Page 41 of Not his Marchioness
Which, to be quite fair, was the truth. They hardly knew a thing about one another.
He was therefore all the happier that he’d asked Ferris to report any news of her endeavors. Thus, he’d been able to step in and say all the right things. Charlotte, he’d noted, had looked somewhat anxious the entire time, and he could only imagine that the three ladies had been keeping her on her toes.
Seeing the usually sharp young woman diminished had unlocked something—a desire to shield her from scrutiny, gossip, and harm. He had even likened her to his late motherwithout forethought, a comparison that—though surprising—was, upon reflection, apt.
“I don’t wonder where my wife’s interest in education comes from,” he remarked now as Ferris straightened his cuff.
The valet looked up, taken aback by the sudden resumption in conversation. “Her sister, I am certain. The Duchess is very involved with the climbing boys.”
“I suppose such charitable inclinations run in the family.”
“Indeed. And it seems the reformist ladies will be more inclined to assist her. Will that pose a problem for you?”
Rhys considered. “Woodhaven and Rosslyn will not like my wife keeping company with their rivals, but it seems their wives have proposed it themselves. It is a minefield.”
A deafening clap of thunder cut him short. He turned to the window just in time to see a jagged fork of lightning split the sky.
It had rained most of the afternoon, but this was another matter entirely. Outside, pedestrians dashed for cover, skirts and coats plastered to their bodies. A woman screamed when lightning flashed again. A carriage halted as its horses reared in panic.
“I doubt it is wise to go out, My Lord,” Ferris cautioned.
“As do I. Though truth be told, I questioned the wisdom of the venture even before the storm.”
Just then, a carriage door swung open, and a man leapt into the downpour, splashing through puddles toward the house. A whiff of smoke reached Rhys—perhaps a struck chimney, perhaps nothing more than a neighbor’s overzealous fire.
The man pounded on the front door, vanished inside, and a moment later, the butler appeared on the stairs. “A message from Lord Woodhaven.”
Rhys took the letter and broke the seal. “Cancelled, due to the weather.” Relief settled over him like a cloak. “Have you seen my wife?”
“I have not,” Ferris replied.
Croft, the butler, cleared his throat. “She went to the library to wait for you. I believe she is still there.”
“Thank you, Croft.”
The so-called library was, in truth, a former guest chamber Rhys had filled with books after turning the actual library into a wardrobe for his extensive collection of coats, hats, canes, and shoes. One could not hope to be ranked among the pinkest of the pink without a wardrobe to match.
“Lady Ravenscar?” he called as he entered.
On occasion, he used her title in what he fancied a playful fashion.
She did not react. Seated at the desk by the window, head bent to her reading, a few curls had escaped her half-updo, grazing her shoulder blades. His hand twitched, remembering the feel of her skin when he’d touched her only days ago.
That, too, had been troubling him—how easily his thoughts strayed to her scent of vanilla and orange, to the memory of touching her.
He couldn’t deny his wife’s beauty, or that he sometimes allowed his thoughts to drift to more unsavory territory when he lay awake at night.
You must stop with this tomfoolery.
Whenever such thoughts overtook him, he reminded himself of their agreement—to improve one another’s standing in Society. She was there to improve his reputation. Allowing himself to think otherwise would only invite complications.
Besides, he did not like thinking of her as a conquest. She was more than that. She was… different.
He crossed to the shelves, rapping a knuckle against the wood. She looked up then, lightning illuminating one side of her face in cold blue while the fire cast the other in warm gold.
For a moment, she looked like two women in one: the sharp-tongued, cynical wife who had married him for convenience, and the gentle, kind-hearted lady who cared for the education of those less fortunate.
“Our evening has been cancelled. It seems the Woodhavens did not like the idea of their guests getting struck down by lightning on the way,” he announced.
