how to make a marriage work.
There would come a time when Tamsyn would welcome him in her bed. The getting of an heir would be an agreeable thing—for all of her trepidation, he felt her desire for him. At the proper moment, he would show her the many pleasures of the flesh. And then it would be good. Extremely good.
A fizzy feeling bubbled up in his chest, as though he’d had too much sparkling wine. It took him several moments to realize it was a sense of expectation. It had been too long since he’d felt that.
This was a new beginning.
Today, at five o’clock, he would go see Mr. Flowers and then—and then he could begin working on the dream he’d held close to his heart for many years. The pleasure garden was a hope he shared with no one but his own thoughts. It would be his, at last.
Finally, he could be free of the War’s lingering darkness.
