She laughed. “You may not find marriage easy.” She reached up to push back his hair from his forehead. “You have been too long pleasing yourself. And you have become set in your ways.”
“Mama!” He raised his eyebrows. “You are finding fault with me?”
“I adore you, Charles. And your brother. But I’m not blind to the faults of either of my sons. Jason is too impulsive, while you are too reticent.”
“Reticent? Are you suggesting I’m a dull dog?”
“No! It is not your nature, darling. Life has made you so.”
“Life does tend to shape us.” It wouldn’t serve either his mother or himself to go into the reasons.
“Not irrevocably. Talk to your fiancée, try to understand her.”
“I intend to.” But he had no intention of revealing how difficult he found it.
“Good.” She lay back on the pillows. “Now go and spend your day with her. Enjoy yourself. You work too hard. You have an efficient staff to take care of much of it. I don’t know why you don’t put them to work.”
“I am constantly aware that I demand too much from them.”
“Nonsense. They are extremely well paid.”
“Perhaps I am like you and wish to remain in control.”
She smiled. “Impudent boy! Go! I shall see you at dinner.”
He tamped down his unease about his mother’s health as he quit her room.
*
In the late morning, he and Nellie set out on horseback. The early mist had cleared away, promising a pleasant spring day. They rode their horses along a lane through woodland and meadows, while she asked him about his tenants.
He was pleased by her interest, interjecting at intervals with insightful questions. “I’ve chosen a nice spot for our picnic, which overlooks the river.”
His footman waited on the wide patch of grass. An umbrella shaded a blanket and cushions, a large wicker hamper sat beside it.
“Well done, John.”
“Oh, this is perfect, Charles,” Nellie said.
“Then I have chosen well.” He lifted her down from the sidesaddle, set her on her feet, and turned away to see to the horses.
A cacophony of noises rose up from water birds and ducks grubbing among the reeds. The breeze brought the smells of water and mud.
Nellie sat on a cushion and arranged her habit around her legs, while John poured them glasses of chilled champagne. Plates, napkins, and silverware were placed on a small table.
“You may leave us, John,” Charles said. “We will serve ourselves.”
“Picnics at home are usually sandwiches and a bottle of lemonade,” Nellie said.
“Would you have preferred it?”
“To this magnificent feast? Heavens, no.” She smiled at him. “And your company, of course.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “And which is of greater import? My company or the food?”
She laughed. “Your company, of course. But I confess to being hungry after our ride.”
“Then I must feed you.”
“Thank you. This is very grand. It lacks nothing but music.”
“An oversight,” he said, coming to sit down. “I should have had a fiddler accompany us.”
“Oh, yes. If music be the food of love, play on.”
She lowered her head and busied herself rearranging the items on the table.
He had not missed the shadow in her eyes. What the devil? Had she come to accept the terms of their marriage? He was aware of her penchant for poetry and poets and was equally aware that he didn’t particularly share it, preferring to read books, which offered clear, rational thought. But their union suited him, especially as he found Nellie extremely desirable. She might feel differently, however. Had there been another man in the picture before they met? The Irish poet, who he imagined would have shared her interest? It stood to reason a lovely woman like Nellie would have attracted many men. While he didn’t expect or want her love, nor did he want his wife mooning over some other fellow from her past.
He held up his glass. “To our future together.”
“Our future, Charles.” She evaded his gaze as she leaned close to clink her glass against his. “Now, what have we here?” On her knees, she examined the array of dishes John had removed from the hamper. “Oh, my goodness. If I sample every dish, I shan’t be able to get back on my horse. But I cannot resist game pie. Your chef makes superb pastry.”
He watched as she busied herself with their plates. She’d been more relaxed with him yesterday. Couldn’t be the foxhunting. He’d made that clear, hadn’t he? But he’d attempted to discover what went on in Nellie’s head before and failed miserably. He wouldn’t ask again. She probably wouldn’t tell him. Uncomplicated women tended to bore him in the past, but at this moment, he wished Nellie were a little easier to understand.
He decided to find a safe subject before he spoiled the day, trying again to dig into her thoughts. “Do you approve of Belle?”
“I do.” She glanced at the mare tugging at the grass beside Thor. “She is quite spirited and light on her feet.” Her lips twitched. “I would like a chance to beat you again, should we race.”
He laughed.
“You doubt I could?” She gazed at him, eyelids half lowered. A slight smile played on her lips, and for a minute, he was privy to what she so often hid from him. That which he’d begun to look for and hope to see. So sensual, he caught his breath. “Shall I serve?”
“Please do.” He watched as she busied herself, deftly filling their plates with deviled eggs, a slice of game pie still warm enough to spice the air, a leg of cold chicken, salmon, and salad. She placed a basket of warm bread and a selection of cheeses on the table.
“I shall resist your chef’s elaborate dessert.” She handed him a plate. “I have been measured for my wedding gown. It would be disastrous if it required altering.”
The mention of their wedding brought a pause to the conversation.
