Page 59 of Why Do Earls Fall in Love?
The thought sobered him as he approached his rooms now. It was a sad fact that a tolerant glance in the other direction was one of the few kindnesses that stood out in his childhood. He wasn’t accustomed to thoughtful gestures, kind notes or small gifts. He’d always been the one to shield, to protect, to provide refuge. Never had someone listened to him so closely or showed such thoughtful kindness.
Until now.
Perversely, it made him uncomfortable. It hadn’t ended well when he’d tried to look out for others. Nor would it do to become used to such things. Like the wooing his father had used to trick his mother, or like the romance that once consumed his brother—it wouldn’t last.
He reminded himself of that truth as he approached his door—and he was both vindicated and disappointed to be right. The room was dark and empty. Devoid of any notes or tokens. Crossing to the connecting door, he eased it open and peeked through. Charlotte’s room also sat dark and empty. Devoid of life and wife.
He set the package he’d bought on her bed. He must proceed carefully, if he meant to avoid the pitfalls and failures he’d encountered before. Forcing himself to leave it, he turned his back and returned to his own room.
Chapman must have heard his step in the corridor, for he came bustling in, talking of a bath and supper. Whiddon allowed him to fuss and told himself that he’d always been content with his valet’s brand of caretaking. And so he would remain. He was just finishing up a meal of cold chicken and crusty bread when something caught his attention.
Laughter?
Straightening, he looked to Chapman.
“I believe that the countess meant to return early from her evening out. She asked that a tea tray be ready for her and her friends.”
Before he could formulate a conscious thought, Whiddon was on his feet and heading for the door, drawn by the lilting sound of happy chatter.
He noted the changes as he went down. The passageway was well lit, and the floors gleamed with polish. The rich wood of the stairs shone.
The parlor was alive with light and laughter. Whiddon paused on the threshold, caught by the sight of his wife. She was smiling—and she was stunning.
Was he a genius or a fool? Likely both. But he could only marvel that the men of the ton had failed to truly see her.
She sat between her friends, a wash of pink excitement in her face and a gleam of happiness emanating from her whole person. She wore a simple, sky blue gown with a band of dark blue beneath her curvaceous bosom and patterned dark trim at the neck and sleeves.
His gaze was drawn to her glowing curls, drawn high to the back of her head. He’d seen her hair curling down the front of her, caressing her breast. Now he suffered the sudden fantasy of pulling out one pin after another, until that golden river flowed over her bare shoulders. Down her naked back.
“Oh! Good evening, Gabriel.” Catching sight of him in the doorway, she sparkled and beckoned him in.
Nodding, he stepped in and responded to the chorus of greetings directed his way.
“Won’t you join us?” Charlotte gestured at the furniture in the room. “There is plenty of seating now. I found the entire set upstairs. It matched the color on the walls so well that I could only suspect it was meant to be in here.”
He looked around. “It wasn’t here all along?”
All three ladies tittered.
“No, there were several mismatched pieces in here, but I took them out and had these moved in.”
“You must be right, Charlotte.” Penelope was looking around the room. The light and blue stripes in the furniture exactly match the colors in the wallpaper.”
“And the shades on the lamps,” Julia added.
“Do come in, Gabriel,” his wife urged. “I promise we will speak no more of furniture. I will tell you, though, that my siblings have sent you a letter and a couple of simple gifts to welcome you to the family.”
He blinked. “Have they?”
“How sweet,” Penelope said. He felt the weight of her gaze upon him. He ignored her. She saw too much. “What did they send?”
“Oh, nothing earth shattering,” Charlotte said, coloring a little as she met his gaze. “Anne has sent you a poem she’s translated from the original German, and George has written to say he heard you are a great gun and thought you might like the sketch he has made of the squire’s prized hunting hound.”
The thought dazed him a little. “How thoughtful of them.” A trait they’d learned from their elder sister, no doubt.
“It’s good to know that they are happy about your marriage,” Julia said thoughtfully. “I don’t think we can say the same about your cousin, Charlotte.”
His wife shook her head. “Oh, pay no attention to that one. She’s never happy unless all the attention is on her.”
