Page 25 of The Lyon Whisperer
Something in her expression altered. Softened, for lack of a better word.
“No, I have all I need, aside from my things.”
“Which will arrive soon, you said? Along with your personal maid?”
She nodded.
There it was again—the odd sense she kept something from him. When she’d mentioned her plan to send for her possessions at a later date this morning, he got the same flicker of awareness.
Not that he could fathom any possible misadventure in her decision to get settled before sending for the bulk of her belongings. Certainly he did not get the impression she intended to run back home to her father at her earliest opportunity.
She apparently had as close a relationship with her father as he had once had with his.
Which was to say, not close at all.
Still.He had learned not to discount his intuition. It had kept him from harm’s way on more occasions than he could count. He would have to keep his eye on her.
In Sally’s absence,Amelia dressed for dinner with the assistance of one of the chambermaids, Mary, who proudly explained she had some skill as a lady’s maid, having trained under her mother.
Wanting to encourage the girl, and not wishing to embarrass her should she not have the skill to dress her hair, Amelia let her choose the style.
Mary took to the task, fashioning a series of soft curls into a loose chignon at the back of her head that allowed the length of it to fall over one shoulder in the so-called Grecian style. She finished off the look by tucking a fragrant blossom from the garden behind Amelia’s ear.
She chose one of her new gowns, purchased as part of her wedding trousseau. The gown, fashioned of mint-green silk, had a snug bodice, much lower cut than any she had ever owned. Indeed, she had never dressed in such an alluring fashion.
Exiting her chambers, she couldn’t help wondering if her handsome husband would approve of her appearance and issue another hushed compliment like the one he had bestowed this morning at the wedding breakfast. She would never admit to anyone, not even her friends in the Ladies’ Literary Society, how many times she had recalled the simply spoken praise that had sent a thrill of pleasure through her.
She reached theparlor, and hesitated at the open doorway for a moment, gathering her nerve.
Chase stood at the oriel window, facing out. Her husband—a man she barely knew.
Straightening her shoulders, she strode into the room.
He turned, taking his time. “Good evening, Amelia. I trust you had a restful afternoon?”
She had spent some time reading Georgina’s latest romantic novel, and writing in her journal, before Mary came to help her dress for dinner. “I did some writing, and a good deal of thinking. And you?”
“Writing and thinking,” he repeated as if the concepts were alien to him. He sauntered toward her, hands linked behind him. “I went over some damage reports regarding recent fires suffered by one of the villages located on the viscount’s estates.”
“Dear Heaven. Fires, as in multiple? I hope no one was hurt. What caused them?”
“That is still to be determined. The first incident, we attributed to some older children who may have inadvertently started a fire which they could then not contain. Then a second occurred.” As he spoke his dark eyes traveled over the length of her, from her head to her slippers and back again.
A spray of gooseflesh covered her arms and legs.
“You look very nice, Amelia.”
It wasn’t what he said, but how—his hushed tone, his suddenly, heavy-lidded eyes—that had pleasure coursing through her.
“Thank you.”
“Would you care for a glass of sherry?”
“I would.”
He went to the credenza, unearthing a decanter of golden wine from an upper cabinet and splashing the contents into two crystal glasses. A moment later he returned and handed one of the glasses to her.
Amelia sipped the sweet wine and gathered her courage to broach the question that had coalesced in her mind this afternoon as she penned the events of the last few weeks.
