Page 40 of About a Rogue
Max paused in the doorway and looked back at her. “Let it be my wedding present to you, my dear. You shall choose everything, of course, but I would like to indulge you this once.”
And he had the pleasure of seeing her eyes grow wide and her mouth fall open before he bowed and closed the door.
Bianca recovered from the indecision of packing for London. After what Max said, she reasoned, it didn’t make much difference what she took, so she told Jennie to pack her usual garments, including her burgundy gown and the gown she’d worn to her wedding. Two gowns ought to be enough, no matter what Max thought.
Matthew was to drive them the five miles into Stoke on Trent, where they would hire a carriage to London. Bianca wondered at this extravagance, but Max said it would be economical, since they were three, with Jennie, and all the baggage. Max had sent his manservant, a fellow named Lawrence, ahead several days ago to await them in town.
Papa came to wish them well. He and Max had been closeted for days, discussing Important Matters, as Bianca referred to them in her mind—much too important to mention in front of her. She and her father had made peace, but they still had not reached the equable give-and-take they had had before...
Before Max.
Bianca watched from her window as Max directed Matthew how to tie the trunks onto the cart. Jennie was milling around uselessly, excited beyond measure at getting to see London. Ellen from Perusia Hall had gone into a sulk when she learned Jennie, five years younger than she, would accompany Bianca, even though she had never been Bianca’s maid. Ellen had been Cathy’s maid, and since Cathy’s departure she’d become prickly about her position.
Max said something to Jennie, who nodded and spun around toward the house, almost treading on a passing goose as she did. The goose flew up with a great honking, Jennie cowered and shrieked, and Max laughed.
Bianca leaned nearer her window, staring. It was rare she had the chance of seeing him without him knowing she watched. He was still a puzzle to her, this man who did menial tasks himself but who dressed in satins and lace for dinner. He read contracts and quizzed the workmen, but reminded her that he owned a quarter of the factory.
And he looked at her with such a range of expressions she couldn’t begin to sort out what he thought.
As if feeling her scrutiny, his head tilted back and he looked directly at her window. Could he see her? Bianca tensed, but didn’t move.
He swept off his tricorn hat and made an elaborate bow. When he stood upright, he was grinning broadly at her. Awkwardly Bianca raised her hand, finding to her surprise she was smiling in spite of herself.
Blushing, she let the curtain fall and took a large step backward. Good heavens. What had got into her?
Out of breath and flustered, Jennie burst into the room. “Oh, ma’am, are you ready? Mr. St. James says all is prepared and they only wait for you.”
“Yes.” She busied herself pulling on her gloves and fussing with the cuffs. “Have you taken down everything?”
“Yes, ma’am!” Jennie was almost dancing.
“Then let’s go.” Bianca closed the window and secured the latch.
She came out into the courtyard, where the wagon was waiting with the baggage. Jennie scrambled up onto the seat beside Matthew, waving at the servants who were not going. Ellen lifted a hand morosely, but Mary swung her arm, and Timmy from the stables waved his hat at her. With a jolt Matthew started the horses, lurching down the rutted lane.
Bianca turned to her husband, brow furrowed. “I thought we were to ride with Matthew as well.”
“Did you?” He made a face. “I’d rather not ride a wagon from here to Marslip Green, let alone to Stoke on Trent.”
“I’m sure it can’t be that bad,” she began, but something flickered over his face.
“It’s worse,” he said in a low voice, then immediately cocked his head and smiled. “No fit way for a lady to travel. I made other arrangements.” As he spoke, the stable boy pulled up in the gig.
Bianca drew a tense breath. The gig was what they used for short trips into Marslip, or the slightly larger, somewhat more distant town of Burslem. The seat was well padded but small; she and Cathy fit comfortably, but Max was larger than either of them, and she was wearing her thick wool traveling skirt today. They would be pressed up against each other the entire way to Stoke on Trent.
“The gig’s not meant for such a distance,” she tried to argue.
“But it will serve.” The stable boy jumped down and Max walked over to check the harness.
Bianca chewed the inside of her lip and thought hard. The gig would be more comfortable than the wagon. Even if they’d ridden in the wagon, she and Max would likely have been squashed together amidst the trunks. She was probably being silly, just because she didn’t want to touch him.
Touch was the line she had promised herself she would not cross. It was ridiculous to pretend she could survive this marriage without speaking to the man, and once they were speaking, it might as well be cordial. She could admit he was intelligent and could have some good ideas about Perusia. It was even acceptable to find him amusing from time to time.
But his smoldering good looks hadn’t diminished, not even when he wore his little wire-rimmed spectacles and let his hair curl around his temples. Bianca was keenly aware that he was the beauty in their marriage. Whenever he smiled at her in that slow, seductive way he had, every time she caught his dark eyes lingering on her, she reminded herself that if she gave way and let him seduce her, he would have won everything: her father’s approval, a share of her business, her very person. A chaste, cordial marriage was the best she could hope for, and where she must hold her line.
He turned to her expectantly. The wagon was out of sight down the lane. If she wanted to go to London—and Bianca could admit that the idea had grown on her, quite a bit—she had to ride with him in the gig.
“It’s an extravagance,” she told him, coming forward. “Now Matthew will have to bring home the gig and the wagon, not to mention the inconvenience Aunt Frances will be put to if she requires a carriage, but since you’ve already done it, I suppose there’s no choice.”
