Page 8 of A Raven Repents

Apparently, her luggage had already been unpacked. Her meager wardrobe looked sparse inside the large armoire, but at least she’d found her clothes. She looked back at the large tub. The one thing that did sound inviting was a hot bath. Did she dare to use the bell to ring for a servant? Was she allowed?

With a shrug, she gave it a pull. What was the worst that could happen?

After a few minutes, the door opened and a pretty young maid stepped through. Her amber eyes sparkled, and her smile was warm and welcoming. “Good morning, Mrs. Henderson.”

“Good morning.”

“My name is Winnie. Before Mr. Henderson left, he instructed me to see to anything you might need.”

“Left? You mean, back to London?”

“I believe so, yes.”

He hadn’t even said goodbye.

At least he wasn’t around to shout at her anymore.

“Would it be possible for me to have a bath?”

“Of course. I’ll bring you some tea while it’s being prepared.” The woman bustled away.

Christina settled into one of the chairs in her room. It was strange thinking of it as that. But apparently, this was her home now.

It wasn’t long before she heard the bath being filled on the other side of the door, and Winnie returned with a tray.

“Would you like milk or sugar?” she asked after pouring the tea.

“A bit of both, please.”

Winnie added them, and stirred to dissolve the crystals. “There you are, Mrs. Henderson. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Would you mind calling me Christina?” She didn’t particularly like that she now carried the name of a man who hated her.

“Whatever you wish.”

She took a sip of her tea. It was divine. She’d been steeping her leaves several times, trying to save money anywhere she could. It was hard to remember when she’d last had a cup so robust. And with both milk and sugar. What a treat. She breathed in its aroma and savored another mouthful. At least there was something good about this life. “What is he like? Mr. Henderson, I mean.”

Winnie looked a little taken back by that question. It was probably odd to be asking it about her own husband, but how else would she learn about him?

“We don’t see much of him these days. Not since he became a partner in that club. But he’s kind, funny, generous, and even though he’s not living here, he still drops in occasionally to check on us.”

“He’s not stern or grumpy?”

“Mr. Henderson?” She laughed. “Heavens no. Or at least, not usually. Typically, he enjoys laughter, makes jokes, and teases the staff.”

Christina looked down at her tea. That was not the man she’d met. Or perhaps it was. He had been kind in Lady Hempsted’s study. He'd sought her permission before closing the door, offered her champagne for her nerves, and stepped in front of her to block her from view when her father came through the door. More than any of the other men had done.

But why?

And then there was the kiss. He’d been exceedingly gentle. She could still imagine the feel of his lips on hers. Warm and soft. But then everything changed.

She pulled herself back to the present conversation. “You said usually. Does that mean sometimes he is cross and difficult?”

“Only last night. I’ve never seen him that way before.”

“That’s my doing, I suppose.” He truly hated her. Rightfully so. But why did he marry her? It just kept coming back to that.

There was a knock on the adjoining door. “Your bath is ready.” Winnie took her dishes and set them aside, then walked over and opened the door for her.