Page 82 of The Marquess Method (The Beautiful Barringtons 3)

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“Lady Haven? Where would you like the table?”

Theo turned to Rolfe and pointed to a spot just to the left of the window. “There, I think.” The delivery of the furniture yesterday was the final piece of her renovation of the drawing room. She’d spent most of the morning with her stalwart butler moving about tables, settees, sofas, and chairs until they met her vision. Drawing rooms were meant to be grand, but Greenbriar’s would also be cozy. Warm. Welcoming.

“’Tis beautiful, my lady.” Rolfe, still holding the small table with delicately carved legs, turned in a circle to admire her work. “The midnight sky. The constellations. You are a true artist, if I may say so.”

“You may, Rolfe.”

Theo was immensely pleased with the look of the drawing room. Haven and Jacinda had been sternly warned away, and no one had been permitted entry until she was finished. The staff had been kept out by Rolfe, who was the only other person to have seen Theo’s final touches. Only the sideboard remained empty. Erasmus had made off with the brandy the moment it had arrived. She’d had Rolfe lock the remainder of the spirits away.

After gently telling Haven about the theft of Jacinda’s books and her miniatures, Haven had gone to confront his uncle yesterday, so furious, Theo had been concerned for Erasmus’s safety. So Theo had followed, reminding her husband that Erasmus was a harmless sot.

His uncle had cringed at the sight of Haven, falling to the floor and scuttling away from his nephew like a terrified crab.

Theo had watched from her place by the door, determined to ensure that Haven didn’t unintentionally harm his uncle. She pitied Erasmus. He unsettled her, but she didn’t wish him hurt.

“My patience is at an end,” Haven had said after berating his uncle over the theft. He’d turned away, shaking his head as he headed in Theo’s direction.

“As it turns out, so is mine.” Erasmus had stiffened, bleary eyes focused for once, and full of loathing. “Don’t think, Ambrose,” he had said in a hushed, smug tone, “that I don’t know what you’ve done.” Erasmus turned his head slightly, catching sight of Theo, who watched him from the door, and smiled—a thin, gruesome thinning of the lips which had made her misgivings about Haven’s uncle seem not so wild after all.

Haven had stopped, turning back to his uncle. “What did you say?”

The hatred in his uncle’s eyes disappeared, replaced with the vacancy Theo had become accustomed to. Erasmus started to sing. He rose and shuffled away, headed in the direction of the tree where Theo knew a bottle of brandy probably awaited him.

“Haven.” Theo had taken his arm, meaning to finally tell him that...well, there was something not right with Erasmus. Something beyond the obvious.

He’d shaken her off, a grim look on his face, before disappearing for the remainder of the day, only returning after she’d already gone to bed. Theo had awoken with the press of Haven’s tongue between her legs before he’d taken her with an intensity that had frightened her. It hadn’t seemed the right time to speak of Erasmus.

“Lady Haven?” Rolfe interrupted her musings with a nod to the position of the table. “Here?”

Theo turned her head, taking in the glorious room she’d created. “Perfect.”

Everythingwas perfect, except for the tiny bit of dread which seemed to linger over her. It had formed immediately after Haven’s confrontation with his uncle and refused to leave.

“Should I check to see when Lord Haven is expected?”

Theo nodded to Rolfe, smoothing her skirts. “If you please, Rolfe.”

Haven had gone to the village very early this morning, pausing only to press a kiss on her forehead just as the sun rose. Something about the blasted pigs. He seemed obsessed of late with sows and piglets. He was due back shortly.

Jacinda and Mrs. Henderson had been sent to pick berries and wouldn’t be back for hours.

Betts had dressed Theo in a gown of midnight blue in keeping with the color palette of the drawing room. The neckline was indecent. She wore her hair down, spilling about her shoulders. Spectacles, she left firmly perched on her nose.

The entire room, including herself, was spectacular.

Settling herself on the damask of her new sofa, Theo fluffed her skirts and waited for Haven to arrive. She loved him. If the painting in the drawing room didn’t scream the words loudly enough to him, her seduction of his person would. Rolfe would ensure they were not disturbed.

Her butler, as if on cue, returned to stand before her, a packet of letters clasped in one hand. “Lord Haven approaches.” A tiny smile lingered on his mouth.

Bless Rolfe. He’d had one of the newly hired grooms watching for Haven.

“Thank you, Rolfe. Is there a letter from my mother?” Theo pounded on the cushion to her left. It didn’t look quite as plump as it should. She usually received at least one letter each day; from her mother, Olivia, Maggie, sometimes even Phaedra. Last week, she’d received an exceptionally long missive from Romy detailing her adventures with the Frost Giant in Italy and exclaiming over Theo’s marriage to Haven.

There it was again. The ping in her brain. Italy. Where Haven had been set upon by thieves, and they’d tried to kill him for his purse. A gentleman who lookedimpoverished.

“From the duke.” Rolfe handed her an envelope, bringing her attention back to the moment. “And one for Mr. Stitch from His Grace as well.”

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