Page 16 of Surrender Your Grace
As the footman bowed and departed, Andrew explained, “It’s a sweet white wine. I believe it will suit your palate.”
Perhaps he wasn’t as stuffy and strict as she’d feared after all. “Might I sample a brandy after dinner? I’ve heard it’s quite the thing with peaches or berries.”
“Let’s not get too eager,” he chuckled. “I don’t have my favored brandy here, only cognac, which is far too potent for you. We’ll explore your tastes in time—but no more than two glasses a night. We wouldn’t want to put your papa’s theories on female drunkenness to the test.”
Though his tone was teasing, she didn’t doubt she’d just been handed another rule. Soon, she’d need paper and pen to write them all down, to keep track. Maybe in a few years she could write a guidebook.
As they strolled down the hall, potential titles popped into her head:101 Rules for a Proper Viscount’s WifeorMarrying an Imperious English Lord: Straighten Up or Get Walloped.
She giggled at both. They’d fly off the shelves at Hatchard’s in Piccadilly.
“What’s amusing?” he asked, seating her at one end of the still-daunting informal table.
She blushed, caught in a moment of absurdity, and quickly created a half-truth. “I was imagining Papa’s reaction if he saw me exploring wines and spirits. He’d be appalled and might snatch me back home before you properly corrupt me.”
“It’s far too late for that.” He leaned in to murmur in her ear after seating her, “I spirited you out of London, and, after tonight, you’ll be compromised inactuality.”
Her eyes darted to the staff poised to serve, and her cheeks flamed anew. He said the most scandalous things.
Andrew settled into his seat at the head of the table and said in a more conversational tone. “You’re free to make whatever changes you wish—it’s your home now. But speak with Higgins or Mrs. Weatherford before rearranging any staff. Things run smoothly, and I prefer to keep it so.”
Higgins stood discreetly in the doorway; Mrs. Weatherford, no doubt, worked invisibly behind the scenes. Cici doubted she’d make many changes, but replied dutifully, “Yes, my lord husband.”
***
His bride’s overly polite response brought Andrew’s head up. Was she testing the boundaries he’d set? With the footman and Higgins present, the use of his title didn’t violate his rule, per se, but he had to wonder why she’d reverted to formality again.
He’d surprised her by teasing, even winking—not as stodgy as she apparently thought—but her youth and his dealings with her manipulative sister made him cautious. There was also his late father’s oft-repeated advice to consider:start as you mean to go on.His frank talk about his rules from the outset had certainly done that, but it would set them on the right path.
Andrew studied his new wife closely. Although not of the current fashion like her sister, she was really quite lovely. A flush from the day’s introductions still lingered on her cheeks, her eyes glinted with youthful curiosity, and her hair gleamed as though burnished in the candlelight, taking on a life of its own.
Despite the circumstances surrounding their first meeting, he was grateful fate had brought this delightful imp into his life rather than the shrew he would otherwise have been stuck with. He would have to tread carefully in their budding relationship.While exerting his dominion over her, he didn’t want to quash her spirit or joy for life. His goal was to help her blossom in her new role as his viscountess—all the while submitting to her lord husband’s authority—and, in the bedroom, to discover joy not only in being pleased, but pleasing him in return.
He hadn’t realized he’d been staring until he saw the tilt of her head and the inquisitive look in her eyes—the lovely green shade not quite jade, nor as dark as forest. He shook his head, introducing a more appropriate mealtime topic.
“Do you ride?”
“Yes, but not often. Papa doesn’t keep a full stable in town.”
“Ours here at Arendale are extensive. I have the perfect mare in mind for you. Tomorrow, we’ll tour the property, and the two of you can get acquainted.”
Her smile was genuine and captivating. “I’ll look forward to it, my lord.”
There was his damn title again. He much preferred his name in her sweet, soft voice. Perhaps another rule was in order? Deciding to let it pass—for now—he introduced another new topic.
“Tell me how you and Maggie met. You’ve become fast friends in a short time.”
“We met at the Presentation Day reception. I’m relieved never to have to endure that spectacle again.”
“There is a lot of pomp and circumstance,” he agreed. “But don’t most young ladies look forward to their debut?”
“Under the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes, detecting every flaw and watching for the slightest misstep? And that’s before the debutante ever reaches the queen to make her curtsy.” She shuddered as though chilled. “No, thank you. Oh, but I do so enjoy the season’s events, from the concerts to the theatre to the literary readings, touring the loveliest gardens, and, if one gets overheated, enjoying an ice at Gunter’s.”
“You failed to mention the balls and soirees?”
“No, I didn’t,” she deadpanned, wrinkling her nose.
Her reaction mirrored his aversion to what the ton deemed the season’s pinnacle events, which were less about the music and dancing, and more about showing off one’s wealth and competing for dowries, estates, and titles. He often felt like a prize stallion paraded before the matchmaking mamas. Now that the stud was off the market, at least that torture was behind him.
