She shook her head. ‘I retract what I said before. In comparison, the horse nail is light. This does not suit.’
‘We can go to the jewellers tomorrow, and get it sized to you.’
‘You do not understand. It fits well enough, but it does not suit me.’
‘It was my mother’s,’ he said. ‘And my grandmother’s before her.’
‘Well, perhaps it would suit, if I were your mother,’ she snapped. ‘But I am your wife. And it does not suit me.’
‘You are my wife, but you are also Duchess of Bellston. And the Duchess wears the ring, in the family colours of sapphire and gold.’
‘My mother was happy with a simple gold band,’ she challenged.
‘Your mother was not a duchess.’
‘When your mother worked, did she remove the ring, or leave it on? For I would hate to damage it.’
‘Work?
‘Work,’ she repeated firmly.
‘My mother did not work.’
‘But, if you remember our agreement, I do.’ She slipped the ring off her finger and handed it back to him. ‘My efforts here are hardly strenuous, but a large ring will snag in the papers and could get soiled, should I spill ink. It is not a very practical choice.’
‘Practicality has never been an issue,’ he admitted.
‘It is to me. For I am a very practical person.’
‘I am aware of that.’
She looked at the box on the table, which was large enough to hold much more than a single ring. ‘Is there not another choice available that might serve as compromise?’
He re-opened the box, and turned it to her. ‘This is a selection of such jewellry as is at the London address. I dare say there is more, in the lock rooms at Bellston.’
She rejected the simple gold band she saw as being a trifle too plain for even the most practical of duchesses, and chose a moonstone, set in silver. It was easily the least worthy piece in the box, and he wondered why his mother had owned it, for it was unlike any of her other jewellry. His wife ran the tip of her finger lightly along the stone: a cabochon, undecorated, but also unlikely to get in the way of her work. ‘I choose this.’
‘Silver.’ He said it as though it were inferior, but then, at one time, he might have said the same of her, had he not been forced to recognise her. And he would have been proved wrong.
‘At least I will not feel strongly, should I damage it. And for formal engagements, I will wear your mother’s ring. But not tonight.’ She slipped the moonstone on to her hand, and it glittered eerily.
‘It suits you,’ he conceded.
‘I suspected it would. And it is better, is it not, than if I wore the horse nail?’ She admired the ring on her hand and smiled.
He smiled as well. ‘I feared, for a moment, that you might do it, out of spite.’
‘I am not usually given to act out of spite,’ she said.
He laughed.
‘Well, perhaps, occasionally.’ Then she laughed as well, and surrendered. ‘All right. Frequently. But I shall be most co-operative tonight, if you shall take me to Wales tomorrow.’
‘A bargain, madam.’ He reached out and took her hand. ‘Let us climb the stairs and await our guests.’
Whoever had selected the top floor of the house for a ballroom had not made the most practical of choices, but Adam had to admit that the tall windows, front and back, provided a splendid view of London below, and the night sky above. He felt Penny tense as the first guests arrived, and thought to offer her a last chance to return to her room and avoid the evening. But he saw the determined look in her eyes and thought better of it. She meant to hang on, no matter what, although the bows and curtsies of the guests and polite murmurs of ‘your Grace’ were obviously making her uncomfortable.
He reached out and laid a hand on her back, hoping to convey some of his strength to her. She was able to suppress the brief flinch of surprise he could feel, when his fingers touched the bare skin above her gown. And then he felt her slowly relaxing back against his hand, and step ever so slightly closer to him, letting him support and protect her.
He smiled, because it felt good to know that, whatever else she might feel, she trusted him. And it felt good as well, to feel her skin beneath his hand. He shifted and his hand slid along her back, and it was smooth and cool and wonderful to touch. The flesh warmed beneath his hand as the blood flowed to it.
And he found himself wondering, would the rest of her feel the same? If he allowed his fingers to slip under the neckline of her gown, would she pull away in shock, or move closer to him, allowing him to take even greater liberties?
‘Adam? Adam?’
He came back to himself to find his wife staring up at him in confusion. Her eyes shifted slightly, to indicate the presence of guests.
‘Tim and Clarissa, so good to see you.’ He smiled a welcome to his friend and nodded to the woman beside him. ‘Forgive me. My mind was elsewhere.’ He could feel Penny’s nervousness under his hand and drew her closer to him.
And as the introductions droned on, his mind returned to where it had been. It might have been easier to concentrate, if he did not have the brief memory of her, changing clothes in his bed. She had been very like a surprised nymph in some classic painting. Beautiful in her nakedness, and unaware of the gaze of another. And he had allowed himself to watch her, for even though she was his wife, he had not expected to see that particular sight again.
And now, of all times, he could not get the picture from his head. While the object of the evening was to prove to his social circle that he admired and respected his new wife, it would not do to be panting after her like a lovesick dog. A few dances, a glass of champagne, and he would retire to the card room, to steady his mind with whisky and the dull conversation of his male friends.
It was going well, she reminded herself, over and over again. She had survived the receiving line, and, except for a moment where Adam behaved quite strangely, it had been without incident. Clarissa had been quite incensed that Adam had not paid her a compliment. But he had barely seemed to notice the woman. It gave her hope that perhaps the worst was over, and that she need see no more of Clarissa after tonight.
She looked around her, at the throng of people enjoying the refreshments, and at the simple buffet, which was anything but. There was enough food for an army, if an army wished to subsist on lobster, ice-cream sculptures and liberal amounts of champagne. The orchestra was tuning, and soon dancing would begin.
Adam was surveying the room from her side. ‘You have done well.’
‘Thank you.’
He hesitated. ‘I understand that this was difficult for you.’
‘It was not so bad,’ she lied.
He
