Bound by Honor

Chapter 11

“Mrs. Waters would like to show you the house today.” To her surprise, he

set the newspaper aside. “She expects to keep you fully occupied with the

inventories for a few days.”

Letitia only nodded. Taking over the management of the house had been

one of those ridiculous “covenant” articles he mentioned yesterday.

“Our wedding breakfast will take place on Monday,” Sir Percival

continued. “This will be a good opportunity for you to be introduced to the

neighborhood and to meet my family’s acquaintances and some of my

friends.”

“A wedding breakfast?” She frowned. “You married a woman tainted by

scandal. I’m sure you do not need to advertise this fact to your neighbors.”

The door opened, and the footman walked in with a tray containing the

accoutrements of chocolate making. He placed the tray in front of Letitia

and left the room. She poured some chocolate into the cup, added hot

water, then glanced at her husband.

“Marriage removed the taint from your name,” he said tightly when the

door closed. “Most of my neighbors will find ours the most eligible union

and will want to congratulate us. I see no reason to disappoint them. My

family has been of some consequence in this county for centuries. I feel

obliged to celebrate our nuptials in a proper way and to extend that

consequence to you. This will, I believe, achieve the purpose of your

marrying me.”

“Do you?” she asked, not trying to hide the sarcasm that crept into her

voice. He must have forgotten where he had spent the night. At least he

now had the decency to seem taken aback by her question.

She held his gaze, willing him to look away first. In the diffused sunlight, a

golden undertone gave his eyes an unexpected warmth and beauty,

despite the frown marring his features as he studied her.

“I beg your pardon,” he said at last. “I believe you should establish the

position due you as a baronet’s wife and an earl’s daughter. Do you find

that objectionable?”

She found his duplicity more than objectionable. For a moment, she

wondered how he would react if she told him she knew. “No,” she said. “As

it happens, I have a request too.”

Sir Percival raised one eyebrow as if to prompt her. “Let me hear it,

ma’am.”

“You would oblige me greatly by giving me space for a painting studio,”

she said.

Letitia half expected, half feared he would laugh, or outright refuse her, or

put off the decision. She devoted her attention to the steaming cup in front

of her.

“I should have guessed you make watercolors,” he said. “I suppose some

small room with good light will suffice?”

“I paint in oils,” she rejoined. “Some of my canvases are large. I shall need

a large room with excellent light and with a fireplace for comfort during

winter.”

He seemed to think about it. “How large is large in this case?”

“At least as large as a decent morning room. With windows on more than

one side, if possible.”

He tilted his head, focusing somewhere on the wall behind her back.

Letitia watched him, surprised to see sadness bordering on pain pass

across his face. It was gone instantly, like a cloud on high wind.

“The orangery might be appropriate,” he said. “Let me show it to you after

you finish your chocolate, so you can tell me instantly if it suits you.”

“And if it does not?”

“I don’t know yet. Perhaps adjustments could be made to the nursery

rooms upstairs.”

His words brought on an unexpected disappointment. Letitia quelled it

hastily. Thank God he’d acquiesced to their de facto separation and had

no intention of changing his mind. Children would ruin her plans

completely.

While she swallowed her thoughts, together with the chocolate, Sir

Percival unfolded his newspaper again, clearly not interested in small talk.

Letitia drank a few sips and pushed the tray away. The sooner they were

done with this, the better. At the sound of silver on the tabletop, Sir

Percival winced and glanced at her.

“You do not need to forego your chocolate,” he said. “We have time.”

“I am ready.”

His expression inscrutable, Sir Percival got up without a word and came

over to move her chair. She followed him into the main hall, and then

through a corridor until they reached a large door at its end, in the back of

the house.

When he opened it and stepped aside to let her in, Letitia gasped,

surprised.

The orangery was easily forty feet long and about thirty feet wide. Three

sides were constructed from glass panes placed between wooden

columns. At the lower level, they opened as French doors to a terrace on

one side and the lawn on another. The slanted roof, mostly filled with

glass, easily reached twenty feet in the center. The orangery connected to

the house on the fourth side, using its external wall to support a hanging

basin with a small fountain. Several large stone plaques with bas-relief

images of East Indian deities filled its lower portion. Large tropical trees in

tubs and a great number of other plants in containers confined the walking

space to meandering paths. Benches sat between the stone vases here

and there.

Letitia inhaled deeply. The air, thick with moisture, combined the pongy

scents of earth and decay with exotic fragrances she could not identify.

Neither did she know any of the plants, though some beckoned with

colorful blossoms.

She glanced at her husband. He gazed at her, his brows drawn in

question, so she set out along the path in front of her, amazed at the

strange beauty of the place, yet already seeing several excellent locations

for her easels, tables and other furnishings. It would be far more grandiose

than any studio ever occupied even by the presidents of the Royal

Academy.

When the path brought them back to where they’d started, Letitia stopped

and turned around, gazing up at the ceiling—until her shoulder collided

with a solid object. Awed by Sir Percival’s exotic garden, she hadn’t

noticed he followed at a short distance.

Now, he looked down into her face, unhurriedly examining her features.

Several inches shorter, with the top of her head barely above his shoulder,

she found herself gazing up into the rich bronze of his eyes framed in dark

lashes.

She dropped her gaze, but that proved to be a mistake. It slid down to his

mouth. And he definitely had a nice mouth. Without any warning, she

imagined those lips touching hers. Would he kiss with the same authority

with which he spoke?