There were fewer than ten people in Trent’s family. Invitations to a simple dinner should not have taken very long—at least Adelaide hadn’t expected them to. She hadn’t counted on Lady Blackstone’s exacting measures on proper penmanship and address. By the time the countess was satisfied, Adelaide had done four complete sets of invitations. They had then pulled Mrs. Harris in to discuss the menu, which took another half an hour but thankfully didn’t leave Adelaide with a cramp in her wrist.
By the time Lady Blackstone took her leave, Mr. Lowick had been in Trent’s office for two hours, and Adelaide was afraid she’d missed him. Not that it would be that devastating. Trent had promised they would go to Suffolk this summer, so she would see the man then. It wasn’t even that she’d been all that close to him. He’d been employed by her father, after all. Adelaide thought maybe it was a desire to establish the connection between her past and her present, to remind herself and Trent that something good had come of their union.
She knocked softly at Trent’s study door.
“Enter.”
With a proper ladylike smile that even Lady Blackstone would approve of, Adelaide pushed her way into the room. “Pardon the interruption—a little later than expected, but I’m afraid my morning went a little differently than planned.”
Trent grinned without restraint. “My mother made you write everything six times, didn’t she.”
“Well, four, but the invitations look stunning.”
Surprise and something that might have been pride flickered across her husband’s face. “Four? Your penmanship must be exquisite. I dare you to send out the first set and see if she notices.”
Such a thing had never crossed her mind—would never cross her mind, as she’d never been brave enough to step outside of expectations before. Marrying Trent had been enough out of the normal way of things to make her the subject of speculation for another three years, at least. Still, the invitations were only going to family members, and the playful gleam in his eyes was so tempting that she found herself drawn in. “Perhaps the second set. I spelled your sister Georgina’s name incorrectly on the first set.”
The approval in his smile made her want to send the first set out even with the incorrectly spelled name.
Trent stood and came around his desk, sweeping an arm toward the country gentleman standing in front of one of the chairs in the study. “You remember Mr. Lowick, don’t you, Lady Adelaide?”
Adelaide had completely forgotten the man was in the room, but she tried to cover it with a gracious smile and a tilted head, berating herself for having forgotten her manners and determined to be perfection for the rest of the meeting. “Of course. I’m glad I was able to see you before you left. I remember walking the estate with you and my father as a child.”
“Oh, yes,” the older man said. “I used to sneak you pieces of peppermint as we walked.” He pulled a small tin from his pocket. “I still carry some everywhere. Would you care for a piece?”
As she smiled and took a piece, it was nice to be reminded that not all of her growing-up moments were dark and dismal. The sweet flavor of the peppermint brought back images of sunrises on dew-dampened fields and horse rides across flowery meadows. Summer couldn’t come soon enough for her country sensibilities.
“Your timing is perfect, Adelaide. Mr. Lowick and I were just finishing up.” Trent crossed the floor to stand next to her, as if they were a single unit sending off one of their guests. Would they stand like this when they greeted his family at their dinner party? Stand together as the couples filed out? She was suddenly looking forward to an evening that had seemed more of a chore or a rite of passage a few hours earlier. Of course, once everyone was gone they would probably coldly part ways and go to their separate rooms unless she could take the time between now and then to convince him that she was a perfect wife despite their earlier stumbles.
Mr. Lowick slid a stack of papers into his leather satchel. “I’ll take the mail coach Monday morning and start implementing these crop plans as soon as possible. It’s still early enough in the spring that the changes should be easy enough to make.”
“Oh, wonderful. Are we going to do the pineapples, then?”
Silence met Adelaide’s question. Tense silence. Adelaide bit her lip. She wasn’t supposed to know about the pineapples, had only come across the plans because she’d been going through Trent’s drawers, but she’d still been dreaming of them as a unified, sharing couple, and she’d been unable to let the opportunity to prove she knew something about him slide by.
The stunned curiosity on Mr. Lowick’s face proved that pineapples had not been discussed in that meeting. She was almost afraid to look at Trent, but she told herself that being a coward would only make it worse to deal with later.
His easy smile was gone, replaced with a dark frown. Irritation narrowed his green eyes, devoid of any trace of laughter. All the softness she’d grown accustomed to seeing in his face disappeared. She’d never seen him mad, wasn’t sure many people had, but there was no doubting that he was feeling the emotion now.
“What do you know of pineapples?”
A glance away from Trent’s angry scowl revealed that Mr. Lowick really wanted to leave. Only Adelaide and Trent were blocking the door, and she didn’t think Trent would take kindly to a suggestion that they move out of the way. “I was looking for the invitations Fenton set aside for me. Lady Raebourne said sometimes you stuff them in a drawer. I saw the drawing and was curious. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have looked, I know, but it was fascinating. And I thought maybe, since Suffolk had so many horse farms you would be able to get the . . . well . . . the necessary elements for your plan. I never meant . . .” Adelaide swallowed, her mouth dry after her rushed explanation. “I never meant any harm.”
Trent rubbed his hands over his face and pushed his fingers into his blond hair, sending it flopping around his head in a tangled mess that only made him look more fashionable and handsome. It really wasn’t fair that the man wore dishevelment so well.
“Begging your pardon, sir, but I’ve heard about pineapples. They’re very precious, but I don’t know that they can be grown in England.” Mr. Lowick held his satchel in one hand and scratched his head with the other.
The sigh that drug its way out of Trent’s chest sounded painful. As if he knew he were about to say something he would later regret.
“The Dutch.” Trent stopped and cleared his throat. “The Dutch have come up with a method for growing them in greenhouses. I sketched out a few modifications to make it more efficient, but I hadn’t planned on doing anything with it.”
“And it involves horse, er, byproduct?”
“Yes.” Trent nodded, his lips pressed tight and his eyes sad as he fought some inner battle. Adelaide couldn’t believe she’d done this to him. After all of her intentions, all her plans to be the best wife she could possibly be, she’d gone and done this. Exposed something he’d never meant to show anyone. Though her limited knowledge recognized the plans were well thought out and rather remarkable, he obviously thought they weren’t and had meant them to remain private.
When nothing more was said, Mr. Lowick finally cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll be off, then. I’m staying at the Clarendon if you need me, my lord.”
“Of course, Mr. Lowick.” Trent nodded and pulled Adelaide away from the door with a gentle hand on her arm. Even in his anger he still treated her gently. Adelaide’s admiration for the man grew.
If only she hadn’t wrecked whatever remained of his admiration for her.
They stood there, waiting in silence until they could no longer hear the manager’s footsteps.
Then they waited a few moments more. Adelaide wasn’t about to be the one to break the silence. She didn’t know what Trent was thinking or what she should do, so she fell back on the habits of childhood and waited.
When Adelaide was twelve she’d worked for months to learn how to scoop an uprooted shrub from the ground as she rode by, the way she saw them do in one of the trick-rider shows that had come through the village. Of course, that rider had picked up a handkerchief, but he’d been male, considerably taller than Adelaide, and able to ride astride. She decided picking up a tangle of branches was enough of a feat for her to master.
She’d shown no one, though, afraid they would laugh at the amount of time she’d spent on such a ridiculous feat. Her brother had seen her practicing one day and brought her father out to see the spectacle. He’d beamed at her and shown all his friends who came to the house until she turned thirteen. After that he deemed it unseemly to show off such tricks to his friends, but Adelaide never forgot how much he’d encouraged her for those few months.
“You’ve known about the pineapples for a while, I gather.” Trent’s voice was quiet, and he looked tired, as if all the righteous anger had slid through him, leaving him drained and exhausted.
Adelaide blinked, trying to reconcile the man in front of her with the vibrant, athletic man she normally saw, but she couldn’t do it. Everyone had secrets, and it seemed she’d somehow stumbled onto Trent’s, but she didn’t know what it meant or why. Why would such a confident man be unwilling to share such innovative ideas? Was it possible that when it came to things of the mind he doubted his abilities in ways he didn’t when it involved physical exertion? “Yes. Since, well, a long while.”
He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly between pressed lips. “I’m going for a walk.” His gaze found hers, and her heart broke over the torturous look in his eyes. “I need to walk when I’m upset. It isn’t you. I want you to know that. We’ll talk later.”
“Are we still going to the Bellingham ball tonight?” Adelaide wanted to go to him, wrap her arms around him, and offer comfort for a wound she still couldn’t identify. But she knew that it hurt, and that knowledge was enough for her to want to make it better.
“Yes. I . . . Yes. We’re still going. If you want to.”
Adelaide nodded, not sure what to do but trying to trust him when he said they would talk later.
Trent looked at her, and already she could see him pushing the sadness down to wherever he normally stored it. The light was coming back to his eyes and the anger was nowhere to be seen. But it wasn’t enough to erase her memory of his earlier emotion.
“It’s just a walk to clear my head. I’ll be back.” He came forward and tipped one knuckle under her chin, forcing her to look into the green eyes she found herself avoiding. “We’re going to make this work, you and I. In time, we’ll learn how to rub along well.” He brushed a light kiss over her lips and walked out the door.
Leaving her alone in his study. After what he’d just learned, how could he trust her?
Her eyes drifted to the bottom drawer of the desk, where the pineapple papers probably still resided. It would be so easy. She could get them now, send them to Mr. Lowick at the Clarendon. She could play the role her brother had played for her all those years ago.
Indecision glued her feet to the wool rug. While the revelation of her horse riding escapades had ended well, the initial feeling of betrayal had driven a wedge between her and her brother for a while. She’d forgiven him, of course, and until now she never thought of the bad part of the story when she looked back and remembered.
Her familial relationship had weathered the betrayal without any lasting damage.
But would her marriage? Trent had promised they’d talk later, that they’d learn how to rub along well together, which was all she’d ever thought she’d get in a marriage. So why was she suffering disappointment that she was going to get what she’d expected?
The walls of the house seemed to press in until she couldn’t stand them anymore. So she did the one thing she’d planned on putting off for as long as possible.
She went to visit her mother.