The Complete Regency Surrender Collection. Louise Allen

him. Here she was, fresh, cheerful and inescapable in a muslin gown and starched cap, offering to prepare his plate or help him in any way she could.

      He did not want help. He wanted to be left alone to understand what had happened to him. It was an urge he must learn to ignore. After his brave words in the coach about facing troubles and moving forward, he had taken the first opportunity to escape to his room for a sulk.

      At least, now that he was free of his brother’s home, he would not have to see the ring of happy faces about him, convinced that everything was fine when he was sure it was not. There was only one face before him now. Though it was beautiful, it had the same detached expression it had worn since the first. If they were truly so alike as Adam thought, she should be as angry with him as he was with himself. He had ordered her to bed as though her wants and needs meant nothing at all. She had responded as though she had no feelings to hurt.

      Perhaps she was waiting for the same thing he was: a sudden rush of memory that would explain all. But it seemed she viewed it with the strange dread he did. ‘Are you not going to ask me if I have remembered anything, now that I am home?’ he said, watching her intently as she poured the wine.

      She took a sip from her glass. ‘I expect, if you do remember anything, I will be the first to know. You do not mean to hide the truth from me, do you?’ Her eyes were wide and innocent as though the idea that he might not share all his thoughts had never occurred to her.

      It made him feel like a cad for barking at her. ‘Of course not,’ he said hurriedly. What reason would he have to conceal what he knew? After his talk of annulment, she must think he meant to negate their marriage by feigning ignorance of it. Even if he did not wish for a wife, he would not abandon this one to her ruin, just to avoid a forgotten bad decision.

      He spoke again, in a gentler tone. ‘It is good to be home. I found the attention at Adam’s house to be rather oppressive.’

      ‘It is because they care for you,’ she said. ‘They cannot help but crowd you. Would you not have done the same for your brother, in a similar situation?’

      He thought back for a moment. ‘I suspect I already have. There was a time, a few years back, where Adam had difficulties. I suppose I’ve told you that the scars on my arm came from a fire that he caused?’

      She seemed to consider for a moment, then nodded as though his statement had answered an unasked question.

      Surely he had explained the damaged patch of skin to her on their first night together. She must have noticed it. The smooth red mark stretching from elbow to shoulder was impossible to miss. He was self-conscious about it and quick to offer explanation, so as not to alarm the women he took to his bed. But his own wife was looking at him as though he had said not a word to her on the subject. It was strange.

      But it was just one of many strange things that had happened in the last week. He willed himself to forget it, and began again, cautiously. ‘I wanted to help Adam then and was told on several occasions to go to the Devil. I questioned his wisdom in marrying Penny as well.’

      ‘You disapproved?’ Now Justine’s eyes were round with surprise.

      ‘I was wrong, of course. But that did not stop me from speaking. Tim Colton went through his own dark time, after his first wife died. He is a particular friend of Adam’s, so I did not have to bear the brunt of his moods. But apparently his behaviour was extreme. He also refused the help of his friends.’

      ‘So you are telling me that all men are difficult?’ Justine said, with a slight arch of her eyebrow.

      ‘All men around here, at any rate. Perhaps it is the climate in Wales that leads us to be melancholy and pigheaded.’

      She nodded. ‘Then if you snap and grumble, I shall not blame myself for it.’

      ‘You needn’t. It is my problem, not yours,’ he said. He thought back to his suspicions of the previous day and wondered if that was true. If she was the one keeping secrets, he would be quite justified in blaming her. But to look at her now, fresh and pretty in the afternoon sunlight, it seemed churlish to find fault with her.

      He took a bit of cold salmon and a swallow of wine, and admired her over the rim of his wine glass.

      She was nibbling on a bit of roll and glanced up to catch him staring at her. She put it down and spoke. ‘Now that you are home, what are your plans? I assume that I am not oppressing you by enquiring.’ There was the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth and he wondered if she meant to be amusing.

      It was rather amusing to think of her attention as a heavy burden. She seemed to work at being unobtrusive. Beautiful to look at, but quiet as a ghost, she hovered barely noticed on the fringe of any conversation. When he needed her, she came just close enough to help, then disappeared again, like a sprite. Perhaps that was why he had married her. To find a woman willing to fit herself seamlessly into his life was a rare piece of good fortune.

      She was enquiring after his plans. What were they? Many of the activities he might have favoured were quite beyond him, until he regained his strength. ‘I don’t have any,’ he admitted.

      ‘Then might I trouble you to show me around your home?’ she said. ‘The housekeeper will do it, if you do not wish to. But I suspect it would be more interesting to hear the details of the place from you. It is many hours before you mean to bed me. We must find some way to pass the afternoon.’

      He choked on his next swallow of wine. When he could compose himself to look at her again, there was no sign that she had been laughing. But he was quite sure she had been. It was a promising sign.

      He would enjoy walking the halls of his own home, again. And to show it to one of the few women in England who seemed to appreciate its design. Even Penny, who had few strong opinions about anything outside of her books had proclaimed the place an eyesore and suggested that he tear it down and rebuild from the foundation up.

      Perhaps Adam had been right all along and he had simply married a woman who suited his character. It would be interesting to see if her opinions matched his on the interior. For though the decoration was not the current style, he liked it very well. He might regain some of his strength as they walked from room to room and pause to rest as needed, under the guise of telling her old family stories.

      And why did he suspect that she knew just that and had found a perfect way to preserve his dignity while encouraging him to exercise his wasted legs? ‘A tour sounds like an excellent idea,’ he agreed. ‘Let us finish our meal and we can begin.’ Perhaps if he spent the day with her, he would learn something of her as well.

      * * *

      But, after an afternoon of walking the house, he knew no more about her than when they began. She was an attentive audience and he took pleasure in regaling her with childhood tales about growing up in the old manor. But she offered no similar details of her own youth. It was nearly time to dress for supper and the sum total of his knowledge was no greater than when they had begun. She was beautiful. She was Belgian. She was an orphan. She had impeccable manners and made lace, though he had never seen her wear any. And she was most grateful to be married to him and eager to see to his comfort in all things.

      As they walked, she seemed to sense when he was tiring and took his arm, as though she was too shy to walk alone. When she suspected that they had gone too long without a break, she claimed exhaustion and requested they sit for a time, in the conservatory, or the music room, which she had guessed were his favourites. In all things she supported him, while persuading him that he was, in fact, supporting her.

      She was the perfect wife.

      Or nearly perfect. Should it be so disquieting to have such a devoted helpmeet? He could not find fault with her looks. She was quite the loveliest woman he could imagine. But it was as if a painting had come to life, or a statue. There was no passion in her. Her red-gold hair was contained beneath a cloth cap. Her shapely body hid beneath a modest gown. At the table, she had shocked him with her frank acceptance of tonight’s possible activities. But once they were in bed, would she be an enthusiastic lover? Or would she be as mild as she was