Marrying the Marquess by G.L. Snodgrass

Marrying the Marquess by G.L. Snodgrass

Author:G.L. Snodgrass [Snodgrass, G.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-01-30T06:00:00+00:00


Chapter Twelve

Blake announced that dinner was served and her heart fell.

Catherine had spent the afternoon avoiding her husband. She had made a fool of herself with her unfounded petty jealousies. The last thing she wanted was to see him glancing at her and knowing that he was laughing at her.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t avoid the evening meal. She had thought of asking for her dinner to be brought to her room. But, he would have known why and laughed even harder. If he had laughed, that was.

Not for the first time, she wondered if her husband was ever happy, and if not, what would it take to bring him happiness?

Glancing at her husband, as Blake slid her chair in for her, she noticed no difference. He didn’t look at her as if she were the village idiot, nor shake his head at her stupidity.

Sighing, she unfolded her napkin and folded her hands in her lap.

“The glass if falling, My Lord,” Blake said with a serious frown, as he stepped aside to allow the footmen to serve the meal.

The Marquess scoffed. “My shoulder has already informed me.”

Catherine looked back and forth between her husband and their butler. What were they talking about? she wondered.

The Marquess saw her confused look and said, “The glass he is referring to is the barometer, My Lady. Falling pressure indicates a storm is on the way.”

“Yes, My Lady,” the Butler said. “And with the speed at which it is decreasing, I believe it will be here soon.”

The Marquess scoffed. “My shoulder begs to differ,” the Marquess said, as he took a sip of his soup.

“Nine, at the latest, My Lord,” Blake said.

“Midnight at least,” the Marquess responded.

“Does your shoulder really tell you when a storm is coming? My Lord,” Catherine asked, unable to tell if they were serious or teasing her.

The Marquess nodded. “Yes, it does. And I venture that it is a better predictor than Blake’s glass.”

“Not always,” Blake said. “The last time, I was closer than Your Lordship.”

“I was drunk,” the Marquess said with a shake of his head.

Catherine was surprised, she hadn’t seen Mason drink very much. It had been one of the few things she had been very pleased to discover.

“Yes, well,” Blake said, “and I believe it will be a bad one.”

The Marquess rolled his shoulder and stretched his neck, then nodded. “I agree,” he said, as he massaged the muscles beneath his scar.

Catherine looked back and forth between the two men.

“I have informed Mr. Frasier, My Lord,” Blake said. “He assures me that everything in the stables is secure.”

The Marquess scoffed again, “Frasier’s knees are better than my shoulder or your blasted glass at predicting storms.”

“That was what he said,” Blake said with a hint of a smile.

The Marquess merely nodded and continued on with his meal. Why can he talk so easily with his butler? Yet treat his wife as if she were a distant relative. She was rather positive she would never understand.

“Yes, well,” the butler continued, “I will have a footman up throughout the night.



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