8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Jethro walked through the front door of his house just before five o’clock, his shoulders sagging from the exertions of the day. Tonight, he could rest well, knowing the latest shipment was safely stowed away in the warehouse.

His stomach rumbled. He had not stopped to eat and hoped Mrs Timms had dinner ready. He walked into the drawing room and was about to slump into a chair when his eyes lighted on Cassandra. His wife.

It had been a long day, and business had almost banished the events of the morning from his mind. Had he really married this woman just a few hours ago? It felt like a lifetime away.

The sight of his wife lifted his spirits. It would be pleasant not to eat alone.

“Good evening, Jethro. I trust all went well down at the quayside.”

“Yes, thank you. And now I am famished. Shall we go in?”

Cassandra stared at him, and he stared back.

“Is there something wrong?”

“I imagine you’ll want to dress for dinner first.”

Jethro frowned. The last thing he felt like was changing his clothes. He examined his hands and jacket and was embarrassed to find the dirt from the warehouse clinging to him.

“Yes, of course. I’ll be back directly. ”

Jethro stomped upstairs and rang for his man. He wanted his dinner, and the delay was not helping his mood.

Was this the price he had to pay for being dragged into fashion? The price he had to pay for having a wife.

Wilkes arrived with a jug of warm water, as if he had anticipated his master’s needs. Jethro stripped off his jacket and waistcoat, yanked off his cravat, and pulled his shirt over his head. He had to admit, the discarded garments were ripe with the smells of the warehouse, and his own sweat.

He barked a harsh laugh as he splashed water over his torso and towelled himself dry. If he were a true gentleman, he would not have such an urgent need to wash. He wouldn’t be shifting the goods himself. But though Crowley had tried more than once to send him home to his bride, they had been a man down, and the cargo would not wait.

Without a word, his valet handed him a clean shirt and then retrieved a fresh cravat. He held it out, but Jethro knew better than to attempt to tie it when he felt so tired and nodded for Wilkes to perform the operation for him.

He put on a different waistcoat and then slipped his arms easily into the jacket his man had got ready for him. For the first time, he questioned why he had chosen comfort over fashion when ordering all his clothes.

Would his wife think him unacceptably dowdy? No doubt she would tell him if he was, just like she had informed him he smelled, though she had not spoken the words.

He shouldn’t complain. This was why he’d married her—to help him in society. But he was tired and hungry, and it jarred with him to be told what to do.

Cassandra rose when he entered the drawing room, and he offered her his arm to walk across the hallway to the dining room.

After she was seated, he took his place opposite her, said grace, and nodded to the footman that they were ready to be served.

The man laid a bowl of steaming soup in front of him. The aroma of onions was intoxicating. Jethro sniffed, and sniffed again, his stomach grumbling in response. One spoonful was enough to tell him it tasted as good as it smelled.

“I must commend you, Cassandra. I did not expect you to overhaul the menu on our wedding day.”

She smiled at him, pleased with his praise. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. The recipe is one of my mother’s.”

He was too tired to initiate any further conversation and ate his soup greedily, finding it hard to prevent himself from slurping in his hurry .

A footman cleared away his empty bowl and put a fresh plate in front of him, which Jethro began to fill from the dishes on the table. He carved himself a generous helping of mutton and covered it with a sauce that smelled as good as the soup.

To this, he added a huge slice of Mrs Timms’s beef pie and some vegetables. He closed his eyes as he savoured the first mouthful. Such delicious food was an unlooked-for benefit of getting married.

Married? Jethro’s jaw stopped moving as he remembered he was not alone. How could he have forgotten? He opened his eyes and looked down the table to where Cassandra sat with an empty plate before her.

He swallowed his mouthful, irritated with himself for ignoring his wife. How uncouth she must think him. He was even more unfit for society than he had feared. Should he be serving Cassandra? He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to do that at a distance.

At a nod, the footman brought Cassandra’s plate, and Jethro filled it with a little of everything, not knowing what she liked.

“Is the sauce another of your mother’s recipes?” he asked. “It’s delicious.”

“Yes,” she said with a smile, a slight flush to her cheeks, as if the compliment meant something to her. “It was a favourite in my father’s house.”

Jethro lapsed into silence as he enjoyed the rest of his meal—a silence that Cassandra didn’t interrupt.

When the cloth had been cleared, his wife stood. “I will leave you to your wine.”

Jethro rose to his feet as well. “I know it is the custom for fine ladies to withdraw, leaving the gentlemen to their liquor, but I do not drink spirits. I therefore suggest we adjourn to the drawing room together.”

“As you wish, but you must expect to sit with the other gentlemen when we have company.”

Jethro pursed his lips, trying not to let her gentle instruction grate on him. This was what he had asked of her. He just hadn’t anticipated it would be so hard to be told what to do.

Nor had he foreseen that she would dive so readily into the task before they’d been married a day. A small voice inside him whispered that she probably hadn’t expected him to leave her to fend for herself on their wedding day either, but he ignored it. Business had to come first.

“I congratulate you on the delicious meal you arranged for dinner, Cassandra. It was largely food I was accustomed to, but the additions were most welcome. I must thank Mrs Timms for following your recipes so successfully,” he said, reaching for the bell cord.

“Your housekeeper is an admirable woman—”

“ Our housekeeper,” he corrected.

“Our housekeeper is an admirable woman, but fine cooking is not her forte. If you wish to entertain, we will need a more sophisticated cook. Preferably a man who is well-versed in what should be served at a fashionable dinner. I cannot always be in the kitchen.”

Jethro’s smile froze on his lips. “Why were you in the kitchen? Did Mrs Timms require such close supervision you felt it was necessary?”

Cassandra shook her head, a perplexed expression on her face. “I was not supervising Mrs Timms. She did not cook the soup or the sauce. I did.”

Annoyance bubbled up inside him. Here she was, lecturing him on the way a gentleman should behave, whilst she had been demeaning herself by working like a servant.

“Is that how a lady of quality usually spends her time? In the kitchen?” he asked, trying not to snap, but failing.

Her smile vanished, and Cassandra stared at him with such an uncertain look in her eyes that he regretted his harsh words.

“I’m sorry. I did not think…I did not know you would object. Since my father became ill, we were unable to afford a cook and so I have been used to spending a fair portion of my day in the kitchen, but if it is unacceptable to you—”

Of course it was unacceptable. He hadn’t married her to improve his diet. “It is. I will hire a cook to help Mrs Timms, if she is incapable of preparing the menus you deem necessary. She should not have asked for your assistance. There is no need for you to get your hands dirty doing menial work anymore.”

“Please do not blame your housekeeper. She did not ask for help—I volunteered. I hoped you would enjoy what I cooked as much as I enjoyed preparing it.”

Even worse. His supposedly genteel wife took pleasure in slaving over a hot oven. “Thank you. I appreciated the meal, and am loath to deprive you of any amusement, but I insist you stay out of the kitchen in future. I believe I explained my motivation to marry. If I am to do my part, then you must do yours too. As a gentlewoman in reduced circumstances, your presence in the kitchen was excusable. A necessity. Here, it is not. ”

Cassandra folded her hands in her lap and raised her eyes to meet his gaze. “Very well. I will do as you ask. But so I don’t repeat my mistake, what do you consider is an acceptable way for me to spend my time?”

Was his wife serious? How was he supposed to know what a lady did all day? Her question sounded reasonable, as if she genuinely wanted to please him, but no answer flew to his mind, and it made him feel inadequate. It had been a long while since he had felt lacking, and he did not care for it.

“Do whatever ladies do. Buy some new clothes. Have tea with your friends. I thought you were a gentleman’s daughter. Surely you know how to behave like one?”

Cassandra paled at his harsh words, and when he saw the hurt in her eyes, Jethro wished he had curbed his unruly tongue.

She dropped her gaze, saying nothing in her own defence. After several moments of silence, which he was unsure how to break, she rose from her seat.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said in a calm voice, “I will retire for the night. It has been a long day.”

He stood as well. Should he bow to his wife or shake her hand? Kiss her on the cheek?

“Goodnight,” he said, standing awkwardly, unsure what he should do and waiting for Cassandra to give him the lead.

But she didn’t make a move toward him. She bid him goodnight and left.

Jethro couldn’t blame her, but he wished she had stayed. His anger disappeared as fast as it had come, seeing her look so sad, so vulnerable, when he’d snapped at her. He hated knowing he was responsible.

He could have thumped himself for his clumsiness. This woman was his wife, and he had vowed to love her, but so far, he’d only shown her what a bad-tempered, ungentlemanlike oaf she had married.

Was he breaking his wedding vows already? Kindness was part of love, and she had shown him plenty, but all he had done was to throw it back in her face.

What had he been thinking? To suppose that marriage could be a business arrangement, to achieve his aims without impacting the rest of his life.

He had a responsibility toward the woman he had married that went beyond giving her a home. He had promised to love and cherish her—yes, cherish.

How in heaven’s name was he supposed to do that?