Merryn made quick strides through the Feather’s entry. With an effort, he forced his expression to relax lest he startle Wynne’s serving girl with his frown. His success at this must have been marginal, though, as Peggy took a hasty step back at the sight of him.

“Sir?”

“Your guest,” he said. “Miss Pearce—is she about?”

Peggy’s face cleared. “Oh, aye. Miss Pearce be one of the comeliest ladies us ’ave ever served at the Feather. And proper kind, too. She give us a coin jus’ fer givin’ ’er fork an extra polish.”

Merryn prompted her with an impatient lift of his brows.

Peggy swallowed. “Aye, then. Her’ll be in the private parlor with her companion.”

The door to the parlor was closed, and Merryn rapped upon it. His wife bade him to enter, and her eyes widened at the sight of him. She recovered quickly from her surprise and gave the corner of her mouth a delicate tap with her napkin.

“Merryn.”

Miss Denning, astute female that she was, jumped up from her place at the table. “I’ve just recalled something I left in my room,” she murmured.

Merryn nodded as she passed him and pressed the door closed behind her.

“You’ve frightened my companion off, and now her dinner will grow cold.”

“I suspect Miss Denning left out of an abundance of good sense rather than fright. She’s always had more of that commodity than either you or I could claim.” Indeed, it had been Miss Denning who’d initially opposed the notion of them marrying. Would that he had heeded her concerns.

He removed his hat and hung it on a hook near the door. His wife sat straight in her chair, hands folded one over the other. She was the very picture of poised elegance, though the occasional tap of her forefinger against her hand belied her uncertainty.

“What have I done to put such a frown upon your countenance?” she said as she reached for her wine.

“You are my anonymous investor,” he said. He tried to keep the accusatory tone from his voice, but it was there nonetheless.

“Ah,” she replied, lowering her glass and setting it carefully on the table.

He was pleased and a little surprised that she didn’t deny it or pretend confusion. “Why the secrecy?” he asked.

“Will you sit?”

“I prefer to stand.”

“Yes, well, my neck grows stiff from looking up at you.”

A growl rose in his throat before he checked it. His demeanor was generally a steady one, but a mere glance from his wife turned him into an impolite, mannerless boor.

Before their marriage, they’d enjoyed one another’s company. They’d engaged in flirtation and courteous discourse. He never would have growled. But that was before he allowed his hopes to get away from him. He had only himself to blame.

He forced himself to calm and pulled a chair from the table. Sitting across from her, he steepled his hands on his lap.

“Thank you,” she said with a regal nod.

“Now, why did you keep your investment in my project a secret?” he repeated.

“Would you have accepted it, had you known the source?”

“No,” he said without hesitation.

She responded with a wry look.

“You ought not to have done it,” he said.

“Because I am a female?”

“I would be happy to have a lady investor,” he replied, “but you are not a lady. You are my wife.” The slight narrowing of her eyes suggested he may have misspoken.

“And you, husband, are quite rigid in your thinking.”

He ignored the accusation. There was probably some truth to her statement, but he’d examine it later. For now, he asked the question that was at the front of his mind. It was what had sent him down from Oak Hill in such haste. “But why would you have invested at all—anonymous or otherwise? We’ve long since settled our arrangement. You owe me nothing more.”

She eyed him across the table as if she weighed her words carefully. Finally, she said, “I expect your improvements will yield a respectable return.”

He blinked. The answer was very like her, practical and unclouded with sentiment, but he was nearly certain that was not what she had meant to say. He found himself searching her expression for something more, though what exactly, he didn’t know.

“A respectable return,” he repeated slowly.

“Yes. I maintain investments for other women—maids and governesses, mostly. Your improvements to the harbor and the roads—they’re sound investments.” She studied her hands in her lap before bringing her gaze back to him. “I have not forgotten your plans for Newford.”

Merryn recalled all too well the occasion when he’d confided those plans. It had been their wedding night. He and Rebecca had retired to separate rooms, both honoring the terms of their arrangement, but neither had found sleep. He’d gone to her uncle’s library for something to read, only to find his new wife already there in a demure dressing gown, her copper-threaded hair unbound and falling over her shoulders as she stared into the hearth.

“You’re unable to sleep as well,” he said quietly.

She turned from the fire to look at him, her hands wrapped around a cup that no longer steamed. “Are you having second thoughts?” she asked in a soft voice.

“No. Are you?”

She shook her head then added with an unexpected vulnerability, “Though I confess, being married feels different from what I expected.”

“Our marriage is not the usual sort,” he said.

“No.”

Her shoulders were slightly rounded, perhaps with weariness or grief for her uncle. The last days had not been easy for her, and now she found herself unexpectedly wed to a man she barely knew.

“I looked in on your uncle,” he offered. “He sleeps peacefully.”

She nodded. “I cannot think it will be long.” 

He held out a hand to her, and to his surprise she took it. “Tell me more of him,” he said.

He moved them to the settee before the fire, where the quiet wrapped about them. They passed their wedding night trading stories. She spoke of her uncle—of his generosity in taking her in and the lessons she’d learned under his roof. He told her of his own family back in Cornwall.

Gradually, the conversation widened to their hopes and plans for the future. She meant to join her aunt in France now that travel there was possible again. He confessed his uncertainties for his late father’s building firm, and his hopes for Newford—that its harbor might be strengthened, its streets improved, and its people given steady work that relied not on the whims of weather or fish.

By the time dawn began to break over London, she’d laid her head on his shoulder. And when the light began to come round the curtains, he shifted. For a moment, her eyes fluttered closed and her lips parted in expectation… until she pulled back from him, murmuring something about the lateness of the hour.

“Or the earliness,” she laughed.

He’d married her with a thought to persuade her to return with him to Cornwall. But he’d heard the certainty in her voice that night—her course was set, and to ask her to abandon it would be unconscionable. That they’d always meant to part ways hadn’t made a difference to his heart, which had foolishly begun to hope for more.

By the morning, her uncle had passed, and in a few short days, Rebecca was gone.

Nothing about her manner now suggested she thought of that night as often as he did. She said only, “I fear my cousin threatens both of our investments.”

Merryn shifted. His wife’s words, for all their gentleness, struck him. In learning of her investment in his project, he’d thought only of what it meant for him. Indeed, since Rebecca had come to Newford, he’d given little thought to what she might lose in all of this.

He still did not think her cousin had solid ground from which to contest their marriage, but he’d learned something of his wife through five years of letters. She thrived on her independence. If she thought she might soon lose it, she must be terrified. He sobered to think what an unfeeling man he’d become.

He leaned forward until he could catch her gaze with his. “Your cousin won’t prevail,” he promised.

Her surprise at this earnest declaration was unflattering, to say the least. But it was soon gone, replaced with a smile that caused warmth to pool in his stomach. “Thank you.”

“Now,” he said briskly as he stood, “d’you have everything you need at the Feather? Is there anything I can do for you and Miss Denning? D’you need more servants?” Guilt pinched at him anew for keeping his wife at the inn, but he’d do whatever he could to ensure her comfort.

“We’ve found our rooms at the inn pleasing, and your cousin’s hospitality is exceptional,” she said, though there was a bit of hesitation in her tone.

“But?”

“But there is one thing. I wonder if I might impose upon you for an escort.”

“Of course,” he said. “To where am I escorting you?”

“To see your project.”

Merryn stilled. He’d thought she might desire an escort to the post office or to see the pretty cliffs at Copper Cove, perhaps. A construction project was no place for a lady. And such an outing was no quick errand. It would require them to spend hours in one another’s company—

“I am an investor, after all,” she reminded him. “Moreover, I’ve taken an interest in the rebuilding works in Paris—the bridges and arcades, the restoration projects. One learns a great deal by observing such endeavors. It is not as if I lack knowledge of these things.”

He cleared his expression. She had the right of it. Though he couldn’t like it, she was an investor—one of his project’s largest.

He took his hat down from its hook, resigned. “Tomorrow, then,” he said. “We will begin at sunrise.”

If she was surprised by such an early hour, she didn’t allow it to show.

***

Coming April 1 to eBook, paperback and Kindle Unlimited.

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