Page 107 of Better Love Next Time
“Do you agree with the ownership scheme?” she asked him.
By her leading tone, she wanted him to agree. “I would ask why.”
“The men require incentives.”
“And a wage and Christmas reward are not enough.”
Their gazes met across the coach as the coach halted and rocked back and forth. A flash of anger heated her eyes. She covered it with a tight-lipped smile. “Oh, Julian, come. You must see our home.”
Our home? The association jolted him from his seat and outside. He gripped her small waist, his fingers nearly touching, her breasts skimming his chest as he lifted her down. He steppedaway as his body reacted, and when her cheeks flushed a pretty pink, his reaction grew.
She walked away, a slim line of relentless black. The ground floor sprawled wider than the floors above. There were a wealth of chimneys. Tall, reaching trees framed the lodge from behind.
Julian admired the three-storied entry hall and coved ceiling.
After conferring with a maid, Kitty turned her attention back to him. “I have asked for an early dinner. It will be served within the hour.”
She opened the double doors to a drawing room, cozy in hues of red and gold with lush carpets. He wondered how his wife felt about the stag antlers gracing the huge fireplace.
She led him through the ground floor. The dining room that would seat twenty. The conservatory with the bank of windows which she planned to fill with greenery and flowers. Another drawing room along the outer hall. And a small library where Miss Dixley looked up from her embroidery.
“Mr. St. Clair,” she said coolly, as if imagining every sin he had not committed in London, “welcome home.”
“Miss Dixley.” He nodded, refusing to feel guilty for doing nothing.
He followed Kitty up the stairs, studying the sway of her hips, generously proportioned under her widow’s gown. He was going to try again. He would lay her down gently and appreciate her. He would go slow.
She came to a door and announced the room as his. In the chamber with fresh paint and a sweeping river view framed by golden drapery, he felt his remorse grow tenfold. Why hadn’t he bought her a home instead of spending two years on the Continent? He might have made a go of their marriage straightaway instead of seeking revenge on her for what she had done. She had lied to him so that he could be free. He had punished her for it.
“Do you like it?” she asked.
“I do.”
“I had your belongings brought from the Dolphin,” she said, showing him to his dressing room. “I hope I was not presumptuous. And there is a room for a valet, if you choose to hire one.”
“I suppose I must,” he said, studying her carefully. There were dark smudges beneath her eyes. She had lost weight. He opened a drawer at a dressing table and saw the bottle of cherry perfume. He handed her the bottle and shut the drawer, the sound of wood on wood a hard slap in the silence.
“I bought this for you. Years ago.” He bit back bitter words, that he had returned the same day of its purchase to find her goodbye letter. “And where is your room?”
Regarding the bottle wide-eyed, she pocketed it and led him to the bedroom next to his. Miss Dixley’s room. Bloody wonderful.
She displayed four more rooms with girlish enthusiasm, skipping the fifth and arriving at the last. The airy room, done in pink and white, was as far as she could get from his.
Would Kitty be happy with Notfelle? It was three days from Southampton. They couldn’t live there permanently, but they could spend winters there and a month here and there in the spring and summer. Had he misjudged her desire for him to stay?
“There are four more bedrooms above and twenty-five acres in all,” she said. “An orchard, kitchen, and flower gardens. Servant offices and ample cellarage. A coach house and stables. Even a smallish dairy farm.”
“Our saddle horses should arrive by this evening,” he said. “We can continue our tour in the morning on horseback if you like.”
“Oh, yes. It’s been ages since I’ve ridden.” She nodded eagerly, but her eyes were dull.
She suspected he had been with another woman. She was, maybe, not cold but being brave about it. He needed to rectify her misconceptions but how?See here, Kitty, I’ve been celibate as a monk. I had ample opportunity but…
No. Approaching the subject would reek of guilt. He would have to find a way to get her to ask him.
“What of the room you skipped over?” he asked.
She trod to the window and pointed to a clapboard outbuilding. “There is the dairy farm. You know I’ve always loved cows.”
