A man such as Lord Barnsley knew nothing but sick pride and an inability to see all the ways he compromised it.
The question was: what to do with him? Hugh massaged his head as he thought. His first instinct was to throw the old manout and let him fend for himself. But he could not discount the possibility that he had friends in London—friends who would kick up a fuss about Barnsley’s dutiful daughter failing to care for him in his dotage. Never mind all the multitude of ways Barnsley had failed said daughter.
Hugh could endure any amount of gossip about himself, but he would not make his wife the object of criticism.
So, then. He would have to find Barnsley somewhere to stay. A small cottage, perhaps. If the property came with a dower house, that would suffice. And he, Hugh, would be forced to pay out of pocket for the man’s continued existence.
The only good thing to come from it was that he would be ensuring the old man could not continue his gambling habits. Not when Hugh held the purse strings.
His mind thus made up, he was about to ring for Penwick and ask him to post the letter when there came a knock at the door. And there, standing as calm and unruffled as could be, was Christiana.
Her eyes were large behind her glasses, and he could recall in perfect detail how it felt to remove the wire frames. Even more, he could recall how it had felt to kiss her. To have her straddling his lap.
The blood in his body rushed south. Truly, it was incredible how, in a house as large as this, he still found himself in close confines with his wife on a regular basis.
Could she be here to ask for a kiss? Somehow, from the directness of her gaze, he doubted it.
She glanced at his desk, then his face. “Am I disturbing you?”
Yes.“Not in the slightest. Come, sit. Did you have something for me?”
“A request, of sorts.” She came to sit on the armchair before the fire, and he took his place in the one opposite. Their knees brushed, and a hint of color stained her cheeks—the firstsign she had shown of awareness. Both of him and what had previously transpired between them.
He ruthlessly suppressed any hope that she would be asking for anything in the physical sense. In the day since their kiss, she had made no allusion to it. It was as though, in her mind, it had not happened at all.
“Oh?” he prompted.
“There are two things, I suppose.” She toyed with the lace sleeve of her dress. “I would like to dismiss Mrs. Partridge and Penwick.”
His brows rose and he did his best to maintain his composure. “I see. You have decided to dismiss my butler and housekeeper?”
“In time. I think I may have evidence that they were working together to take advantage of you,” she said. “When that time comes, do I have your blessing?”
“Do you need it?”
“Well, such a big decision ought to be made jointly. Fear not—I won’t act until I’ve found replacements. I thought Elkins could replace Penwick. He’s been around almost as long, and from what I can gather, has held the position of under-butler for quite some time now. He knows the ropesandis a familiar face. I can hire another footman to take his place.”
Hugh fought the urge to demandhowshe might achieve such a thing without parading him to potential servants, waiting to see if they would flinch at the sight of his monstrous visage. “I see.”
“I have it entirely under control,” she said, extending a hand as though to place it on his arm. She retracted it again, suddenly unsure. “One that doesn’t involve ritual humiliation on your part.”
“May I ask what this process entails?”
“You may not.” Her eyes were a calmer gray today, the tint almost blue behind her glasses. “Can you trust me?”
“You have a wife who has never been chosen before.”
“You had my assurance that I would support your decisions,” he said. “I will not fail you now.”
A pleased flush lit her cheeks and she smiled. “Thank you.”
Although the thought of having someone new enter his household made his skin crawl, he attempted to return her smile. Somewhere along the way, it seemed, his primary desire had become to make her happy in all things.
“What else did you have to speak to me about?” he asked after a moment.
Her gaze flicked across him, and to his surprise, she leaned over and took his bare hand, free from its glove. He had been wearing them less and less recently. “You won’t like it. But I ask you to hear me out.”
“So far,” he said dryly, transfixed by the sight of her unmarred skin against his own, “I have liked very few of your suggestions.”