Page 16 of Raked Away in September

“It’s a relic,” he said, offering a tight, nervous smile as he stepped forward to pull out a chair for her at the closest end of the table. His fingers brushed the silk of her sleeve as she sat, and she felt the heat of him even through the layers of her dress. “I hope you’re hungry. I’m sure Cook has outdone herself, hoping to impress you.”

She liked that he wanted to impress her but did not like it when he walked all the way to the other end of the vast table to take his own seat.

“I’d like to meet the staff tomorrow, if that’s all right?” she asked hesitantly, still very uncertain of her place here. She wondered if she was truly the mistress of this house, or merely an unwanted guest.

If she asked for the heavy velvet curtains to be swapped for something lighter, or suggested a change to the menu, would she find herself met with the same polite, impenetrable wall of “my lady, that is not how it is done” that had always characterized her life in London? Even before Nick married Olivia, the household staff had paid little attention to her attempts to change things.

The earl paused, his glass halfway to his lips. The silence that followed wasn’t unkind, but it was long enough for Tamsin to hear the frantic thrumming of her own heart and wonder if she’d somehow managed to offend him.

“Of course,” he said at last, his lips quirking in a hint of a smile. “I should have thought to introduce you to them when we arrived. Please tell me if I make any other blunders. I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to you.”

Relief swept through her at his easy acquiescence, and she finally let herself relax a bit. “I don’t know that I would have been ready for that earlier. I was quite overwhelmed.”

A pair of footmen entered the dining room and placed a delicate bowl of soup in front of each of them, then bowed and stood behind them, ready to assist. She shifted uncomfortably. Though she was used to having servants on hand during meals, she’d been looking forward to a more private affair, the chance to get to know her new husband without an audience.

Tamsin took a careful sip of the broth. It was rich and complex, yet she barely tasted it. “Perhaps we can talk a bit about what you expect from me? As your wife, I mean.”

He took a spoonful of his own soup, obviously considering her question very seriously. She liked that he didn’t rush to give a glib reply. Silence fell between them for a few minutes before he finally broke it.

“I expect a certain level of decorum for the sake of the family name. We will do at least the bare minimum that society requires when it comes to hosting and attending social events. But behind these doors...”

“Behind these doors?” she prompted.

“I expect honesty,” he said plainly. “I have no desire for a wife who plays the martyr or the mute. I have seen enough of those sorts of marriages in the ton. I would like it if we could become friends. I would like to be able to trust you. I would like a partner in all things.” He paused for a moment. “What do you expect of me?”

His words brought happy tears to her eyes. She’d certainly never expected to hear such words from him, but they were exactly what she wanted as well. She was spared from answering his question immediately as the footmen stepped forward in unison to whisk away the soup bowls and replace them with silver-domed platters of turbot in a lemon-caper reduction.

“I want honesty, trust, and friendship as well,” she said after the footmen stepped back, once again wishing she was alone with her husband. If they could share those things, then perhaps her new situation would not only be bearable, but perhaps even wonderful. She looked at the turbot, perfectly flaky and expensive, and then at the man seated at the other end of the table. “I hope you’ll grant me patience,” she said softly. “It will take time for me to learn my place here, to learn how to be your wife.”

He nodded slowly, just as the footmen returned to pour glasses of crisp white wine. She took the moment to drink in the sight of this gorgeous man who was now her husband. He had haunted her thoughts since that night at Vauxhall, and now here they were, bound by law and a shared scandal. Every time his gaze met hers, her heart performed a frantic stutter. Would she ever not be somewhat intimidated by his stunning looks?

The table was an ocean of mahogany between them. Tamsin watched Rowan through the flickering light of the silver candelabra, feeling as though she were trying to communicate with a man on a distant shore. Every time she spoke, her voice seemed to lose its strength before it even reached him, swallowed by the vast, polished expanse.

Gathering her courage, she set her fork down with a definitive click. “Rowan?”

He glanced up, a look of mild inquiry on his face.

“I find this distance… intolerable,” she said, her pulse quickening. She glanced at the yards of empty table between them. “Might I sit closer to you? It feels absurd to shout my thoughts across such a space.”

Rowan’s dark eyes softened with a flash of surprise, followed by a quick, approving nod. He gestured to the footman who stood behind her. “Hughes, if you please. Move Her Ladyship’s place setting to my right.”

The transition was a flurry of practiced, silent motion. The footman moved with the efficiency of a clockwork doll, whisking her crystal, her silver, and her linen to the seat immediately beside the earl. When Tamsin crossed the room and sat beside him, the change was instantaneous. The faint scent of sandalwood that clung to him filled her senses, and the radiating warmth of his presence made her feel less alone.

“That is much better,” she murmured, though she was acutely aware of the footmen returning to their rigid positions behind them. She turned to him, keeping her voice low. “I understand the necessity of formality in public, Rowan. I know what is expected of an earl and his countess. But as you said before, when we are within these walls… I hope we might be less formal. My parents always sat beside one another at dinner.” She offered a small, wistful smile. “They had a love match, you see, and they enjoyed each other’s company.”

Rowan’s expression shifted, a shadow of something old and bitter crossing his features. He stared at his wine glass for a long moment before answering. “My parents were quite the opposite. They lived in a state of warfare. They sat at opposite ends of the table, not for tradition, but because they had no desire to be any closer to each other. If they could have dined in separate wings of the house, they would have. It is one of the primary reasons I delayed marriage for so long. I had no desire to recreate that particular brand of misery.”

Tamsin felt a pang of sympathy, but as she opened her mouth to respond, her gaze flicked to the footman standing mere feet away. His face was a mask of marble, but she knew he was listening to every word. The intimacy of Rowan’s confession felt lessened by the audience.

She waited until the final course was cleared and the servants had retreated to the sideboard to prepare the coffee. She leaned closer to Rowan, her voice a mere breath.

“This room is too full of ears,” she whispered. “Could we perhaps go somewhere more private? I should like to talk to my husband, not to the Earl of Haversham’s household staff.”

Rowan looked at her, then glanced at the stone-faced men in the shadows. A look of understanding—and perhaps a bit of relief—passed over his face. He stood, offering her his hand. “The library,” he decided. “I’ll tell Hughes we are not to be disturbed.”

Rowan led the way down the dimly lit corridor, the soft rustle of Tamsin’s sapphire silk skirts following behind him. Dinner had been... pleasant. More than pleasant; it had been a revelation. She truly seemed to want to get to know him, to understand what he wanted. For the first time in ages, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

He found himself thinking of the way she had looked him in the eye and requested a seat at the table by his side. Most women in his orbit were either terrified of his reputation or performed a coy, practiced dance to gain his attention, but Tamsin had simply reached out and bridged the gap. He liked that about her—that sudden, quiet initiative. It suggested a woman who, despite her sheltered upbringing, had a core of steel.