Chapter Five
London had never been a more welcome sight for Kit, and he was ready for the seclusion it could provide him. Hiding from his wife would be so much easier when she was distracted and when he had the freedom to move and go where he wished. Travelling with only her for company had tested his will and patience, and their life together would only make things worse.
But it was London. All of the best hiding places were there.
Thankfully, he and Marianne had been able to avoid having much conversation with her being in the coach and he on his horse, and each inn that they had visited had blessedly had separate rooms privately situated from the rest of the patrons. They had seen very little of each other over the course of the trip, for which he was grateful. Most of their communication had been through glares and brief head movements, and it had worked well enough.
All in all, it was better than he had expected it to be.
But still, riding alongside or near a carriage containing a woman he unnaturally pined for, who was now his wife, of all things, was a torment he had not been prepared for.
He breathed a sigh of relief as they entered Berkeley Square and pulled to a halt before their new home. He’d sent word on ahead to his staff of the change, and things ought to have been at least partially ready for them.
He hoped, at least.
He dismounted and went to the carriage to help his wife down, only to find her already down on her own.
His fingers slid against each other awkwardly at his side.
Marianne brushed at her skirts absently, then looked up at Kit with a scowl. She opened her mouth to say something, but caught sight of where they were and her eyes widened. She looked around, turned to glance about them, and then took in the house before her.
“Are we… in Berkeley Square?” she asked in a squeaky, breathy voice.
Kit forced back the urge to smile and opted for a nod instead. “Very good. We are.”
She whirled to face him, her eyes still round as saucers. “You got us a house in Berkeley Square?”
He tilted his head a little. “No, I simply thought you’d want to walk the rest of the way now that we are in London.”
A tiny furrow appeared between her perfect brows. “Kit Gerrard, so help me, if this is a cruel joke…”
“Yes,” he overrode with a roll of his eyes, “this is our house, and it is in Berkeley Square.”
Marianne clamped her lips together on a tiny squeal. “And how did you manage that?” she asked in a would-be composed voice.
He offered her his arm, which she took lightly, and escorted her towards the house. “Very easily. The Duchess of Falmouth had no more use for it now her lover has died, and she is retiring permanently to Surrey.”
“Of all the luck!” Marianne said with a skip in her step as the ascended the stairs to the house. “She always was a bit strange.”
“Your aunt likes her well enough.”
“That should tell you a good deal right there.”
That, at least, was true.
“Imagine retiring to Surrey,” Marianne mused with obvious disdain. “It is so close to London, you might as well remain here. I have never once thought of Surrey as anything of great value.”
“Surrey is quite lovely,” Kit informed her as he rang the bell, “and I have a house there.”
She sniffed and adjusted her lace gloves. “Well, we are never going there.”
“You do not have to, if you wish it,” he informed her, the place her hand touched him starting to itch and burn. “I, however, have duties to attend to there on occasion, and quite like it.”
She shrugged. “As you wish. It probably smells of pig anyway.”
Kit closed his eyes in exasperation, then turned his head to nod at the coachmen to take the carriage and his horse to the mews, which they did at once.
The door to the house was opened and his trusted butler Caldwell answered, looking well and whole, and a bit too delighted to be answering the door of this house.
Caldwell’s furry black brows rose as one when he saw them. “Mr. Gerrard! What a pleasant surprise! We were expecting you this afternoon.” He stepped back and bowed.
“Yes, well, we pushed on,” Kit muttered as Marianne brushed past him anxiously. “Caldwell, may I present my wife, Mrs. Gerrard?”
Marianne had been too busy gazing around the grand entrance to pay the butler any attention at all, and did not turn. Less than that, she did not mark either of them as her eyes and expression seemed to glow with a sort of malevolent satisfaction.
Kit cleared his throat. “Mrs. Gerrard?”
Still she did not turn, her eyes running over various aspects of the hallway and taking in the house as a whole.
Caldwell turned to look at Kit with wide eyes.
Kit tried not to grind his teeth as he removed his hat and tossed it onto the table nearby as the butler closed the door. “Marianne,” he barked.
Marianne whirled in surprise as she untied the ribbons of her bonnet. “What?”
Kit indicated the butler with a nudge of his head. “Caldwell would like to meet the lady of the house.”
Marianne looked over at him, as if she had no idea he had been there, and her perfect smile appeared, brightening her entire countenance. “Of course! I do apologize, Caldwell, I am never so rude or thoughtless.” She handed her coat and bonnet to a maid who had appeared from the hall.
Kit barely avoided snorting and removed his riding coat, handing it off to the same maid.
“I am afraid I have not adjusted to my new surname as yet,” Marianne continued, blatantly ignoring Kit and walking over to the butler, who now seemed at least a foot taller and had more perfect posture. “It will undoubtedly take some getting used to.”
“Yes, madam,” Caldwell intoned with a small smile.
Marianne dimpled and held out her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Caldwell. I trust the new arrangements have not caused too much difficulty for you?”
Caldwell took her hand in surprise and bowed over it. “Not at all, madam. The former staff have been adjusting well with the rest of us, and you shall find the entire house in perfect order, I think.”
Marianne frowned a little. “Former staff?” She turned to look at Kit. “The former staff stayed on?”
Kit nodded at Caldwell to explain.
“Yes, madam,” Caldwell said, gesturing for them to come with him. “The duchess had no use for them in her country residence.”
Kit heard Marianne snort under her breath and mutter, “Country residence, indeed.”
Caldwell, however, did not hear. “Had I known you would arrive this early, I would have had them all available to be presented to you for your inspection.” He looked over his shoulder rather apologetically at them both.
“It is not necessary,” Marianne said with a wave, her voice surprisingly natural. “If you do not have concerns about them, neither shall I. The house appears to be in rather perfect order, and you seem to have things quite in hand. No need for my interference.”
Kit looked down at her in surprise, but she paid him no heed.
“I will, however,” Caldwell continued on, “be sure to present Mrs. Wilton to you. She is the housekeeper, and worked for Her Grace for many years. I have found her to be quite capable and firm of hand.”
“Excellent, Caldwell,” Marianne praised, still looking around at the house with a smile.
Kit was bewildered. What was she doing? She was warm and friendly with the butler, pretending as though these changes had been perfectly natural and she had been expecting them. She was being… matronly.
And doing it well.
They met the housekeeper in short order, and she, too, was upset that the staff had not been prepared for them, but assured them that all of the rooms were ready, and their luggage, such as it was, would be taken to their rooms and unloaded without delay.
A light meal was also quickly produced for them, and they were shown into the dining room to enjoy it.
A strapping footman helped Marianne with her chair and she gave him a dazzling smile of gratitude that the poor lad could only blink at.
Kit snorted softly and tucked his serviette into his collar. “Don’t do that,” he scolded.
Marianne actually looked surprised. “Do what?”
He gave her a look. “That. Flirt with the servants. Smooth Caldwell’s feathers. Don’t do that.”
Marianne huffed a little in her seat. “Well, pardon me for being polite and kind to the servants, Mr. Gerrard. Did you expect me to huff and puff and order people about the first three minutes in my new home?”
“Yes, actually,” he said simply, as he began eating. “Or demand to be shown to your rooms so you could cry some more.”
Marianne shook her head with a roll of her eyes and laid her own serviette in her lap. “I have not cried in ages, Kit. I have quite got over the whole thing, as, I think, should you.”
He raised a brow and opened his mouth to retort that her behavior was something one did not simply just get over when she raised her hands for him to stop.
“The point is,” she said with a steady look at him, “that I am trying to get acquainted here. So put aside your pitchfork for a moment.”
He replied by taking another bite of food.
“Did you intentionally retain the duchess’ staff?” Marianne asked him with interest. “Or did that happen by chance?”
“Intention,” he said with a nod. “I brought over my own limited staff, put Caldwell in charge, and let him make the decisions about who stayed and who went. I did not want to be troubled with it, and I hardly thought you would either.”
“I might have,” she muttered, pouting childishly over her plate.
“You wouldn’t before,” Kit assured her with a bit of a sneer. “You were so busy fighting with your brother and resisting this marriage that you had no energy for house details.”
Marianne’s fork came down with a clatter and he received a bold glare. “I could have been consulted!” she argued indignantly. “Or were you just so occupied with taking care of everything without reference to me, the marriage, the house, the journey back, that you just could not be bothered?”
He shrugged a shoulder and took another bite. “A simple thank you will suffice.”
She screeched between clenched teeth, flopping her hands into her lap.
“You will also find,” Kit said simply, as if his wife’s behavior was normal, “that the duchess left all of her furniture. Do with that what you will. Some of the rooms will probably be overdone, but if your tastes run in that course, feel free to keep them as such.”
“Oh, thank you for giving me an occupation,” Marianne replied with dripping sarcasm.
Kit smirked at her. “Incidentally, the house is fully staffed, but if something displeases you, I am sure Mrs. Wilton would be happy to secure whatever you need.”
“I will need my things from home,” she sniffed, beginning to eat once more.
He nodded once. “It is already being brought over. Your lady’s maid will also come.”
She looked surprised. “Anna? You are letting me keep her?”
Kit scoffed. “Did you think I would have a jail keeper for you instead?”
“I did, actually.”
He shook his head, and sighed. “No, as charming an idea as that is, we could not have the rumors. Your lady’s maid seems to like you, which might be hard to find elsewhere, so Duncan released her to us.”
Marianne made a face that must have matched the thoughts in her head, but not his words. “Well,” she finally said, “at least someone here will like me.”
That seemed rather petulant, but he let it pass.
It might have been true.
“I think it will be a most fortunate staff for us,” Kit mentioned absently as he ate. “After all, the duchess lived here quite comfortably without anyone hearing the faintest whiff of detail or scandal.”
Marianne looked up at him with a stubborn expression, the effort to remain controlled causing a visible tension in her forehead. “How fortunate for us. No one will know how vilely we suit.”
“That is the idea, yes.”
She pursed her lips for a moment, and her face cleared as she thought. “The duchess seemed to leave in quite a hurry,” she said carefully, returning to her meal.
Kit nodded slowly, dabbing the corner of his mouth with his serviette. “She did indeed. Most distressed, I think, about losing Lord Rodale so suddenly.”
Marianne frowned. “Lord Rodale did not die in this house, did he?”
Again, Kit nodded, though it wasn’t true. “Tragic, isn’t it?”
Marianne’s eyes widened. “He died here?”
“Not in this dining room, no,” Kit said with a light laugh, rising from the table. “Upstairs in the bedchambers, of course.”
He saw Marianne’s delicate throat work in horror. “Is that where I am sleeping?” she asked with a half-panicked, half-mocking look.
He thought about lying and telling her yes, thought about playing up the story to make it more horrifying, and even thought about stroking her cheek, oddly enough.
He forced a placid smile instead. “Of course not, my dear. You are quite safe. He died in one of the guest rooms, though I cannot remember exactly which…”
He left before giving her another chance to ask him anything or argue another point, but he heard her sputtering madly, and a proud smirk found its way to his face.
The next morning, Marianne was forced awake far too early, still absolutely exhausted. She’d spent the entire day yesterday organizing her things, getting to know her new home, and consulting with Mrs. Wilton on various changes that ought to be made.
Mrs. Wilton knew absolutely everything about the house, and she was more than pleased to discuss it with Marianne as they went from room to room. She had been very reserved in her own opinions at the beginning, letting Marianne ask the questions rather than offering up information or suggestions, but once Marianne had invited her to be as forthright as she wished, she had done so. She had strong opinions on certain pieces of furniture, mostly begging for replacement of them, particular layouts of rooms, and even some color choices.
“The duchess did not use you to your full potential, it seems,” Marianne had suggested as the two women had shared a tea tray in her receiving room.
Mrs. Wilton had shrugged her slender shoulders, and her warm brown eyes held a smile her lips did not. “She had her own opinions on things, the duchess. She was an excellent mistress, and we shall miss her.”
Marianne had smiled. “But…” she prodded.
A ghost of a smile formed on the housekeeper’s face. “But it will be wonderful to have a young couple with active lives here. And to update this old place. It has long needed a change, and Her Grace was not inclined to alter anything. I understand Mr. Gerrard has young sisters that may be joining us as well?”
Marianne had been somewhat flummoxed about how to answer that, having never discussed that, or much of anything, with Kit, but she pandered a bit about how the guardianship between the brothers was still new and a long-standing arrangement had yet to be settled on, but the girls would undoubtedly be staying at the house on occasion.
She had changed the subject before further details about those particular rooms could be inquired about. She had no idea what sort of nursery or rooms the girls kept to at Colin’s house, and they may want the same thing here. Or perhaps something different. It was difficult to say with girls, and Marianne had never had sisters, so knew nothing of what to expect.
She had always had her own rooms, and knew very well that her life had been far different from the young Gerrard sisters.
Dinner between her and Kit last night had been a fairly silent affair, but the food was excellent, and she had made a mental note to ask about the chef and the kitchens, if not see to them herself.
To make the evening even more pleasant, she had not seen Kit the rest of the night. She’d been concerned that once they’d come to London, he would wish to exert some husbandly rights. She was rather pleased when that did not seem to be the case.
She was, however, not pleased to now have her sleep disturbed at this ghastly early hour by Anna, who had pulled back the thick curtains of her room and was now shaking out a dress for her.
“What are you doing?” Marianne asked her groggily, her mouth and throat dry and rough.
Anna, who had not quite forgiven her for her illicit elopement and thereby abandoning her, gave her a look. “Getting you ready for the day, miss. I mean, madam.”
Marianne frowned and sat up against her pillows. “But it’s early.”
Anna made an impatient noise. “Yes, madam, but your husband insisted you not sleep all day and that I was to wake you.”
She put her hands to her head and blinked blearily. “When my husband decides to keep to his word about not being overbearing, I shall consider listening to whatever else he says. Until then, I am resisting his orders.”
That cracked a smile on Anna’s face and the girl folded a dress over her arm, her fair hair catching a bit of sunlight through the windows. “He also said it was time for breakfast, madam.”
Marianne made a face and twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. “Breakfast at strict times, waking at specific hours… It all seems rather structured to me. What is the point of being the mistress of a house if I have no flexibility or authority, hmm?”
“Surely a bit of food would not do you harm, madam,” Anna said with a tilt of her head, her tone noticeably warmer than her first words, though still not quite friendly.
That was a thought for consideration. If she was to be up this early anyway, for there would be no returning to sleep after this, she might as well eat something.
“Perhaps you are right,” she mused. “Yes, I will take a tray up here, if you would be so kind.”
Now Anna smirked a little, which caused some uneasiness somewhere in Marianne’s stomach. Her maid rarely smirked unless mischief was happening.
“What?” she asked slowly.
“Mr. Gerrard has forbidden trays, madam,” Anna said as she came closer to the bed, smoothing the dress on her arm more.
Marianne’s brows snapped down. “He what?”
Anna’s eyes widened. “He expressly said there will be no trays in rooms for breakfast unless you are ill.”
“Then tell him I am ill,” she ordered coolly. Her husband, with all of his claims of not ordering her about, was doing a great deal of ordering about. He was not going to control her life, not like this.
Now Anna’s mouth drew into a tight line. “I would, madam, but he said you would claim to be ill, and he knows you are well, so you must come to the breakfast room and eat.”
Marianne groaned and leaned her head back, then reached for another pillow and covered her face with it, screaming into its downy depths.
She could try to refuse him, but knowing Kit, he would come up to her rooms and carry her over his shoulder down to the breakfast room, or force-feed her.
She tossed the pillow aside and yawned. “Why does he want to see me at all?” she grumbled, eyes still closed. “Why does he even care?”
“He said proper couples take meals together.”
Marianne raised her head and gave Anna a doubtful look. “Show me one couple in London that was not married for love that breakfasts together.”
Anna bit back a laugh, then frowned. “You were not married for love? I thought you eloped.”
Marianne snorted and flung aside her bedcovers. “I meant to elope, but not with him. The whole elopement was a plot by Mr. Marksby to get my fortune and make me a sort of mistress bound to him legally.”
Anna looked horrified by the thought. “Oh, madam…”
Marianne waved off her concern as she rose from the bed and stretched. “It is enough, I was spared that, and had to marry Kit instead.”
“Mr. Gerrard married you to protect your reputation?”
The warmth in Anna’s voice made Marianne stop, and she narrowed her eyes at the maid. “Do not paint him as a hero, Anna. He is intolerable, insufferable, and quite possibly the worst man in the world with whom I could be joined, excluding Mr. Marksby.”
“He is a dreadfully handsome man…” Anna prodded, a hint of a sigh in her voice.
Marianne grunted and moved past her maid to fetch her yellow wrap instead. “Tolerably attractive at best. You need to see more men, Anna. Your opinions will drastically change on Kit’s features.”
Anna seemed to realize her impertinence and held out the gown on her arm. “Will you not change, madam?”
Marianne looked at the dress, a pale pink that was her favorite, then smiled up at Anna. “No, Anna, I will not. My husband asked for my presence at breakfast, and interrupted my sleep to get it. He never said anything about being dressed for the occasion.”
Anna gaped, but Marianne grinned. She tied her wrap about her waist, tousled her hair a bit more, and left the room, barefoot and yawning as she was.
Her husband was already at the table in the breakfast room, properly dressed for the day, and enjoying the plate before him.
Marianne sleepily made her way to the seat prepared for her at the opposite end, and heard her husband’s reaction before she saw it. His fork scraped against the plate just loudly enough for it to be unnatural, and she made a face at the noise. She adjusted her wrap a little as she sat in the chair and began to eat her own food.
Kit cleared his throat quickly. “Good morning,” he said, his voice apparently unaffected.
“Early morning, more like,” she grumbled as she cut herself a piece of ham.
“I thought you might like to enjoy as many hours in the day as you can,” Kit replied calmly. “Productivity is a noble quality.”
Marianne snorted at his pompous platitude as she chewed. “Leave the lectures for the preachers, Kit. I would much rather sleep than be productive this early.”
“Yes, so I see from your choice of wardrobe.”
Ah, there it was.
Marianne finally looked up at him, and while someone who did not know him might have thought him composed, she noted the tightness in his jaw and the hardness in his features, the coldness in his eyes.
He was livid.
She hid her thrill of pride and offered him the best stubborn glower she could. “You had me practically dragged out of bed to eat with you, knowing that I tend to sleep late. It was either come down as this or not at all.”
“In the future, you will be properly dressed,” he ordered, his nostrils flaring slightly as his fork twisted absently in his hand.
“For all other meals, yes. For early breakfasts like this, if you insist upon them, no. I shall come just as I am.”
“Marianne…”
She shook her head slowly, then went back to eating. “Choose your battles, Kit. I come as I am or not at all.”
He was silent for a long time, but she could feel his glare.
“Don’t glower so darkly when we are eating,” she told him, as if he were a moody child. “You will turn something rotten and I have no desire to be ill.”
Kit suddenly shoved off from the table and stormed from the room, and Marianne fought the urge to smile.
She sat back in her chair and saw one of the footmen struggling against a smile as well. He looked at her, and she winked conspiratorially, which made his struggle worse and he fixed his gaze straight ahead once more.
She finished her breakfast, then sighed in thought. For all her distress the night before, she really had slept quite well. Her bed was comfortable, her room spacious, and her fatigue had been so complete she had hardly dreamed at all.
She frowned a little as she considered that Kit was going out, no doubt to see his brother. Colin had many sources for gossip, and would know what to expect when Marianne went out in public once more. She winced as she realized that she’d goaded Kit, making him less likely to be accommodating for a favor, but she had to try.
She rushed from the breakfast room, and asked a maid where Mr. Gerrard had gone, and was directed to the front of the house, as he was leaving.
She caught him just as he was taking his hat and gloves from his valet.
“Where are you going?” she asked, slightly breathless from her running.
He barely glanced at her. “To see my brother and my sisters. You object?”
“No, of course not,” she replied, folding her arms.
“You wanted me to stay here and entertain you?” he asked pointedly as he pulled on his gloves.
She snorted, bringing a surprised quirk of brows from the valet. “Hardly.”
Kit turned and sighed impatiently. “Then what is it, Marianne? You wanted your independence, I am letting you have it.”
She gave him a skeptical look.
“Breakfast and servant selection aside,” he allowed with a roll of his eyes.
“I had a question I wanted to ask,” she said simply.
He gestured irritably. “So ask.”
“I was wondering if you might speak to Colin about… rumors.”
Kit sighed impatiently. “What?”
“About us.” She rolled her eyes at his look. “Me, then. I… I don’t know what people are saying about me, and I find that I am worried about going out in public without knowing.”
Kit eyed her carefully, and Marianne bit her lip before she could stop herself. It was a childish habit, but she felt very young all of a sudden.
Kit exhaled again. “Very well. I shall inquire, but I make no promises.” He inclined his head and spun on his heel and was out the door before she had blinked once.
“Thank you,” she muttered to the closed door. “So considerate. Very husbandly.” She pushed a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, tucked her wrap around her, and returned to the breakfast room, worry suddenly gnawing at her stomach.