Innocent in the Regency Ballroom. Christine Merrill

The day was not turning out as planned. His old friends annoyed him. He’d just denied himself an afternoon of pleasure for no logical reason. And he still had no idea how to deal with his new wife. He returned home, because he could think of nowhere else to go. There was no joy in lunching alone, but his clubs would be too full of people, asking questions he did not desire to answer. At least in his own house he could have the consolation of solitude.

      He was over the threshold before he remembered that he no longer lived alone. He had handed his hat and stick to the servant, and was halfway down the hall when he heard the rattle of tea things from the sitting room. Her door was open.

      Too late, then, to take back his hat and back out of the door. Perhaps she would not notice if he quietly went to his rooms.

      And then his wife peered into the hall. ‘I was just sitting down to tea. Would you care to join me?’

      ‘Thank you.’ Once again, his mouth had said something that came as a surprise to him.

      ‘I will have the butler bring another cup. You look in need of refreshment. Come. Sit down.’ And she graciously welcomed him to sit in his own home.

      Her home as well, he reminded himself. She had every right to be taking tea in the room he had promised was solely for her use. And she was performing her duty as wife to see that he was provided with his. What right did he have to complain?

      He sat down on the sofa next to her and waited in silence, while she pulled a tiny table closer to him and prepared his cup as she’d seen him take it. ‘Biscuit?’

      He stared at the unfamiliar thing in front of him.

      She responded without his asking, ‘I am accustomed to take sweets in the afternoon. These are a favourite of mine. I find the lemon zest in them most refreshing, so I have given the recipe to Cook. But if you would prefer something more substantial …’

      ‘No. This is fine. Thank you.’

      She was staring at him now. And he raised his eyes from his cup, to stare back at her.

      ‘I am sorry for suggesting it,’ she remarked, ‘but is something the matter? You seem rather out of sorts.’

      ‘What business is it of yours?’ he snapped. And immediately regretted his outburst.

      She was unfazed. ‘Only that, earlier in the day, you said you wished to be friends.’

      ‘I said I wished to appear to be friends. That is an entirely different matter.’

      Again, she was unfazed, but answered thoughtfully, ‘As you wish. Although it is sometimes easier to keep up the appearance, if an actual friendship exists.’ There was no tartness in her voice. Merely a statement of fact.

      He rubbed his brow with his hand. ‘I apologise. Of course, you are right. I had no call to snap at you.’

      ‘As you wish. I was not offended by it. It is I who should apologise to you for intruding on your peace. I merely wished to thank you for sending Jem to get my book. It was nice that you remembered.’ She fell silent and allowed him to enjoy his tea.

      But the silence was almost more discomforting than the noise, for it allowed him to feel the guilt again, although he could not imagine what it was that pained him.

      ‘You are not disturbing my peace, Penny. But I fear I disturbed yours. I think—it may be possible that I am not comfortable when at peace. I must always be doing something to keep back the quiet. Thus, I released my ill-behaved friends on you this morning.’

      She chuckled. ‘We are an unsuitable pair, are we not?’

      ‘Opposites attract.’ But he could not manage to sound as sure as he wished.

      ‘But at least our political views agree. It would be most difficult to respect you if—’

      ‘Our politics?’ It was his turn to laugh. ‘To what purpose does a woman have political views?’

      ‘To no purpose, other than that I live in this country, and am concerned with how it progresses. While I am not allowed to vote, there is nothing to prevent me from reading the speeches and governmental proceedings in The Times. That I cannot do anything to forward my views is no fault of mine.’ She cast her eyes downwards, and then favoured him with a sidelong glance through her lashes. ‘As a weak woman, I must pray that the country is in good hands.’

      He felt the small thrill along his spine that he always got when a woman was trying to capture his attention. Could it be? He looked at her again. There was a faint smile on her face, and an even fainter flush on her pale skin.

      His wife was flirting with him. Over the proceedings of the House of Lords.

      It was an unusual approach, and unlikely to be successful. It would be easy enough to prove that she knew nothing of the subject with a few simple questions. And then, if she truly wished to flatter him, she could return to safer subjects favoured by other women of his female acquaintance: the colour of his eyes, or the cut of his coat and how well it favoured his shoulders. ‘So you agree with my politics, do you?’

      ‘Most definitely. Your grasp of economy is most erudite.’

      ‘And you feel that the country is competently governed? For having seen the political process up close, I sometimes have my doubts.’

      ‘Well, as far as I can tell, Lord Beaverton is a fool,’ she said. ‘He has little understanding of domestic trade, and even less of international issues. And he seems to disagree most vehemently with you on the subject of cotton imports.’

      ‘Because he has interests in India,’ Adam supplied. ‘He is feathering his own nest.’

      ‘Well, your interchange with him sounded most spirited. Although, if you could clarify a certain point …’

      He had wondered when she would allow him to speak, for she seemed to have no understanding of the conversational gambit that encouraged a woman to listen more than she spoke. Her first question was followed by another, and then another. And some were of a level of complexity that he was required to refer to a gazetteer in his study, and other references as well.

      And soon it seemed easier just to move the tea things and conversation to his desk. He ceded her the chair, for he sometimes found it easier to think while on his feet, and she peppered him with questions while he paced the room.

      There was a discreet knock at the door, and the butler entered. ‘Your Grace? You have guests.’

      A head appeared around the back of the servant. Tim was there, and he could see other friends crowding behind him in the hall. ‘Have you forgotten, Adam? Dinner at the club?’

      He glanced at the clock on the mantel. How had it got to be so late? ‘It will be the work of a moment, and I will be ready to go.’ He glanced down at Penny. ‘Of course, if you wish, I will cancel.’

      She shook her head. ‘That is all right. I prefer to remain at home.’ He thought he detected a trace of wistfulness in her answer.

      ‘If you are sure?’

      She nodded again, gathering her tea things from his desk. ‘I should be going back to my room, after all. I meant to accomplish more today.’

      ‘I am sorry if I distracted you. Until tomorrow, then.’ And before he knew what he was doing, he’d bent and kissed her on the cheek.

      She turned as pink as the walls of her sitting room, but she did not flinch from him. In fact, the smile he received in reward was quite charming, before she remembered that there were others present, and hurried across the hall and into her study, closing the door.

      In retrospect, he’d have been better to have remained at home, for that seemed to be where his mind resided. The strange day only served to accent the commonness of the evening. The boring conversation and stale jokes of his friends were punctuated with exclamations of ‘Adam, why must you be so glum?’

      The constant reminder