Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

T he following morning, Matthew was up early, ready to leave the house for a business meeting.

He was looking forward to the meeting, something he had not anticipated. It wasn't that he usually dreaded business meetings—he enjoyed his work. But he knew the reason he was looking forward to today's meeting in particular was that he would be able to tell Lord Cole all about his marriage.

Lord Cole and other gentlemen like him were a great part of the reason Matthew had been so eager to marry in the first place. Every time he met with this particular earl, there were comments about the fact that he hadn't yet found a wife. And these weren't teasing comments like the ones his sisters and brothers-in-law made. Lord Cole genuinely believed that Matthew was less trustworthy, that he couldn't be relied upon, because he had no wife, and it had held him back from agreeing to a business deal that Matthew had been trying to make with him for a while now.

Well, all that would be different now. Matthew would be able to tell Lord Cole that he had married, and Lord Cole would be more willing to seriously contemplate the deal. Having Cressida in his life would certainly be a boon to his business affairs, just as he had intended.

He had hoped to slip out of the house without meeting her, but apparently she was an early riser. She was already at the breakfast table when he came down, spreading jam on toast.

"Good morning," she said, putting her knife down and looking up at him. "I trust you slept well?"

It was so formal, so officious. He nearly felt as if he was already in his meeting, already sitting across from Lord Cole instead of across from his wife.

His wife . It still felt so odd to think of her that way, even though he knew that was what she was. Looking at her still felt like looking at a stranger, and Matthew couldn't help feeling a little bitter about the fact that circumstances had forced him into a marriage when he hadn't been sure he wanted anything of the sort.

Still, he knew he ought to be grateful for her. It wasn't just any lady who would have gone along with an arrangement like the one the two of them had entered into. Many ladies—and their fathers, for that matter—would have tried to negotiate for something more.

"I thought perhaps you might give me a tour of the grounds today," Cressida suggested.

"I can arrange a tour for you—and for your lady's maid as well, if you'd like," Matthew said. "My housekeeper, Mrs. Boggs, would be more than happy to see to all that. I can speak to her after breakfast, before I leave."

"Wait. You're leaving?" Cressida frowned. "You never mentioned that."

"I'm going into town on business. That's standard for me. I'll return in a few days."

Her jaw dropped. "A few days ?"

"Why do you look like that? Surely your father went away on business for days at a time sometimes?"

"Well, yes, but Matthew—we just got married."

"What of that?" A thought occurred to him. "You didn't think this was going to be some sort of honeymoon, did you?" He thought he'd made it clear to her that theirs wasn't to be that type of marriage.

"Don't be so ridiculous," Cressida snapped, obviously affronted. "I thought you were going to help me settle into my new life, that's all. I don't think that's a ridiculous thing to have believed. We may not have a conventional marriage, and I understand that, but I'd have thought you would still want to fulfill your responsibilities to me. You are my husband, after all. You're really going to leave me alone in a place that's altogether new to me so soon after our wedding? I never expected that."

"I'm not leaving you alone." Matthew felt a surge of frustration. "You'll be in the care of my household staff, and they are more than up to the task of providing for your needs. They will acclimate you to the way things are done in this household, and you won't notice my absence at all."

"We need to discuss this further," Cressida protested.

"There isn't anything to discuss."

"You can't simply decide that for yourself with no input from me whatsoever. I have the right to tell you what I need from you and to expect you to provide it. You may be the master of this house, but this is still my life."

"And you are my wife," Matthew reminded her firmly. "That means that I am entitled to make decisions for the pair of us, little though you may like them. You will cooperate with my instructions and fulfill your duties to me as a wife."

"Fulfill my duties?" Her expression shifted to one of confusion. "I thought you didn't want—that is to say, you deliberately established me in a separate bedroom from yourself. I thought you didn't want us to live as husband and wife—in that regard."

She blushed, and Matthew realized what she was referring to.

"I don't," he assured her. "You will be my wife in name, and to the public eye. You will honor and obey me, and you will help me in improving my reputation in the business world. Those are the duties to which I referred."

Cressida sat back in her chair. "I see," she said, her face unreadable. "And what of—an heir?"

"I have no interest in that," he told her. He knew that it was best to be upfront about this particular questions. He didn't want her to have false hopes when it came to the idea of family. That could be hurtful to her.

But Cressida merely closed her eyes and nodded. "I'm glad to know that," she said.

He couldn't resist a question. "You aren't disappointed?"

"Not at all," she assured him. "As a matter of fact, I never wanted to have children either."

He couldn't have been more surprised. "You didn't?"

"No," she said.

"I suppose I thought…"

"You assumed that all ladies wanted to be mothers?"

"Not exactly," he protested, although the truth of the matter was something quite close to that. "Well, if you don't want children either, why are you asking me about the possibility of an heir?"

"I assumed it was something you would want," she said. "You're the one who seemed so eager to be married all of a sudden. I thought perhaps it might have something to do with the need for an heir."

"Well, it doesn't," he said. "That's not something the future holds for the two of us. As I said, we will be married for the sake of public appearance, but nothing more."

"That's fine with me," Cressida agreed. "I'm glad to know that you and I are on the same page about something, at least."

Matthew rose to his feet. "As far as your acclimation to the house, you'll have to rely on the staff," he said. "They'll see to it that you have whatever you need, Cressida. Don't hesitate to ask Mrs. Boggs for anything that comes up. And I'll be back in a few days myself."

Cressida seemed to accept that there was nothing more to be said on the subject. She nodded and picked up the toast she had been adding jam to. "I hope you have a productive trip," she said, returning to the formal tone in which she had spoken when she'd first greeted him that morning.

"I'm sure I will," he said. "And I'll see you in a few days, when I return."

There seemed to be nothing more to say, so he got up and left the table. Immediately, he regretted having done so. He hadn't eaten anything, and he knew he was allowing himself to be driven off by her presence. He was going to have to overcome that particular instinct. It was fine for today—he could retreat to his study and have his breakfast brought to him there before he left the house. But on days when he wasn't planning on going anywhere, he would need to find a way to be comfortable eating in her presence.

He supposed it would get easier with time.

Once in his study, he sat down and picked up his sketchpad. Drawing had always been a hobby of his, a way to pass the time between more pressing things, and sometimes it was the only way he could truly feel relaxed. He had been working on a sketch of a bird, but even though it was unfinished, he felt uninspired by it now. With no desire to go on working on it, he flipped the page.

There was a knock at the door. Matthew looked up to see a maid with a tea tray. She pushed it inside and gave him a little curtsy, inclining her head, before withdrawing from the room.

That was the way Matthew liked his interactions with his servants to go. He appreciated it when they didn't try to speak to him or disrupt his thoughts, and they all knew better than to do so unless it was truly necessary.

He looked at the tray. Lots of food had been brought up for him, but he suddenly found that he wasn't especially hungry. He picked up a cup of coffee and took a long, slow sip, pondering.

Matthew had a healthy appetite. It usually didn't disappear like this unless something was troubling him. But that wasn't the case now. He was looking forward to today's business meeting. He was excited to share the news of his marriage with Lord Cole and to see how it would change the way the two of them interacted.

It was impossible to determine what had him feeling so anxious. But now that he had noticed the feeling, it was impossible to deny it.

With a sigh, he set down the cup of coffee. It looked like he was going to start the day less successfully than he had hoped. If only he hadn't run into Cressida at breakfast, perhaps things would have been different—but, of course, she had every right to be there. He couldn't deny her a place at the table. He wouldn't have wanted to do that, even if he could.

The one thing that he knew he could rely on to soothe him a bit was drawing, so he picked up a pencil and began to sketch.

He did this absently, as he always did, without much thought for what he was going to draw. His hand led the way. That was why drawing was so relaxing—it allowed Matthew to stop his racing thoughts for a little while, to stop worrying about whether everything was arranged to perfection, the way he liked it. He could simply rip out the piece of paper if something went wrong. There were no stakes when it came to drawing.

He picked up his coffee and took another absent sip as the drawing began to take shape in front of him, wondering what it would be. His attention began to drift. The business of his hand saved him from delving too deeply into his thoughts, which skated over the surface of several matters—how he was going to solve the problem of not being able to eat a meal with Cressida, what he would say when he met with Lord Cole, whether he had done the right thing in getting married the way he had. Though all of these matters would have felt very pressing if he had stopped to give them serious thought, as long as he kept his pencil moving, there was no need to do that.

Then he stopped and looked down at the paper in front of him.

It was immediately obvious what he had done. Sometimes he didn't recognize his own drawings at once, but when it came to this one, there was no question.

He had drawn a picture of Cressida.

His hand clenched, snapping his pencil in frustration—what was he to make of this? Did she hold such sway over his mind that she was spilling out into his artwork?

He couldn't bring himself to rip out the picture—she was his wife, after all. But he closed the book and tossed it away in frustration.

Nothing was being accomplished here. He might as well go into the city now, even though it meant arriving early for his meeting.