Page 16 of Miss Vincent’s Vow

But Cassandra was not to be deterred. She had to be doing something, and as it was beyond her to rip out the drawing room furnishings on her wedding day, that would have to wait.

“Nonsense, Mrs Timms. I’m certain Mr Hunt will be glad of the changes.” At least, Cassandra hoped so. “I’ll be back directly.”

She hurried up the stairs to her bedroom and rummaged through the contents of her trunk until she found her household book. It had been her mother’s, and she had added to it over the years. Book in hand, she returned to the kitchen and, putting on an apron over her dress, she set to work.

Cooking was something she was good at, and in the absence of someone who was competent to carry out her instructions, she would have to do it herself. She revelled in the possibilities that a well-stocked larder afforded. It would make a pleasant change from trying to concoct a decent meal on a meagre budget.

She would show Jethro she was keeping up her side of the bargain. That she was striving to be a good wife from the start. Maybe then he would soften toward her. It was too early to give up hope. They had only been wed a few hours, after all.

A voice inside her whispered that he’d spent even fewer of those hours with her. It was hard not to feel put out—rejected—but she repressed the negative thoughts. She would not let resentment eat away at her.

Cassandra had vowed to love her husband, and with God’s help, she would keep her promise. She would choose to act lovingly, though she didn’t feel like it. That meant becoming the very best wife she could.

Jethro was an upright man, but one who was used to living on his own.

She would show him how pleasant it was to have a wife—and make him wonder how he’d ever managed without her.

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.