The Regency Season Collection: Part One. Кэрол Мортимер

it. She is very lovely, but there is far less to her than meets the eye.’ She laughed, a small, breathy sound. ‘Listen to me! That was a catty remark if ever I heard one.’

      ‘I think you are entitled to be as catty as you wish, Julia,’ Will said. His chest hurt with guilt and tension and something else that he did not recognize, but which was damnably uncomfortable. ‘It is unfair that you should be made in any way distressed. I promise that I did not seek a meeting alone with her and that all I did was to try to comfort her.’

      He sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her hand—for the reassurance of touch, to still that endlessly turning ring, because he wanted to hold her. Because, surely, he had hurt her.

      ‘I am sorry, Will.’ Both hands vanished under the lace. ‘I am not... Tonight I cannot...’ He stared back, appalled that she should think him so crass as to try to make love to her moments after they had been confronting his indiscretion with another woman. Julia cleared her throat, her cheeks pink, her gaze still firmly fixed on the sheets. ‘I mean my courses have started.’

      It took him a moment to realise what she was talking about. Then it dawned on him that was what Nancy had hinted when he had passed her just now. Probably, Not feeling quite herself was code a husband was expected to understand.

      ‘Of course.’ He couldn’t even begin to explain why he had reached for her, what he wanted. How could he? He had no idea himself. Will stood up. ‘You are tired, I won’t keep you awake any longer. That was a fine dinner party, thank you. Goodnight, Julia.’

      ‘Goodnight, Will.’

      He closed the dressing-room door and leaned back against it to steady himself. It was as though a gulf had just opened up in front of his feet and he was hanging, dizzy, over it. What the devil had he thought this marriage was about? He had come home intent on seizing back his old life, taking control of King’s Acre, putting his convenient marriage firmly into its rightful place. He had been confronted by the evidence of Julia’s heartbreak and loss and he had seen everything through the lens of himself and his feelings.

      With a muttered curse Will pushed away from the door and went through to his bedchamber. It had all seemed to be going perfectly well. He had acknowledged the child and, by doing so, tied himself to Julia. She had, after some resistance, come to his bed and now she seemed to enjoy his lovemaking. And he had thought that was all there was to it! Marry: tick that off the list. Sire an heir: working on it. But, be happy? Make Julia happy? Were those on the list too?

      What did she want? Not, apparently, him, or not enough to be distressed when she caught him with his arms around another woman. Arrogant devil, he told himself as he threw off his dressing gown and lay down. You expected her to be jealous, you wanted her to be jealous. Why should she be? She isn’t in love with you and there isn’t one reason why she should be. But your pride is hurt because of it, just as it was hurt when you found her comforting Henry.

      He punched the pillows, snuffed the candles and lay staring up at the underside of the bed canopy, lost in the dark. He had got what he needed: an attractive, intelligent, socially adept and unbelievably forgiving wife. So why, then, did he still feel that pain in his chest?

      * * *

      ‘The horses are here!’ Will burst into the bedchamber like a strong gust of wind. Nancy gave a squeak and dropped the hairbrush. It took Julia a moment to take in what he had said, she was so surprised to see him there. Ten days after the dinner party he had not returned to her bed and it was proving remarkably awkward to find the words to ask why not. Was it guilt keeping him away or did he simply not want her any more? But he wanted an heir and he had never seemed to find her repellent...

      ‘What, with no warning?’ He was dressed in breeches and boots, his hair was tousled by the morning breeze and the lines of tiredness she thought she had discerned lately around eyes and mouth had quite gone. It must have been her imagination, for what could have been keeping him up at night? It was certainly not her!

      ‘I heard from my agent in Portsmouth two weeks ago to say they had just landed and he intended to rest them, then start hacking them up in easy stages once he was certain they were all sound. But Phelps’s letter saying they had started must have gone astray. Look.’

      Julia could feel the excitement running through him as he took her arm and drew her to the window. It was an almost sexual force, that energy, and her body responded, warming, softening. If Nancy had not been there, she would have leaned into him and snatched a kiss. And would then no doubt have regretted it if he had failed to respond.

      Instead she looked out at the sweep of parkland and the horses approaching at the trot. Julia narrowed her eyes against the morning sun: five riders, each leading two horses. Even at that distance she could see the quality of the animals in the way they moved.

      ‘They look fresh. They must have spent the night close by.’

      ‘Thank goodness the stables were finished yesterday,’ Will said. He released her arm. ‘I must go down again.’

      ‘But your breakfast...’ The door swung to behind him. Julia managed a rueful smile for Nancy’s benefit. ‘Men! I shall have to have something sent down to the stables.’

      She supposed she should not feel awkward about going down to look at the new arrivals. ‘My riding clothes, please, Nancy.’

      ‘Which ones, my lady?’

      ‘My old habit,’ Julia said. Since that first time she and Will had never ridden together. Whenever they had travelled around the estate it had been in a gig. He knew she had her own horse, of course, and he had probably not noticed the other saddle hanging beside the side saddle. Would he be angry when he discovered she rode astride around the estate?

      Somehow, without any formal agreement, they had arrived at a working compromise over responsibilities. Julia looked after the tenants’ welfare, the dairy herd, the chickens, the gardens both decorative and productive, the house and the indoor staff. Will controlled everything else. So far there had not been any discussion about the housekeeping allowance or her own pin money, so Julia just kept on spending at the same level as she had before, maintained her scrupulously accurate accounts and waited to have those removed from her control too.

      As with the subject of the bedchamber, and the events of the dinner-party evening, it seemed that they existed most harmoniously without confronting the issues. But it was an uneasy peace. Julia felt she was cramming unwieldy truths into a cupboard and sooner or later the door would burst open and release all of them.

      Nancy fastened the divided skirt at the waist and then helped Julia into the coat. Really she was perfectly decent, she thought, bracing herself for the confrontation. Perhaps it was as well to have it while he was distracted by the horses. Perhaps he would not even notice. That was a melancholy thought.

      * * *

      Julia arrived at the new stables with a bite of roll and a mouthful of coffee inside her. Will was standing in the middle of the yard, talking to a wiry individual, while around them four grooms she did not recognise stood holding the horses. She stopped, knew her jaw had dropped and did not care.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ Will turned at the sound of her gasp.

      ‘Love at first sight,’ Julia breathed. ‘They are beautiful!’

      ‘They are that, ma’am.’ The grizzled man pulled off his hat. ‘His lordship’s got a fine eye for a horse.’

      ‘Lady Dereham, this is Mr Bevis, who has had charge of the horses since Portsmouth. So you like them, do you?’

      The Arabians were elegant, with their fine bones and dished faces. Will had told her he intended to breed them with thoroughbred stallions for speed and endurance as well as looks. The three Andalusians were very different and they drew her as though they called her by name.

      They were not big animals. The stallion was about fifteen two hands, she supposed, his three mares a little smaller. They all had deeply arched necks, long, rippling manes and all were a perfect dapple grey in colour with iron-grey manes and