A Gamble on Love by Blair Bancroft

shocking proximity to
Mr. Lanning. Her husband.
    Thomas. Who did not choose to exercise his
husbandly rights.
    For which she should be heartily
thankful.
    “ Come now, Miss. You’ll feel ever so
much better when you’re out of your stays.”
    Intent as Relia had been on washing
away the strange sensations that had somehow taken over the
emotions of the sensible, pragmatical young woman she had thought
herself to be, she had failed to notice the clothing Tilly was
laying out for her. Her steel blue eyes opened wide. “I cannot
wear that . ‘Tis scarcely past
tea time.”
    “ M’lord ordered it, Miss—ah,
Ma’am.”
    “ He is not a m’lord!”
    “ Yes, ma’am.” Tilly bobbed a curtsey,
adding irrepressibly, if somewhat softly, “But he sure acts like
one, don’t he?”
    Indeed he did. Relia was uncertain if
she wanted to smile or continue the good cry she had almost begun
in the sitting room. For close to the thousandth time she wondered
what she had done to herself. Who was Thomas Lanning? She now bore his name, yet
she knew almost nothing about him.
    And why was that, pray tell? Quite simply,
because she had not demanded that Sir Gilbert tell her. Because it
had not seemed to matter. Because she had been so arrogant she had
thought to hire Mr. Lanning’s services, like a steward or a butler,
based solely on the recommendation of others and on a brief
personal interview. He met her list of qualifications; she was
desperate. What else mattered?
    Forcefully, Relia reminded herself that many
woman had made far worse bargains. No. Most women had this kind of
bargain made for them. They could always have the satisfaction of
railing against father, brother, or guardian, while she had no one
to blame but herself.
    With some deliberation Relia laid the damp
towel over the top of the pitcher, then stared at the garments
Tilly had placed over the coverlet at the end of the bed. The
beautifully embroidered, though nearly transparent, linen bedgown
and midnight blue velvet dressing gown were among the many items of
elaborate nightwear Gussie had insisted she purchase while they in
London. Since Relia had not wished to think about this aspect of
her marriage, she had simply allowed Miss Aldershot to do as she
pleased. And, naturally, Tilly had packed her newest and best for
this short journey to Tunbridge Wells.
    Beneath her breath Relia muttered a word
overheard in the stables. “Miss!” Tilly declared, much shocked.
    But she wasn’t a miss, she was a wife,
Relia thought glumly. Though like to be a virgin . . . for months . Maybe years, maybe
forever.
    Wasn’t that what she had wanted? An itinerant
dragonslayer, who would do his job and ride on, leaving her exactly
where she had said she wanted to be?
    Relia’s eyes took on a calculating
gleam. Very well, she would do as her new husband ordered. After
all, the fine linen bedgown would be completely hidden beneath the
heavy velvet dressing gown . . . and it would be infinitely more comfortable. Surely one
of the more unexpected advantages of being married.
    And perhaps, just perhaps, she might
once again jog Mr. Lanning’s amused tolerance of her. For there
could be little doubt that her near accident had torn through his
indifference. If only for a short time, he had cared what happened to her.
    Stoo-pid .
Thomas Lanning would have felt the same for any female under his
escort.
    The former Aurelia Trevor, every inch
the daughter of Pevensey Park, turned and presented the row of tiny
buttons down her back to her maid. “Very well,” she pronounced with
regal indifference, “we will do as commanded. For now .” Relia lifted her chin another notch,
while Tilly failed to stifle a giggle.
     
    Thomas sat slumped in a wingchair set before
a crackling fire, idly twirling a brandy glass and wondering about
what was beginning to seem like an ominous silence from his wife’s
room. Was she going to hide in there all night? With the demmed
maid as chaperon?
    What a fool he