Chapter Twenty-Five

C larity gasped.

"Please," the man began, and she saw desperation flash across his weathered face.

With her hand still held captive in her husband's, she tried to pull herself free, wanting to speak on the manager's behalf. After all, no harm had been done.

"Alex, don't do that on my account."

He turned on her. "You will address me as Hollidge or my lord when we are in public!" he snapped, breathing hard but finally releasing her.

She gaped at him, then collected herself, looking around to see the scene they were making. Not only was Mr. Johnson there, but also two workers who'd followed them inside to see what the fuss was about.

"Yes, of course, my lord. I ask that you reconsider. Mr. Johnson has been with you many years. This was a mistake of my own making. I should have —"

"You did nothing wrong," Alex insisted, but he looked angry at her as well as at everyone else in the room. "Wait in the carriage," he ordered.

They had never been in this situation before, but she could tell his mind was made up and to gainsay him, at least right then, was pointless. Sending Mr. Johnson a look of regret, she turned and walked out. Hopefully, Alex would get over the fright, which was surely what had precipitated his outburst, and allow his manager to keep his job.

As soon as he climbed into the carriage and they were under way to the inn, she asked him, "Did you actually terminate his employment?"

"I did," he ground out, leaning miserably against the side and crossing his arms.

"Such unfairness is unlike you," she said. "I hope you will reconsider. He probably has a wife and children."

"He should have thought of them before endangering my wife."

She rolled her eyes. "You cannot blame him. Blame me."

"You did nothing wrong. That is, except contradict me in front of my staff. Don't do it again."

To this, she said nothing. Clarity didn't like Alex's behavior or his tone. An hour later, when they had left their coats in their bedchamber and changed out of muddy shoes, they entered the inn's dining room in silence. She still had not forgiven him for behaving like a merciless tyrant.

Alex, however, seemed to have put it behind him.

"What is the cook's best dish?" he asked the waiter and placed their order.

When the wine was poured, he smiled at her, looking like his normal self. Her insides fluttered as they always did when his green eyes gazed into hers.

"I hope you enjoy sheep," he quipped. "Tomorrow, we shall be seeing a great number of them and little else." Then he took a sip. "The farmer and his wife are good people. I like them very much."

"That's what you said about Mr. Johnson this morning," Clarity pointed out.

He froze before lowering his glass. She held her breath. Was he going to take her to task again? If he did, he would find himself sleeping on the floor.

After a moment, he nodded. "You're correct. The man is an excellent mill manager."

She sighed. "And your mill needs a manager," she agreed.

"I put Mr. Flemming in charge."

Clarity shrugged. The name meant nothing to her.

Alex gave a lopsided smile that showed his single dimple.

"He was the one with the floppy hat."

She frowned, thinking over the people she had met. "Wasn't he a hundred and twenty years old and nearly blind?"

"Yes," Alex said, and he started to chuckle. "He's kept on because he's devoted his life to our mill. And he's only a hundred and two if he's a day."

Clarity shook her head, and soon they were both laughing over the ridiculousness of putting him in charge over the capable Mr. Johnson.

"I'll send word first thing in the morning," Alex promised. "I overreacted, but my heart stopped, I swear it, when you stumbled."

She reached out and took his hand. "I appreciate your caring for me —"

"I don't care for you," he interrupted. "I adore you. You are my wife and my responsibility."

"I would rather remain my own responsibility," she chided. "I am not a child. But anyone could have stepped on that board. You cannot control everything that happens to me."

"I know."

They released each other's hands as their plates were put before them.

"And I think you should put poor Mr. Johnson's mind at rest and send word to him tonight. Please, Alex."

"Anything you ask," he said, "I shall always grant if I can."

That night, in the aftermath of their lovemaking, Clarity lay awake in the darkness. They'd been married almost three months, although most of that time had been spent playing at being married while merely enjoying one another's company while traveling.

Moving into the Hollidge townhouse had not been as she'd expected. Well run under the exacting thumb of Lady Aston for many years, it had been difficult to take over as its mistress. In fact, Clarity had not managed to take the reins before they'd come away again.

Moreover, Alex had told his aunt she could reside with them forever. And thus, she hadn't made any effort to find other lodging.

Clarity didn't want to begrudge the woman her long-time London home, but as she blinked in the darkness, she thought of Alex's words.

Anything you ask.

Surely, he would want some privacy for their new marriage, too. His aunt was quite the presence at the breakfast table, in the small salon, in the drawing room, and at the dining table — always there, always with an opinion.

Oddly, hers seemed to contradict any opinion Clarity had, especially if it was regarding changing something at Number Thirty, Grosvenor Square.

"We've always kept to this schedule," Lady Aston had informed her, opposing Clarity's suggestion to have dinner later during the week and to skip supper, at which they mostly nibbled with little actual hunger. This not only put the kitchen staff to extra work but kept the newlyweds up later than they wanted, eager to retire, strip off their clothes, and devour one another. None of which Clarity could tell Alex's aunt, so she'd conceded.

"It's always been that color, even when Alex's parents lived here," Lady Aston had protested over changing the wall paint in the drawing room or dining room.

"Then it's time for a fresh color," Clarity suggested.

"We shall ask Alex," his aunt had promised, as if the new Lady Hollidge couldn't redecorate her home without her husband's permission.

And now, Clarity had missed her monthly flow. Twice. She couldn't see her husband in the darkness, but she could hear his steady breathing. It was an intimate and pleasurable privilege to be the one lying beside him while he slept. She wouldn't disturb him. When they returned to London, she would tell him the good news just as soon as she was certain.

Thinking of his warmth and intelligence, she knew he would make a superb father — although the slightest of doubts lingered in the recesses of her mind. True, he was much more like the Alex of childhood, quick to laugh and full of winsome smiles that melted her heart each time.

But he was also the Viscount Hollidge now, with all the responsibilities and worries that went along with his title. She'd seen how easily he could transform from her loving husband into a stranger when dealing with the outside world.

In her mind, Clarity tried to separate the two, the man who worshipped her body in bed, who loved her and whom she loved in return, and the viscount who had taken up the mantle at too young an age and keenly felt the full weight of his title and of keeping the family solvent for the next generation.

Rubbing her stomach idly, she yawned. The next generation was coming whether she and Alex were ready or not. But she would be damned if she would let Lady Aston stop her from redecorating the musty, outdated nursery.

Suddenly, Alex moaned, thrashed out, and awakened with a gasp.

"Alex? Did you have a nightmare?"

His calm breathing of moments ago was now ragged, and she could feel the tension of his body.

"Did I awaken you?" he asked, reaching out and clasping her hand. His own felt damp beneath hers.

"No, I was already awake. What was the dream? Do you want to tell me?"

He shuddered. "No, thank you. Better to leave it behind me. I'm glad you're here," he added.

With their hands joined, she soon fell asleep.

"I am going to host my first dinner party," Clarity told her mother and sisters over tea and sandwiches upon her return to London.

Seated in the Diamonds' Piccadilly home, she could relax entirely, without fear Lady Aston would pop up and tell her she was doing something if not wrong, then "differently from how it should be done."

The party would be done her way!

Clarity's mother nodded, and Purity dove in instantly with questions, "When and for how many?"

"Including Alex and myself, perhaps six other couples."

"Couples?" Purity asked. "Are none of us invited besides Mother and Father?"

"Actually," Clarity began, glancing at their beloved matriarch. "I wasn't going to invite you and Father, if that's all right."

"Perfectly fine. I understand completely."

"I don't!" This from Ray. "Isn't it an insult?"

"It's not meant to be," Clarity assured her. "I want this to be a Hollidge party and not a Diamond one. If our parents come, then I will still feel like a child and probably start asking Mother for all sorts of help."

"She's correct," their mother said, then turned to Clarity. "We have plenty of time to enjoy meals at your table."

"Besides," Clarity added, "I know this sounds odd, but I think I would be more anxious with you and Father watching. If no one is there whom I care about except Alex, I can be more focused."

All her sisters considered this. Then Purity asked, "What about Lady Aston?"

"What about her?" Clarity asked. Was her sister asking if her husband's aunt fell under the category of people she didn't care about?

"You said only couples would attend. What will you do with the widow?"

"Oh dear!" Clarity had overlooked Alex's aunt. She could hardly not invite Lady Aston since the woman lived under the same roof. Nor could she have an uneven number with an extra female.

"I suppose I shall have to find a man for her."

Bri giggled.

"Matchmaking is a difficult task," her mother said. "I suggest you ask Lady Aston if she has a gentleman friend whom you can invite to partner with her."

"Yes, thank you, Mother. That's a grand idea."

"What if she doesn't?" Purity persisted. Her sister liked to be organized and prepared, but Clarity couldn't worry about that right then.

"I'll deal with that if I have to. And while I am happy to do work with my new household staff, I would love to talk over my ideas with you now."

They spent an enjoyable hour working out the details of an amusing dinner party for a young couple to host, one as unpretentious and unstuffy as they were.

"And just like Queen Victoria, we shall have some Atholl brose to delight our guests," Clarity said.

"Can you get that in London?" Purity asked.

"I doubt we shall need to send to Scotland for it. Our Cook can make it."

Once back home, as she wished to think of Hollidge House, she went in search of the housekeeper.

"Mrs. Rigley, I am putting on a dinner party."

"Are you, my lady? Have you spoken yet to Lady Aston?"

Sweet Mary! Not again! "No, I haven't. Why?"

"It's just that she keeps the schedule for the household. She would know if there is a conflict."

"That's a clever idea," she told the woman, although Clarity thought it odd indeed that there might be a party scheduled in her own home, maybe in her own dining room, that she didn't know about.

"Regardless of the schedule," Clarity continued, "I intend to speak to Cook about the menu."

Mrs. Rigley frowned. "Wouldn't it be best if Lady Aston were with you?"

Clarity felt a prickle of alarm. "I believe Cook and I can handle it," she told the housekeeper and dismissed her.

Pushing open the door at the back of the basement, she was met with damp, warm air reminding her of her own family's kitchen. Water was always on the boil for washing, for tea and coffee, and for cooking. A scullery maid was peeling potatoes, and one of the housemaids was setting tea things on a tray, probably for Lady Aston.

In the midst of it was their middle-aged cook, who was portly and red-faced. The first time Clarity had been introduced to Mrs. Wheaton, the woman had apologized for her appearance, saying she'd been tasting too many things her whole life, from scullery maid on up.

Clarity hadn't known how to respond beyond saying she would be worried if she met a skinny, sallow cook.

"Good day, Mrs. Wheaton."

"Good day, my lady. What brings you down here?"

"A dinner party. Probably the two words you most dread."

"Not at all," their cook said. "I like to show off my talents as well as the next."

"Very good. I was reading in the newspaper about Queen Victoria's love of pale consommé, and that seems like a nice starting course instead of a heavy pottage."

"Yes, my lady. That's clarified veal stock. Not easy, but I can do it."

"The queen also likes a buffet table covered in a variety of meats, and she allows her guests to rise from the table and choose from among them."

Mrs. Wheaton appeared shocked. "Like at breakfast?" She shook her head. "How many people, my lady? I'm asking because I cannot imagine it's a good idea to have too many guests milling about and getting up from their seats. They'll be tripping the footman."

"There will be fourteen of us, and I thought it might be fun to call the ladies first to the buffet table with a footman putting whatever each chooses on her plate. Venison, beef, and chicken, prepared any way you wish. There's a new butcher shop opened in Holland Park. Lidgate's, it's called. My mother says they serve superior cuts, and I should like you to try them. The side dishes can be served as usual when everyone is seated."

"As you like, my lady."

"For dessert, I think both a hot pudding and a chilled one. Perhaps a sponge cake, too."

"Of course,"

"I don't suppose you know anything about Atholl brose, do you?"

"No, my lady. Is it a soup?"

"It's a Scottish drink, very creamy and festive, made with uncooked oatmeal, honey, whisky, and cream."

Mrs. Wheaton narrowed her eyes. "You want to drink porridge, my lady?"

Clarity realized the scullery maid had stopped peeling to stare at her.

"No, not really. The oatmeal is mixed with boiling water, but not really cooked into porridge. I think it might be strained after."

The cook shrugged. "If you give me a recipe, I can whip it up, I guess, just as well as the next person."

"Whip what up?" came Lady Aston's voice behind Clarity, causing her to jump.