"And you agreed."
"In theory, perhaps. In practice, no." He paused for a long swallow of the rich wine. "The first action I took upon inheriting the marquessate was freeing all our slaves in Jamaica. I wished the ship carrying the missive strong winds and smooth seas. I couldn't stand the thought of owning men—regardless of the consequences."
She'd known he was a good man. Feeling a tightness in her chest, she reached across the corner of the table to take his hand. "And what have those consequences been?"
"Making a profit has proven difficult," he admitted quietly. "But does it matter? There are more important things than property values and income. My honor and integrity come first." He squeezed her fingers. "A man has to live with himself if he's to sleep at night."
Sleep. She'd wager he hadn't noticed his own reference, but this, she knew, wasn't a man who would murder his uncle. Not even unknowingly in his sleep.
He drew a deep breath and released it, setting down his wineglass. "Are you finished?"
She nodded, wondering why she felt so unsettled. She knew she'd made the right choice in marrying this man. She'd firmly put off any thoughts of the repercussions it would have on her family. And she couldn't be worrying about the evening. Griffin had made what would happen sound very simple and straightforward.
But she found herself unaccountably relieved when Tris stood and asked, "Would you like to see more of the house?"
"That would be lovely," she said with a grateful smile.
As they exited the room, Rex rose with a gigantic yawn. He trotted after them across the great hall, up the stairs, and through the gallery with the open floor. Alexandra resisted pausing to gawk again at the famous paintings. At the other end of the gallery, a door led to a large, square room with gilded paneling on the walls and various chairs and sofas set about.
"The north drawing room," Tris said.
"It's beautiful." She walked over to an exquisite harpsichord, its case inlaid with multicolored woods. Sitting on the petit-point stool, she hit a few keys experimentally. "Johannes Ruckers," she read out loud from where the maker's name was painted above the keyboard.
"Has he a good reputation?" Tris asked from behind her.
"I haven't the slightest idea. This looks very old. I don't expect his company is making instruments anymore."
"Can you play it?"
"Probably." Since the harpsichord was much narrower than a pianoforte, the keyboard was split in two, with one half over the other. She swiveled on the stool to face him. "I shall enjoy trying it, but is there no pianoforte?"
He shook his head. "I'll get one for you."
"There's no need—"
"I want you to be happy here." He raised her to stand and pressed a warm kiss to her lips.
Rex barked. His tail thumped the wooden floor, sounding much like a slap.
"I don't think he likes me kissing you," Tris observed.
"He's jealous. Until now you were all his."
"He's not mine. I told you—"
"That's not what he thinks."
Tris stared hard at the dog, opened his mouth, then shut it. "Well, he's going to have to get used to sharing me. Come see the long gallery."
Rex followed them through another door into a lengthy tunnel of a room. A room that called for quiet. Woven matting on the parquet floor muffled their footsteps. Large paintings in heavy gilt frames were spaced evenly along the dark paneled walls.
Even Rex kept quiet as they walked along slowly, gazing at the pictures. The painters here weren't important; this gallery was all about their subjects. Gentlemen in silks and velvets, ladies in stiff white neck ruffs.
"Some are older than the house," Alexandra observed softly. "Are they family?"
"Nesbitts, one and all."
A few of the names were familiar from inside her ring. Henry and Elizabeth. James and Sarah. She stopped to study a canvas whose brass plaque read WILLIAM AND ANNE. The painting showed that particular Lord Hawkridge standing behind his seated lady, who held a white kitten on her lap. Her blue eyes looked kind, and Alexandra could almost see her graceful fingers stroking the silky, purring cat.
"They look happy," she decided.
The next couple, Randal and Lily, looked happy as well. "1680," she read off the plaque. The man had gray eyes, like Tris's. His hair looked like Tris's, too, but longer, and a huge dog that looked just like Rex sat at his feet. A small child stood at his side, still in skirts so she couldn't tell its gender. The man's hand rested on the shoulder of his pretty, dark-haired lady, who beamed a smile at the baby in her arms.
Alexandra smiled in response. "Everyone here has been happy. I can feel it, can't you? This is a good house. A real home." History and tradition fairly oozed from the walls.
"My uncle wasn't happy," Tris disagreed quietly.
"Not after his family died, of course. But before?"
"He was happy," Tris conceded. Clearly unwilling to promise that they would be happy too, he gave her another kiss, short but heartfelt.
She would swear she heard Rex snort.
"The library is through here," Tris said.
It was a lofty, two-story chamber with dark shelving crammed with important-looking books. Alexandra walked over to pull one out and flip idly through it, the old pages crackling as she turned them.
"You don't want to read now, do you?" Stepping up behind her, Tris bent to kiss the side of her neck.
"Not really." Tingling warmth spread from where his lips met her skin. He reached around her to take the book from her hands and set it on a small table, and she turned in his arms to meet his mouth.
Rex's bark echoed up to the laurel wreath in the center of the high ceiling.
"See why I lock him out of my rooms?" Tris asked with a sigh.
"I hope it's not because you like to kiss women in
