He was married.
It was difficult to move beyond the undeniable fact that the rest of his life would now include the woman sitting across from him.
From the time Trent was old enough to realize the freedom granted to second sons, he’d known that his eventual marriage would be one of the most significant decisions he ever made. Without giving it any conscious thought or particular care, an expectation had developed. He’d assumed it would be a happy occasion, filled with friends and family thankful for an excuse to gather together in the middle of the year. He’d anticipated loving his bride and sharing small smiles fraught with hidden meanings, like he’d seen his sisters exchange with their husbands.
Instead he had a wife who hadn’t met his gaze once, not even during the ceremony. She’d spoken her vows to his cravat, so he hoped she wouldn’t mind the fact that he didn’t wear the same one every day.
It was his own joke, formed only in his head, but he couldn’t resist the smile it inspired.
She didn’t smile back, but that could have had something to do with the fact that her attention had drifted all the way down to his toes. Did that mean she would soon circle back around to the top and finally look him in the face?
“I hope you don’t mind leaving a bit early. I thought we might be more comfortable in our own home.”
“Our home?” Lady Adelaide blinked at him, or at least her gaze was directed in his general vicinity when her thick black lashes fluttered up and down over her crystal blue eyes.
The owlish blinks reminded him that her mother had insisted she not wear her spectacles during the wedding. He’d retrieved them from her maid, intending to give them to her at the breakfast, but she’d been pulled away as soon as they walked in the doors and he hadn’t been near her since. Hopefully the lenses would make a nice peace offering now, a tiny gesture to set the tone he wanted for the marriage.
It was the one they were both stuck with, after all.
He pulled the spectacles from his pocket and extended them across the carriage. “Here. I obtained them from your maid earlier today.”
“Thank you.” She slid the frames onto her nose and looked him in the eye for the first time since that disastrous night in the old stone keep. “Isn’t London a bit far to travel in one day?”
“I’ve arranged for fresh horses halfway along the route. If we push hard, we can make it.” Trent shifted in his seat, wondering not for the first time if he’d made the right decision.
She nodded. “I’m sure we can. Perhaps one of the inns along the way will pack us a meal we can bring with us.”
It was Trent’s turn to blink. He’d expected a little bit of resistance, had even been reconsidering his options on places to stay the night. Now he couldn’t help but wonder if her ready acceptance of his pushing to London meant she was in agreement with his thinking or that she expected him to be a harsh husband. Why hadn’t it occurred to him before now that she might be just as wary of this marriage as he was? “I think we can take the time to eat properly.”
“Oh. I’m sorry I misunderstood, Lord Trent.” She blinked again and her gaze fell once more to his toes.
If this was an indication of how the rest of their lives was going to be, it was a sad sign indeed. With a sigh, Trent switched to her side of the carriage. Perhaps they could start over and find better footing before they made it to London.
Sitting shoulder to shoulder with her unsettled his insides, though. He couldn’t recall ever sitting alone in the same carriage as a woman he wasn’t related to, much less in the same seat. The sensation was far from unpleasant. He cleared his throat and reached for her hand. “I believe it would be proper for you to call me Trent, as my family does.”
“If that is what you wish.”
The silence pressed in as Trent waited for her to reciprocate the offer of a less formal name. When it didn’t come he decided to press for it. “May I call you Adelaide?”
She turned and blinked those confused owlish eyes again. “Of course.”
The carriage rolled easily along, but the conversation was mired in the deepest mud he had ever encountered. They’d found things to talk about when the sun had been high in the sky, beating down on them as they tried to find a way out through the vines. It was only as the moon had risen, and its silvery glow had sealed their fate, that the conversation had withered. Three weeks apart in anticipation of the wedding hadn’t done anything to revitalize it.
The miles that had separated them while growing up seemed shorter than the distance between them in this carriage.
“I went down to the creek you mentioned. The one by the sheep fields that curves around and almost makes an island.” When they’d talked about their favorite places to walk in the area, Adelaide had mentioned how she liked to go there and read because no one else ever disturbed the natural beauty.
“Did you take a book with you and sit in the gnarled tree?” She shifted her shoulders until she faced him more fully.
He grinned and turned his body to face hers as well. “I’m afraid I was a little too big for your reading nook. I had to sit on the ground and lean against it.”
“Oh.”
And the topic of the almost island was over as soon as it had begun. Adelaide turned back to the window, seemingly unperturbed by the lack of conversation and the high tension. It made Trent wonder what she was expecting of this union. If it wasn’t interaction with him, what was it? Social connections? Managing the house?
Trent bit back a groan. His house. He’d been so focused on getting away from the prying eyes, so desperate to return to what was familiar, that he hadn’t thought through all the ramifications of taking her home to London. “I should probably warn you.”
She turned from the window, eyebrows lifted until they were completely lost behind the short hairs over her forehead. “About what?”
“Our home. In London.” Trent smiled through the stabbing pain in his chest at using the word our. “It’s a bit unconventional.”
That was putting it lightly. He’d inherited half the staff when he moved in after Amelia, a family friend abandoned by her guardian in London, had moved into Hawthorne House as Griffith’s ward. The staff had all but raised Amelia, which meant they acted more like family than servants. It had taken him a few weeks to adjust—and he’d known what he was walking into. How much worse would it be for Adelaide? He should probably try to ease into explaining the bizarre world she was about to walk into. Any woman who knew the extent of the strange way his household functioned would run in the other direction.
Not that Adelaide had that option anymore.
A small crease appeared above the center of her glasses as she tilted her head in thought. “You have been living in bachelor quarters, so I would assume things have been done a certain way. I can change that.”
“No!” The word came out sharper than he’d intended, but Adelaide needed to know that she was not going to dismiss anyone from Trent’s household staff. She could hire more if she wished, but he couldn’t let go of the ones that were there. That would upset Amelia and all the other women in his family by extension.
“No?” More of that blinking. Did her eyes not get tired?
He rolled his shoulders and tried to look relaxed as he leaned against the cushioned seat back. “What I mean is that I’d prefer you not let anyone go who is currently employed. They do good work. It’s just that the house is run a bit . . . differently.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened in surprise. Long black lashes rimmed the large expanse of white with the clear blue lakes in the middle. The pupils were extremely small. That probably wasn’t a good thing. “I’m sure I can adjust.” She shifted farther into the corner of the seat. “Mother woke me quite early this morning. Do you mind if I take a nap?”
“Of course not.” What else could he say? No, you may not fake sleep just to avoid an awkward conversation? With parents like hers—or rather a mother like hers, because Lord Crampton wasn’t the worst sort of fellow—she had to have encountered more than her fair share of discord. Had she simply taken herself off to bed when things got difficult? Maybe that explained her constant state of mild dishevelment.
He watched his wife pretend to fall asleep. If he didn’t keep calling her that, he was afraid he’d forget that he was married. Despite the uncomfortable morning, part of him wasn’t convinced it had actually happened. Yet he’d stood before the priest and claimed her as his own, said the vows before God and man, and signed his name to the church register. What more did he need to do to convince himself the deed had been done? That he was now in possession of a wife?
He frowned. That probably wasn’t the best way to think of her, even in the privacy of his own mind.
A light snore drifted across the carriage, surprising him enough to pull the beginnings of a smile from the corners of his lips. She’d either been truly tired or she was the most accomplished fake sleeper he’d ever encountered. Not that he’d encountered that many. There wasn’t much call for pretending to sleep at social functions.
Trent settled into his own corner. He could have moved back across the carriage, but that was what couples did when they were courting. Even if he did not feel married, he needed to start acting like he was. Farce had become truth for Adelaide’s sleep. Maybe the same thing could happen in their marriage.