ceased speaking to each other. They seldom meet now, and only if it is an event that involves the entire neighborhood.”
“Hmm. I wonder what could have caused such a rift?”
Mrs. Simpson shrugged and shifted on her chair. “The gossips have speculated for years, but no firm truth has ever been revealed. Some say it was a dispute over the property lines, while others contend it was Lord Alderton’s failure to honor a gambling debt.”
Dorothea lifted the heavy porcelain teapot and poured them each a second cup of tea. She remembered the dinner when she had been introduced to the duke and his disdainful remarks about Lord Alderton along with his gleeful delight in hearing the story of Alderton’s embarrassment when his corset strings had snapped during the ball. The reason for it might not been well known, but clearly bad blood between the two families existed. She tucked that piece of information in the back of her mind, theorizing it might come in handy someday.
“I suppose I shall learn how to manage my new husband on my own, but I know I will never master the running of this household without your able, expert assistance.”
There was a sound of jingling keys as Mrs. Simpson leaned forward. Her smile was broad and genuine. “I am happy to serve. I know we shall get on famously together, my lady.”
The footman arrived to clear their tea, and Mrs. Simpson left to attend to her duties. In quick succession, Dorothea reviewed and discarded what she would now do with herself. Writing letters to her sister, or even Lady Meredith, would be torturous, for she had no notion of what to say. A nap might be a good idea, since she had slept so poorly the previous night, but her mind and body were too restless for sleep.
She could not visit the neighbors, since she did not know them, nor pay a call on the vicar or the tenants without her husband accompanying her for the same reason. They had passed a prosperous-looking village on the way from Town yesterday, but Dorothea was not in the mood to shop. Nor did she have any coin on her person, though she imagined any purchases could easily be charged to her husband.
She settled on taking a leisurely stroll of the formal gardens. Only the early spring flowers had fully bloomed, but their fragrance and color were a soothing balm to Dorothea’s mood. She noted with an amused smile that the flowers in one particular bed were the exact yellow shade of her muslin afternoon gown.
It was new, as were nearly all the clothes she had brought with her, a flattering design boasting a low bodice, high waist, and puff sleeves. She especially liked the embroidered detail of tiny leaves in a vibrant shade of green around the neckline and hem. When Dorothea stood in the dressmaker’s shop having the garment fitted, Lady Meredith remarked that Lord Atwood would not be able to take his eyes off her when she was wearing the garment.
Yet that had hardly been the case when he had seen her in it earlier today. Carter had barely noticed the gown, except to imply how quickly he wanted it stripped from her body.
Dorothea turned a corner and there he stood, as if her thoughts had conjured him. He was dressed for riding, the polish on his knee-high leather boots gleaming in the sunshine. Her initial inclination was to turn and run the other way, but that smacked too much of cowardice. Instead, she plunged ahead, though she kept her gaze carefully focused on the gravel pathway.
“Lady Atwood.” He bowed.
“My lord.” She returned the formal greeting, punctuating it with a low, deep curtsy that brought a deep wrinkled frown to Carter’s brow.
For some reason, that pleased her.
“Are you having a pleasant day?” he asked.
“Delightful. And you?”
“I’ve been riding, seeing to the condition of the larger planting fields and talking with some of my tenants.”
She blinked in confusion. “I had no idea you took such an active role in the running of your estate.”
“You never asked,” he shot back.
She refused to take offense at his tone. No matter what, they would speak civilly to each other. “Mrs. Simpson has shown me the entire house, from the attic room to the cellar larder. It was all in first-rate order. I must commend you, my lord, on the dedication and diligence of your staff.”
“Carter,” he said forcefully.
Dorothea creased her forehead, hoping to appear deep in thought. Then she smiled. “And how did you find your lands? In as good repair as the house, I hope?”
One side of his lip twitched. “All is in excellent condition. My staff and tenants take pride in their work.” He lowered his head. “And I do pay them well, too.”
Dorothea grinned, the tension inside her easing at his lighthearted manner. “’Tis a very wise decision. I suggest you continue with the practice. From what I’ve heard, you can easily afford it.”
He gave her a crooked smile in return. “In addition to my tenants, I also happened across a few of our neighbors. I was besieged by no less than five invitations from the local gentry. Everyone is very anxious to meet you.”
Dorothea was surprised. “I thought everyone would be in Town at this time of year.”
“Spending the Season in London is a costly venture, as you know. Only those with daughters to marry or sons looking for adventure or a bride make the journey into Town.”
A few short months ago she was one of those searching females. Was that comment meant to be a jibe at her recent situation? No, she insisted silently, shaking her head. She would not read insult where none was given. Carter was not so petty.
“I would not want to shirk my obligations to the local society by avoiding them completely,” she replied.
“We are newly wed,” he said. “It should not cause great offense if we decline these social invitations.”
“All of them?”
His expression became serious. “Perhaps it would be politic to accept one. Tea with Mrs. Snidely, I think. She is a born gossip who will delight in broadcasting her opinions about you to the neighborhood, along with everything she can learn about us.”
Everything? Dorothea blanched. How amazingly humiliating. But their marital discord would be kept a secret. It was the way of the nobility. Dragging her eyes away from his, she said, “I’ll leave it to your judgment to decide about the invitations.”
“Very good.”
She clasped her hands firmly in front of her. The silence between them hung heavy. Dorothea could see the muscle in his jaw flexing as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. Such a handsome, strong jaw.
“Since Mrs. Simpson has already shown you the house, I could take you on a tour of the estate.” He hesitated. “I assume you ride?”
“Hmm.” The noncommittal answer seemed safest. She did ride, though not very well and generally at a snail’s pace. One glance at her husband’s strong thighs had Dorothea assuming his skill far exceeded hers. He would not be impressed when he saw her on a horse.
“I need to change into my riding habit,” she mentioned, hoping that would put him off the idea. Men hated to be kept waiting while a woman changed her clothing.
“I’ll meet you in the stables when you are ready,” he answered. “I need time to consult with my stable master on which mount will be yours when we are in residence.”
Neatly trapped, Dorothea had no choice but to agree. She took as long a time as she dared to change, then presented herself at the stables. The pleasant scent of horses and leather surrounded her the moment she entered. Not surprisingly, the stables were kept in pristine condition. Carter introduced her to Jack Kenny, the stable master. Middle-aged, with a trim build and a weather-beaten complexion, he was a short man who smiled often.
At his command, one of the younger grooms led a horse from the stall to the mounting block. Dorothea’s heart sank. The horse looked enormous. Tall, sleek, and prancing with energy. He seemed the kind of horse that would excel at leading a cavalry charge. She knew without a doubt if she tried riding him, she’d fall on her backside before they left the courtyard.
“What is his name?” she asked the groom as he put a sidesaddle on the horse’s back and began to cinch the straps.
