Chapter 29

Trent should have known better than to ask his brother a question. Griffith didn’t do things like a normal man, speculating and pulling from his prior knowledge to answer a question. No, when Griffith needed answers, he researched.

“Can I leave now?” Trent tilted his head back over the edge of the club chair he’d sprawled in. It had been an hour since Trent asked his question, and Griffith had responded by summoning a footman and sending out three letters. Then he’d gone back to work and told Trent to make himself comfortable.

“No.”

That was it. No explanation, no reassurances. And yet, Trent waited. It wasn’t as if Griffith was going to come after him and bodily restrain him if he tried to leave. At least he didn’t think Griffith would do such a thing. But he’d asked a question, and Griffith seemed to think the answer was coming, so Trent waited. His older brother had never let him down before.

A loud thunk drew Trent’s attention, and he rose, waiting for Griffith to stop him from leaving the room. When no objection came, Trent wandered out of the study and toward the front hall. Finch stood next to Trent’s traveling trunk, discussing with Griffith’s butler how to transport the trunk back to Mount Street.

“Finch?”

“Yes, my lord?”

Trent cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”

Finch looked at the trunk and then back at Trent, a hint of worry creeping across his face. “Packing us to return home, sir? His Grace informed me that you had decided to move back.”

Trent stared at the trunk. Part of Trent wanted to resist, to send the trunk back upstairs and return things to the way they’d been yesterday.

But things weren’t the same as they’d been yesterday. And while Trent didn’t regret his courtship plan, it was time to move on. There was no reason to stay in Hawthorne House any longer.

“Should I take it back upstairs, my lord?” Finch shifted his weight from foot to foot, casting anxious looks at the trunk, the butler, and the corridor that led to Griffith’s open study door.

“No.” Trent swallowed. “No, Griffith is correct. It’s time for us to go home.”

And it really was. Was this what Griffith had been keeping him here for? Had he been giving Trent the time needed to come to his own conclusions and understand that it was time to move on?

A forceful knock echoed through the front hall and Gibson, the butler, strode calmly to the door to answer it.

“I had a feeling such a summons would be forthcoming,” Anthony said as he patted Gibson on the shoulder and strolled into the house, looking exceptionally more put together than he had when Trent invaded his home early that morning.

Trent’s mouth dropped open a bit as Anthony turned him toward the back of the house and gave him a light shove in the direction of Griffith’s study.

Trent stomped into the room and glared at his brother. “You called in the cavalry?”

Griffith shrugged. “I don’t know the answer, and you’ve already established that what you’ve learned from books and rumor is wrong, so the obvious choice is to ask someone trustworthy with firsthand experience.”

“Griffith, I’m touched.” Anthony placed a hand over his heart and pretended to swoon into the club chair across from the one Trent had been occupying.

“Don’t be.” Griffith grunted and began stacking his ledgers and clearing his desk. “I hear there’s going to be a lecture before I marry.”

Trapped in what was sure to be life’s most awkward conversation ever, Trent fell back into his chair and draped his arms over the sides before sticking his legs out to cross them at the ankles.

Anthony’s grin was unrepentant. “Would you rather get it from Trent? I’m assuming he’ll have time to figure everything out by then, unless you’ve got something in the works you’re not telling us.”

“He has a plan,” Trent muttered, happy to see someone else under scrutiny, if only for a little while.

Griffith didn’t even blink or bother raising his arrogant eyebrow. He also didn’t hesitate as he continued putting his things in order. “I always have a plan.”

The next knock interrupted the conversation, and Colin entered with Ryland on his heels. Trent’s brief reprieve was over. The assembling crowd would give him helpful, godly advice, but he had no doubt that they were going to humiliate him first.

“Gentlemen,” Griffith said, rising from his position behind his desk once everyone had claimed seats around the room. “The question I’d like to put to you today—more for Trent’s benefit than my own, though I do find myself curious as well—is what you mean when you say you love your wife. And how one is supposed to go about attaining that emotion.”

Three powerful men stared. Not a word was spoken, leaving the tick of the mantel clock the only noise in the room. Griffith waited them out. Trent tried to do the same but found himself fidgeting under the weight of silence.

“Well, that was not what I expected,” Anthony said at last.

Colin ran a hand behind his neck and cast a look over at Ryland before addressing Griffith once more. “You realize that’s a bit of a tricky question, don’t you?”

That drew forth the arrogant eyebrow. Trent was really going to have to discover an exercise of some kind to learn how to do that. “If the question were simple I wouldn’t need to assemble all of you, would I?”

“I think what he means,” Ryland said dryly, “is that he and I are married to your sisters, and this discussion has the potential to get more personal than you might like.”

Griffith nodded in understanding before leaning back against his desk and crossing his arms over his wide chest. “Trent informed me that Anthony has already covered a discussion of the more physical aspect.”

Trent groaned and closed his eyes, praying for the Lord’s return. Any moment now would be nice and then he wouldn’t have to deal with the problem or this conversation.

Ryland’s smirk was evident in his voice. “That must have been interesting.”

“You have no idea.” Anthony kicked Trent’s extended legs. “Pay attention, pup. We’re only assembling for this conversation once, so take notes.”

“First, know you aren’t going to change her.” Colin held up a single finger. “You love her as she is, flaws and all, because you’ve got flaws of your own that she’s going to have to embrace.”

A laugh burst from Griffith before he could attempt to contain it to a series of snorts and coughs. “Please tell me you’ve mentioned that part to Georgina.”

That mental image took the edge off of Trent’s anxiety. Georgina was exceptionally good at presenting a picture of perfection to the world.

Anthony nodded. “But at the same time, you are going to change each other. The closer you get to her, the more you’ll adapt to each other. It’s hard to explain, but it happens. One day you’re making yourself wade through acres of flowers because she likes them, and before you know it, instead you’re just having to accept a ridiculous number of vases filled with fresh flowers all over your house.”

“Sounds fragrant,” Griffith muttered.

Anthony grimaced and shrugged.

Ryland sat forward and stretched one long arm toward Griffith’s desk, where a Bible sat on the corner. “You really want to love your wife? Let’s talk Isaac and Rebekah.”

“I’d think Ephesians would be a better place to start.” Colin leaned an elbow on the arm of his chair in order to better see the Bible in Ryland’s lap.

Anthony crossed the room to lean over Ryland’s shoulder. “What about First Peter?”

Griffith remained leaning against his desk with his arms over his chest, but he turned his head and caught Trent’s eye with a self-satisfied smile on his face. Trent had to concede to his older brother once more. As much as he hated to admit it, calling these men in had been the right thing to do. One could never go wrong with advice from the Bible.

“I need you to teach me how to be a lady.” Adelaide sat in her mother-in-law’s drawing room wishing there was another way to describe what she wanted. Also wishing that she’d decided to go to Miranda, Georgina, or even Lady Raebourne first. But this new idea of taking charge of things hadn’t had much time to grow a logical side yet, so she’d gone straight to the person who’d taught her daughters the skills she wanted to know.

“Nonsense.” Caroline waved a hand through the air. “All you lack is a bit of grace. You’ve the tact of an angel and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, though perhaps a bit more gumption is in order.”

Adelaide blinked at the matter-of-fact compliment. “Oh.”

“Now. Let’s start with how to sit.” Caroline led Adelaide over to a grouping of chairs.

Sitting seemed like a strange thing to teach. Adelaide had been successfully getting in and out of chairs for as long as she could remember. Had she been doing it wrong? How could there be a wrong way to do it? Adelaide lowered herself into the chair. Once seated she tried to fold her hands gently into her lap, but the dress pulled at her shoulder. Her skirt was folded underneath her in a way that severely limited how much she could move without wriggling her clothing into a better position.

She turned wide eyes to Caroline in time to see her nearly float into her own chair, skirts delicately spread on the seat to allow adequate movement in all directions.

Adelaide couldn’t even sit in a chair correctly. This was going to take considerably more than a single afternoon.

She was late. Caroline had made her rise and sit so many times that her legs were burning by the time she’d gotten home. Dressing for the night had taken twice as long as normal, and now she stood at the top of the stairs, terrified to take the first step.

There were no polished black evening shoes visible in the hall at the bottom of the stairs. Was it possible he wasn’t here yet? Could she still await him in the drawing room so that she wouldn’t have to notice if he’d lost that look of wonder he always wore when she came down the stairs?

“You’re lovely.”

The deep, quiet voice at her side made her jump and clutch for the top of the stair railing.

With a firm hand gripping her elbow, she knew she was in no danger of tumbling headfirst down the stairs, but it still took her a moment to pull her gaze from the treacherous stairs.

To her right, in the corner of her vision were the shoes she’d been expecting down below, the polished leather catching the light of the stairway candelabra. Her gaze climbed up, across buff-colored trousers and then the blue stripes of his waistcoat before giving way to the deeper blue of his cutaway coat. One hand clasped her elbow while the other rested at the small of his back, emphasizing his broad shoulders and making her middle jump in a way she’d thought it never would again.

But it was his face that truly robbed her breath. The wonder was still there, thank God. But it was veiled now, with some other undefinable emotion. Fear? Worry? Was he as nervous to see her again as she was to see him?

“You’re home.”

“Yes.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. She’d wondered if, even dared to hope, he would be returning. Was it possible they could move forward and she could stop worrying if he ever meant them to be more than only a public couple?

“Shall we?” He let go of her elbow and offered his arm. For the first time in their wedded life they walked down the stairs together. It was an important moment, Adelaide knew, and she did her best to follow Caroline’s hasty instructions so she didn’t muss the elegant picture they surely made.

They didn’t say anything as they crossed the hall, but he pulled her to a stop before they reached the door.

“Adelaide.” He cleared his throat and turned her to take both of her hands in his own. “I need you to know I’m going to be a good husband.”

Thick emotions she couldn’t begin to name choked her throat.

His gloved hand lifted and smoothed his bent knuckles across her cheek. “You don’t have to say anything, but I do. I want to make things right with you, and I think, from here on, we move forward without a plan or a scheme. Could we do that? Can you give me one more clean slate, Adelaide?”

“My mother knew.” The words tumbled out of her mouth, as if her tongue were racing to get her own confession out of the way so they could claim a new start together.

Trent opened his mouth and then shut it with a click of teeth. He blinked at her. “Knew what?”

“That we were there. In the ruins. She was the one we heard drive by.”

“And she left you there to force our marriage?”

Adelaide winced, knowing she needed to come completely clean but not wanting to. “She thought you were Griffith.”

Silence pressed in for a moment, and then Trent threw his head back and laughed. “No one can accuse us of being normal, Adelaide, that is for certain.”

An answering smile stretched across her face, and giddy freedom bubbled into her own laughter.

He leaned over and skimmed a gentle kiss along her lips. “No more secrets, no more schemes. I promise not to hurt you again, Adelaide. I will be a good husband.”

The little memory of her snooping through his study drawers ran through her mind, but she pushed it away. That wasn’t a secret, not really. It was the type of thing people learned when they lived together. As long as she never brought it up it would never be an issue.

The tightness around his green eyes lessened as his laughter faded into a brilliant smile complete with a deep dimple in his left cheek. As he escorted her out the door, Adelaide thought about her feet, made sure her head was held steady so she wouldn’t dislodge her feathers or her curls, and maintained a respectable distance between her body and Trent’s so as not to accidentally trod on his foot the way she had a few nights ago on their way in to a musicale.

The ache that hit her legs as she tried to climb into the carriage almost made her turn back and decide the opera wasn’t worth going to after all. Only the knowledge that she’d still have to climb stairs to get back into the house propelled her forward. After meticulously adjusting her skirts so that she wouldn’t pull off any ribbons or stress any seams, she folded her hands in her lap, keeping her average-sized reticule secure so it wouldn’t lose any of the fringe circling the base. Without a book inside, the bag felt light, and she worried that she would swing it around indiscriminately because of that.

Trent climbed in after her, easing into the seat with the same unconscious care that he always did. He wasn’t pretending to be a consummate gentleman. It had been bred into him while he was still in short pants.

“Did you know,” she said as the carriage began rolling, “that one of the first operas in the United Kingdom was performed on a covered tennis court?”

Laughter immediately filled the carriage. Trent reached over and took Adelaide’s hand, pressing it between his own. That alone made her mad dash through the library at Lady Blackstone’s house worth it. She’d wanted something to break the potential tension of the evening, and the book on the history of the theater had provided exactly what she needed.

He didn’t say anything as the laughter faded away but he wrapped his hand around hers and stared at it, running one finger along the seam of her glove, following it from finger to finger, sending shivers from her hand, along her spine, to the tips of her toes curling in her slippers. “There’s one more thing I need to say, Adelaide. I want to apologize. Last night I—”

“Please don’t.” Adelaide lifted her free hand and pressed her fingers over his lips, causing surprise to break through whatever thoughts had been focused on setting things right. “We’re starting over, remember? Clean slate. I’m well. Honestly, I am. So I think the best thing we could do now is enjoy the opera.”

He looked at her for a moment, long enough that she began to wonder if they were going to discuss it after all. But then his smile returned, his even, white teeth barely visible through the curved lips. “Agreed. We’ll enjoy our evening. Have you ever been to the opera?”

She shook her head. “No, but once Father took me to Birmingham with him, and we went to the theater.”

“How old were you?”

How old had she been? It had been several years. Before Helena had started coming to London. “I think I was twelve. Perhaps thirteen.”

“And that was the last time you went to a theater?” His voice was quiet as London rolled by the carriage window.

“I always caught the traveling shows when they came through Riverton.” She knew that wasn’t what he meant but she didn’t want his pity tonight. She wanted to be a lady, worthy of respect and perhaps even a little bit of love. If they were going to start anew, that seemed like as good a goal to work for as anything.

They climbed out of the carriage, and Adelaide was so distracted she almost snagged her trim on the carriage door. She sucked her breath in between her teeth as she carefully leaned back to dislodge the trim from the door hinge. Perhaps tomorrow she could make it an hour without mussing up her outfit. She at least needed to make it for the hour she was going to spend at Caroline’s house practicing how to sit and learning how to walk. Perhaps they could adjust the lesson to include climbing into carriages properly.

She curled her fingers around Trent’s offered arm, giving it a light squeeze that drew another one of his dimple-inducing, heart-stopping smiles, making her remember his passionate kisses before everything had gone wrong. She smiled to herself as they entered the opera house. Maybe she didn’t want to forget everything about the past twenty-four hours after all.