The race to London—for it could be called little else—left Adelaide confused, with a dull ache over her whole body and stabbing pain in the back of her head. In the last vestiges of sunlight, London was still busy as they pulled into the city, allowing Adelaide to marvel at the hugeness of it all.
She tried not to gawk as they rolled through, but it was fascinating to a girl who’d never seen anything larger than Birmingham. The columned façade of St. George’s of Hanover Square jutted into the road, just as it did in the Ackerman prints. It was a wonder that Mother hadn’t been willing to wait and have the wedding there.
It wasn’t as if delaying would have given Lord Trent an opportunity to back out, would it? If that had been an option, Adelaide wished they’d taken it. She’d read enough books to know that loveless arranged marriages, where the parties barely knew each other, were quite plentiful throughout history, particularly amongst the aristocracy. But she was a modern woman, and being foisted off onto a man she barely knew felt wrong. Besides, there was no political gain, no great joining of estates or assets. Nothing but the societal requirement that Lord Trent’s freedom be sacrificed on the altar of her reputation. At least women who had stumbled into truly compromising situations would know the man in question, would have chosen him in some way. All she knew about Lord Trent was he enjoyed reading novels.
And he had an affinity for punching things. The fact that he trained to be able to punch things better made her a little uneasy. She’d heard the stories before, whispers about the women who wore an extra shawl in the village marketplace even in the summer heat. She tore her gaze from the city scenery outside the window and took in the way his shoulders took up a large portion of the seat and stretched the seams of his well-tailored coat. A shawl might not be enough for Adelaide if he wasn’t the man she hoped he was.
She snapped her head back around to face the window once more. The houses they now passed were beautiful and well-appointed, with large numbers of windows testifying to the wealth of the area. Was he taking her to Hawthorne House? That would explain his cautioning her about not having much say over the hiring of servants. She’d heard quite a bit about the splendor of the mansion on Grosvenor Square and looked forward to seeing it, but she hoped they weren’t going to live with his family. “Where do you live?”
“We live in Mount Street.”
The emphasis he placed on the word we brought a swift blush to Adelaide’s cheeks.
“And here we are.” Trent smiled as the carriage slowed.
Adelaide pressed her face to the window, anxious to see her new home in spite of the sudden trepidation that made her dinner shift uncomfortably in her stomach.
She’d heard enough about London to recognize that the homes in front of her were modest by aristocracy standards but were certainly better than many others in Town. Bay windows curved out from the light brown building, adding a sense of division to the attached houses. They were too small to house ballrooms, which suited her nicely. A small dinner party would be easy enough to handle, but were the drawing rooms in this house large enough to hold more sizeable gatherings?
“Do you host things?” She winced at the blurted question. Her tongue was really going to have to learn to phrase things better before letting them out.
“As a bachelor? I haven’t hosted anything, aside from the occasional family meal.”
He opened the door himself and jumped from the coach, leaving Adelaide to fret over whether or not that meant he expected her to arrange a lot of social gatherings now. Would a younger son have reason to host such things? She took the hand Trent extended back into the carriage and stepped down to the pavement, willing her shaky legs to hold her steady.
The door in front of them swung open to reveal a tall man with a large pointed nose and a shockingly bald head. Light from nearby candles actually reflected off of the man’s scalp. Did he polish it?
“Welcome home, my lord.”
“Good evening, Fenton. Is the household assembled?” Trent reached back for Adelaide’s hand and pulled her arm through his before escorting her into the house. Escorting might be a misleading word to use. He nearly had to drag her into the house because her feet had somehow become disconnected from her brain and refused to walk next to him without inducement.
There was a household gathered beyond that door waiting to meet her. What if they didn’t like her? What if they wouldn’t listen to her? What if she didn’t know what to say to them? There was no what if about that one. She hadn’t the first idea what to say to them.
“Yes, my lord.” The tall man swung his arm wide to indicate the line of servants along the hall wall. The hall wasn’t large, but the staff wasn’t either, leaving plenty of room for all of them to stare openly at the woman beside their master.
Had Lord Trent sent word? Did they know who she was?
“Everyone, I would like you to meet Lady Adelaide . . . my wife.” Trent dropped her hand and stepped to the side, throwing his arm out with a flourish, as if he were presenting a prize mare at the market.
“Oh, how exciting!” A tall, thin woman with nearly nonexistent hips and tight grey curls framing her face stepped forward from the front of the line. The housekeeper, Adelaide assumed. She looked like a friendly woman. An overly friendly woman if the hug Adelaide found herself wrapped in was any indication.
The embrace was brief and the housekeeper soon stepped back to more fully address Trent. Her fists plopped on her hips, or rather the narrow section of her body where hips could normally be found. The woman looked like a tall, skinny column. “You didn’t drive all the way from Hertfordshire today, did you?”
Trent ducked his head and shifted his feet like a little boy caught stealing biscuits from the kitchen. “Well, I . . .”
“Hmmph.” The housekeeper sniffed at Trent before turning her smile back to Adelaide. “I’m Mrs. Harris, the housekeeper. Would you like tea in the drawing room? I’m afraid he told us only that someone important was coming, so I didn’t air out the proper bedroom. It will take me a bit to set things to rights. Did you bring a maid?”
Why hadn’t Adelaide considered her maid and her trunks? Their mad dash for London didn’t seem to include an abundance of luggage. “I don’t—”
Trent cleared his throat. “My apologies for the misinformation.”
Adelaide blinked. He was apologizing to his housekeeper?
“Her maid and Finch will be arriving Monday or Tuesday with the remainder of our luggage. Lady Adelaide has a small trunk in the carriage. I was hoping Lydia could see to her needs for the next few days.”
Would anyone notice if Adelaide simply sat on the floor? She hoped not because she was actually becoming dizzy. There was so much to take in. She assumed Finch was Trent’s valet, which meant both of them were now here without their personal servants. Rushing to London was seeming more and more a bizarre decision with every passing moment.
“I’d be delighted.”
Adelaide swung her gaze down the short line of servants until it landed on a blond moppet. Wild yellow corkscrews of hair jutted out from various places beneath her cap. At first glance, Adelaide thought the young woman was a child, but closer inspection revealed otherwise. Where Mrs. Harris was lacking any curves, this young lady had them aplenty. Including one in the front that gave her skirt a slight flare. Adelaide couldn’t stop herself from going a bit slack-jawed. That maid was with child!
Trent slid her arm through his once more and leaned in until his lips brushed her ear. “Not a word. I’ll explain later.”
She was still shaking off the shivers his whispering breath had induced when the housekeeper shooed them toward a drawing room off the hall. “You two rest, and I’ll see to the tea. There’s no reason she can’t meet the rest of them in the morning.”
The staff scattered by some unspoken command, leaving Trent and Adelaide alone in the once elegant drawing room. She’d barely had time to take in the green-and-white-striped settee that had certainly seen better days when the butler entered. “Will you be requiring anything else, my lord?”
Trent smirked. “Besides refreshment and a proper bedroom for my wife?”
“Er, yes sir. I see your point. I suppose you’ll need me to stand in for Finch as well.”
“Indeed. It will give you a chance to tell me the latest news.”
Adelaide looked from her husband to the bald butler. They were going to exchange gossip? She groped for the arm of the worn sofa and lowered herself onto the seat. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone in her home—well, her old home—had conversed with a servant beyond what was essential to get a particular job accomplished. So far tonight she’d been hugged by the housekeeper, been assigned a pregnant lady’s maid, and watched her husband set up a chat session with the butler. Unconventional was putting it mildly.
After the butler left the room, she looked up to find Trent observing her from beneath lowered lashes, almost as if he were waiting for her to pass judgment on her new home. His insecurity looked out of place on a face that had seemed confident and composed for as long as she could remember.
He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck and looked away from her before pacing to the window and back again. She might have worried about him wearing a track in the rug, but the floor covering already bore signs of more than one line of regular traffic. The room didn’t look too out of fashion, but it had certainly been well used since it was decorated. It probably looked exactly as it had when he moved in. A bachelor wouldn’t have much reason to redecorate the drawing room, after all.
She’d almost worked up the nerve to say something when a footman entered with a laden tea tray. He set the load on a tea table and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
Leaving her alone in a room with an unrelated man.
Yet another reminder that she’d gotten married that morning.
Was everything in her life destined to become unfamiliar because of that one event?
Porcelain clinked and she jerked her attention to the tea service only to find Trent taking care of the pouring duties. The teapot looked strange in a man’s hands. “How do you take it?”
“The same way you do,” Adelaide said quietly, cringing a bit as he dropped five lumps of sugar and a splash of milk into her cup. How did the man drink something that sweet?
She sipped at her tea before selecting a biscuit just to be polite. The biscuit was surprisingly bland, a perfect complement to the overly sweet tea. Someone knew the master of the house well. Afraid she was about to drop both, she set the teacup on the table and slid the half-eaten biscuit onto the saucer before folding her hands in her lap. Things were happening too fast for her to keep up so she latched on to the one thing she could demand an explanation for. “The maid. Explain.”
Trent sat back with his own cup and a handful of biscuits. “She’s married to my valet.”
Adelaide was very glad she’d put her tea down or she would have certainly dropped it in shock. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lydia. She’s married to Finch. It’s worked out nicely so far. I only keep a couple of horses here so have need for only the one groom. Lydia and Finch live in the second groom’s room above the stable. The baby’s due sometime in summer, though, so they’re going to take positions at my Hertfordshire estate after this Season. Well, he is. I doubt she’ll be doing much of anything other than mothering for a while. They’ve talked of eventually opening an inn.”
Trent stuffed his mouth with half a biscuit but still avoided her gaze.
“I see.” Although she didn’t. Who had a married valet and let the man live separate from the actual house? Didn’t men need their valets close by? “Are there any other special cases I should know about?”
Trent shrugged. “Lydia, Fenton, and Mrs. Harris came with the house. Finch too, in a rather roundabout way. Oswyn, Digby, Mabel, and Eve have all joined the staff within the past two years. There was another scullery maid but she had trouble adjusting to Mrs. Harris’s . . . uh, familiarity, so she went to work elsewhere. Everyone else seems to thrive on the environment.”
“She hugged me.” Adelaide couldn’t help the flat tone of her voice. She couldn’t remember the last time her parents had hugged her, much less a servant.
“I know. She usually eats dinner with me. Fenton too. We’ve also been known to share a glass of port in the evenings.” Trent blushed and looked into his teacup.
Adelaide didn’t know what to say. Or think. Or do. She’d spent every spare moment the last three weeks poring over any home management book she could find, lamenting the fact that she’d never really learned how to run a household. Helena’s lessons had always come first, and there never seemed to be any time left to teach Adelaide anything. Not that any knowledge she might have gained would be useful here.
While it was nice to know life wasn’t going to be like the dry and discouraging situations mentioned in the book she’d pulled from her father’s study, she wished she wasn’t quite so lost as to what to expect. The constant surprises weren’t helping the pain in her head any. “Well. I’m sure everything will settle in nicely.”
Trent smiled at her. A wide, genuine smile that made her breath catch. Did he often go around smiling at women like that? If so, she was sure to run into more than one lady who had been hoping for her position.
A brisk knock preceded Mrs. Harris popping her head into the drawing room. “My lady, your room is prepared. Feel free to finish your tea. Lydia’s waiting for you when you’re ready.”
Ah yes, the pregnant lady’s maid. It boggled the mind, really, and gave her a better understanding of the social rule that servants never married. It was awkward knowing the person waiting on you was in a delicate condition.
More important, though, the fact that her room was ready meant that her bed was ready. She peeked at Trent through her lashes. A bed that her husband had the right to visit. After tonight there could be children. She had never even danced with the man, much less kissed him, and they could be having children together.
It was enough to make her want to order another pot of tea.