A Gamble on Love by Blair Bancroft

Author:Blair Bancroft
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: romance, historical romance, regency, regency historical, nineteenth century britain, british nobility, jane austen style, romance squeaky clean
Publisher: Blair Bancroft

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Chapter Twelve

Relia’s steps increased in pace as she moved down the hallway until, by the time she reached her room, she was close to a jog. Bursting through the door, she slammed it behind her, stalking to the center of the bedchamber, where she stood, breathing hard, eyes squeezed tight and fists clenched. The serenity of her household had disappeared up the chimney like so much unwanted smoke. At dinner, Gussie had concentrated her attention on the two younger Lannings, who seemed to require constant supervision to keep them from quarreling like toddlers on leading strings. Which left her husband as her sole conversational partner. And he—abominable man!—except for assuring her he would search out a tutor for young Nicholas so the boy did not always have to eat with the adults, quickly reverted to the dull, innocuous phrases that had marked their brief sojourn in Tunbridge Wells. To everyone in the household he turned a face full of animation, even fire. To his wife, however, he presented nothing more interesting than a whitewashed wall.

It was maddening.

And now a tutor was to be added to the mélange. As if her household were not already turned topsy-turvy. All Pevensey Park needed was yet another bedchamber filled by a perfect stranger.

With the automatic response of long practice, Relia shrugged out of the gown that Tilly had just unbuttoned, allowing it to pool about her feet. Nimbly, she stepped out of it, then raised her arms to allow her maid to pull her chemise over her head. Her mind still fixed on the unexpected disturbances brought to Pevensey Park by her marriage to Thomas Lanning, Relia paid little attention to the bedgown Tilly was offering, merely accepting it with gratitude, for in spite of a glowing fire the room was chill. She would welcome the warmth.

And yet . . . she was still cold. A fact uncomfortable enough to distract Mrs. Thomas Lanning from her dire thoughts. She looked down, saw an expanse of transparent lawn, bare arms. In December! “Tilly!”

“Yes, ma’am?” The maid’s eyes, as full of romance as they had been in Tunbridge Wells, gleamed expectantly.

Relia could not possibly say what she wanted to say. She could not admit she had no need of bridal finery. “The velvet dressing gown, if you please.” She snuggled into the soft dark blue fabric, then settled at her delicate French rococo dressing table so Tilly could braid her hair. Brushing and braiding were so soothing . . . almost, she could dismiss her sulks.

When Tilly left, leaving the faint drift of a romantical sigh behind her, Relia, wincing, headed for the warmth of the fireplace, where she curled up in a comfortable upholstered chair and forced herself to face a healthy dose of reality. She had been sulking. And all because her world was changing. Changing in the manner she herself had precipitated.

She had a husband. An enigma, at best, but a far better choice than any of the others.

If only Alan Fortescue .

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