do. He could not bear to see anyone else in Anna’s clothes.
“I am quite exhausted, children. I think it is high time we went in. Run upstairs to the nursery. Daisy will be waiting for you. I shall come up later to read you a story.”
She watched them scamper away, laughing and chattering. She could hardly credit how much they had changed in the week she had been with them. Although she had not regained her appetite, the children were eating well and were no longer subdued.
Her eyes filled. What were her niece and nephews doing without her? Ned and Jonathan would be going away to school next month, but Peter and Amanda would need a governess. Would Jane employ one or take over their education herself?
As always at this time of day, she went to speak to Foster. She walked straight into Bentley’s parlour. The room was not empty as she expected. She recoiled at the look of disgust on her husband’s face.
“I beg your pardon, my lord. I had no idea you were in here. I called to speak to Foster.”
He did not rise from his chair, made no move to greet her. A weight settled in her stomach; he was obviously regretting his decision to marry her.
“You are wearing my wife’s gown. I do not wish to see you in it again. I am not receiving visitors today.” His voice was curt. He spoke to her as if she were a stranger, and one that he cordially disliked.
She backed out. Her fingers slipped on the handle as she attempted to close the door. He had recognized her dress, he was sickened at her wearing it. She should have known better, should have waited until the seamstress had made her something new.
She would remove it immediately and put on the faded pink gown, which had been washed and pressed and would do until she had others ready. Sally greeted her with a blotchy face and red eyes.
“Oh, my lady, his lordship’s sent for the trunks and everything has been taken away; even the items we’ve altered, and the ones we were about to change. They’re to be burnt.”
“It’s not your fault, Sally. I should have known better. Quickly, help me remove this, and then send it down to join the rest. I shall wear what I have; that way I will not cause offence to anyone.”
She ignored the supper tray brought up later. She had been upstairs to read the children their story and left them happily snuggled down in bed. They were unaware anything untoward had happened. She had become an expert at dissembling to children over the past few years.
The letter for her niece and nephews was ready to send. She had addressed it to Prudence Smith, the vicar’s daughter. This way her brother could not confiscate it before it reached the children. She would ask Lord Bentley if he would frank it when he was speaking to her again.
As she was replacing a stopper in the ink bottle there was a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” she called. Putting down her pen, she turned to face her unexpected visitor. It would be Foster; no one else would venture up here so late in the day.
Her stomach lurched. Her husband stood there, immaculately dressed, his cravat a snowy waterfall at his neck. He was a different man from the one who had spoken to her so harshly an hour or so ago. She scrambled to her feet and curtsied.
“My dear, you do not need to curtsy to me. I have come to most humbly beg your pardon for my appalling rudeness. There are things we need to talk about, things I should have told you that would have avoided heartache for both of us.”
“You have had nothing to apologize for, my lord. It was my stupidity. I should never have—”
He was still standing framed in the doorway. “May I come in, my dear? I’ve no wish to intrude, I shall fully understand if you don’t wish to speak to me.”
Flushing painfully at her unintentional incivility, she gestured for him to enter. “I’m pleased to see you up and about. Now that the stitches are removed and the bruising beginning to fade, you are almost restored.”
He took the
“I am quite exhausted, children. I think it is high time we went in. Run upstairs to the nursery. Daisy will be waiting for you. I shall come up later to read you a story.”
She watched them scamper away, laughing and chattering. She could hardly credit how much they had changed in the week she had been with them. Although she had not regained her appetite, the children were eating well and were no longer subdued.
Her eyes filled. What were her niece and nephews doing without her? Ned and Jonathan would be going away to school next month, but Peter and Amanda would need a governess. Would Jane employ one or take over their education herself?
As always at this time of day, she went to speak to Foster. She walked straight into Bentley’s parlour. The room was not empty as she expected. She recoiled at the look of disgust on her husband’s face.
“I beg your pardon, my lord. I had no idea you were in here. I called to speak to Foster.”
He did not rise from his chair, made no move to greet her. A weight settled in her stomach; he was obviously regretting his decision to marry her.
“You are wearing my wife’s gown. I do not wish to see you in it again. I am not receiving visitors today.” His voice was curt. He spoke to her as if she were a stranger, and one that he cordially disliked.
She backed out. Her fingers slipped on the handle as she attempted to close the door. He had recognized her dress, he was sickened at her wearing it. She should have known better, should have waited until the seamstress had made her something new.
She would remove it immediately and put on the faded pink gown, which had been washed and pressed and would do until she had others ready. Sally greeted her with a blotchy face and red eyes.
“Oh, my lady, his lordship’s sent for the trunks and everything has been taken away; even the items we’ve altered, and the ones we were about to change. They’re to be burnt.”
“It’s not your fault, Sally. I should have known better. Quickly, help me remove this, and then send it down to join the rest. I shall wear what I have; that way I will not cause offence to anyone.”
She ignored the supper tray brought up later. She had been upstairs to read the children their story and left them happily snuggled down in bed. They were unaware anything untoward had happened. She had become an expert at dissembling to children over the past few years.
The letter for her niece and nephews was ready to send. She had addressed it to Prudence Smith, the vicar’s daughter. This way her brother could not confiscate it before it reached the children. She would ask Lord Bentley if he would frank it when he was speaking to her again.
As she was replacing a stopper in the ink bottle there was a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” she called. Putting down her pen, she turned to face her unexpected visitor. It would be Foster; no one else would venture up here so late in the day.
Her stomach lurched. Her husband stood there, immaculately dressed, his cravat a snowy waterfall at his neck. He was a different man from the one who had spoken to her so harshly an hour or so ago. She scrambled to her feet and curtsied.
“My dear, you do not need to curtsy to me. I have come to most humbly beg your pardon for my appalling rudeness. There are things we need to talk about, things I should have told you that would have avoided heartache for both of us.”
“You have had nothing to apologize for, my lord. It was my stupidity. I should never have—”
He was still standing framed in the doorway. “May I come in, my dear? I’ve no wish to intrude, I shall fully understand if you don’t wish to speak to me.”
Flushing painfully at her unintentional incivility, she gestured for him to enter. “I’m pleased to see you up and about. Now that the stitches are removed and the bruising beginning to fade, you are almost restored.”
He took the
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