Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise Allen

Bree’s face fell.

      ‘I thought I had told you about that. Do you think it too informal? Only I do not know where else we could accommodate so many places.’ To his horror he thought he could detect a gleam of tears in her eyes. ‘I should have thought. Is it too late to have it in London after all?’

      Max jumped up and knelt beside her chair, taking her hands into his—they were cold, her index finger was red from the indentation of the pen and there were ink splashes on her hands. He lifted them in his clasp and kissed the sore finger gently.

      ‘My darling, it will be wonderful. You had told me about it. I love the notion, the guests will love it. If I had not thought it would work, I would have said something days ago.’ She smiled shakily. ‘You are working too hard. You must let me help. My grandmother will be in town soon. She will be delighted to assist.’

      The shutters came down over Bree’s brilliant blue gaze and she smiled politely. So that’s it.

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Max regarded Bree’s carefully neutral expression. ‘I would not wish to trouble the Dowager,’ she said politely. ‘Although of course she will want to make sure everything is done correctly.’

      ‘If we wish to get married on a Thames wherry and then set off on our honeymoon in a gypsy caravan, that is just what we shall do,’ Max said robustly. ‘Grandmama has nothing to say to it. I just thought that she might be able to take Miss Thorpe’s place on occasion when you are shopping, or visiting, so Miss Thorpe can get on with helping you with some of the organising.’

      ‘Yes, of course, that would be very kind, but I do not wish to impose.’ Still she did not seem reassured.

      ‘Are you dreading her ruling the roost when we live at Longwater? She has announced her intention to move to the Dower House before the wedding—did she not write to you to tell you?’

      ‘Yes, of course, it was a very kind letter.’

      ‘Mmm.’ Max regarded her quizzically. ‘And you are wondering just how far away the Dower House is, and how many times a day she will be over saying things like, “I see you have moved the épergne in the Chinese drawing room. It has been there since 1066”?’

      ‘They didn’t have épergnes in 1066,’ Bree said, a reluctant smile lifting the corners of her mouth. ‘And, yes, I suppose I am rather dreading it.’

      ‘There is no need—I give you my word she will not interfere. She has told me she intends not to set foot over the threshold except at your invitation.’

      ‘Oh, no! But it is her home. I could not possibly expect that,’ Bree protested. ‘It is just that I am not used to being a countess and I expect I will make all kinds of hideous mistakes and I was lying awake all last night wondering if I did the right thing. I should have refused you and then you would have married a suitable young lady who is used to such things.’

      ‘So that is why you have bags under your eyes.’ Max smoothed the faint dark shadows with his thumbs.

      ‘I don’t have bags,’ Bree protested, the smile back again.

      Max sat back on his heels, studying her. ‘What do you think the duties of a countess are?’ he asked eventually.

      ‘Um … to direct the households, take care of the dependents of the estate, to entertain the earl’s friends and associates, to do good in the local communities, to keep the earl happy. Oh, yes, and to produce an heir,’ she added with a blush.

      ‘I believe that covers it,’ Max said. ‘I think you can do all that, don’t you? Keeping the earl happy is, of course, of paramount importance, and the production of the heir is also a consideration. How many children would you like?’

      ‘I hadn’t thought.’ Discussing it was making her deliciously flustered. Max wondered how much longer he was going to manage to refrain from kissing her.

      ‘I have given it some thought, I must confess. I realised I was falling in love with you when I caught myself speculating on whether they would have a mixture of our colouring, or whether the boys would be blue-eyed and blond and the girls brunettes or the other way around.’

      As she had when he had told her about the poetry, Bree’s face lit up. Max wondered why she was finding it so hard to believe he was truly in love with her. But how to convince her?

      ‘I don’t mind what colouring they have,’ she confessed. ‘But I would like perhaps four.’

      ‘Then four it is. What is it, Bree? You are still worried, aren’t you?’

      ‘Will you expect me to cut all links with the company? I know I should, but it has been so important to me, and Piers is still at school, and it is vital for his future …’

      ‘Hush.’ He pulled her into his arms and kissed her until he could feel all the resistance and tension drain out of her, then set her back in her seat before temptation got the better of him. ‘You can carry on just as you are now, my love, only promise me you will not try to drive a stagecoach again.’

      ‘I promise. Oh, Max, I am sorry to be so anxious, only I know how difficult it must have been before, to marry a wife so much out of your circle. I don’t want to be a problem to you.’

      ‘And at three o’clock in the morning you wonder if I put so much pressure on Drusilla that it drove her away?’ He had been half-expecting this, but it still hurt to see the doubt in her eyes.

      ‘At ten o’clock this morning actually, in broad daylight,’ she confessed ruefully. ‘Max, I love you and I trust you and I am having silly pre-wedding vapours. I wish it was all over and we could just run away somewhere. I am not going to let your first marriage come between us, I swear it.’

      He leaned forward to cup her cheek with his hand. He had felt on such firm ground with Bree that to have felt it shake, even a little, reminded him how precious she was to him. ‘If ever you want to know anything about it, ask me. I will not speak of it unless you do, but you can ask anything, tell me any worry.’

      Bree turned her cheek against the warmth of his palm, feeling the calluses from riding and driving, the sensitive fingertips that seemed to know exactly which part of her body to caress. Calm seeped through her and she smiled at herself for her worries.

      ‘Thank you, I promise I will do that. Max, do you realise that in ten days we will be married?’ She bent forward, kissed him lightly and got to her feet.

      ‘It had not escaped my notice.’ Max moved to her desk and began to mend her pens with the little pearl-handled knife that lay by the standish. ‘I have not yet got to the pathetic stage of working out how many hours it will be before I can carry you over the threshold at Longwater though.’

      She had a sudden vision of the future. Of Max, perhaps with a touch more grey at his temples, standing just as he was now, mending a pen, and herself, her belly swollen with their child, sitting looking up at him, and somewhere the sound of other children laughing.

      It was so vivid that it took her a moment to come to herself when Peters coughed.

      ‘Yes, Peters?’ The footman was standing in the doorway, looking perplexed.

      ‘A lady—’ He corrected himself. ‘A female person has called, Miss Mallory, asking for you.’

      ‘Who is it?’

      ‘She would not give her name, Miss Mallory. She has no card and she is heavily veiled.’

      ‘Not a lady? Is it someone come to speak to Cook about a position?’

      ‘No, Miss Mallory. She’s not quite a lady, if you know what I mean. But she’s not a servant, I don’t think. Her gown’s quite respectable.’

      ‘Well, show her in, Peters.’ Bree turned to Max with a shrug. ‘I had better see what she wants. Perhaps it is someone collecting for a charitable organisation.’