The Lady Who Came in from the Cold by Grace Callaway

Author:Grace Callaway [Callaway, Grace]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: regency historical romance
Publisher: Grace Callaway
Published: 2015-11-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

The next two weeks passed by in a blur for Penny. She had all the remaining details for the ball to take care of as well as a marriage to get back on track. With the former, she was confident of her progress; with the latter… not so much.

It wasn’t that Marcus hadn’t kept to his word. He didn’t mention her past, and his manner toward her had noticeably thawed. Several nights ago, he’d even teased her at the supper table, asking her if she was trying to fatten him up by having all his favorite foods prepared. She’d wanted to roll her eyes because, unlike her, the man could eat like a bloody horse and not gain a single ounce. But, more to the point, he’d noticed her efforts to please him. This was progress, and it was good.

Yet all had not been smooth sailing. In the past, Marcus had been the even-tempered one in their marriage, the anchor to her occasional (or, more accurately, not infrequent) storms. He’d been her safe harbor, and he’d never been prone to moodiness or irritability. This new Marcus did have moods, however, and they were as changeable as the weather.

Whilst he kept his promise to not lash out at her, he would suddenly grow quiet, distant, his thoughts clearly occupying a dark and gloomy space. She hated his brooding, would prefer a full-fledged row over the tension that could set in at any moment like a deadly frost and wipe out their budding reconciliation. She felt as though she were a performer at Astley’s, walking a tightrope no less treacherous than that of Madame Monique le Magnifique.

At the same time, she didn’t dare to confront him. She’d given her word that she wouldn’t push, and with their truce so new, she didn’t want to drive them into conflict once more. Thus, she forced herself to bide her time and to let him dictate the pace of their rapprochement.

Yet a dangerous feeling was taking root inside her: impatience.

Just this morning, she’d received a note from Sister Agatha, a reply to her plea for counsel. Her old friend’s advice had consisted of two words: Be yourself. But surely Agatha didn’t mean Penny’s true self.

Back when Penny had been Pompeia, the ruthless spy, she’d channeled her innate hotheadedness to her advantage. She’d been bold and daring, taking on perilous missions that others had declined. Since she hadn’t had much to lose, she’d had little to fear. She’d thrown herself fully into any character that she was playing, nothing held back, and she’d played to win. Always.

Twelve years of marriage had tempered this part of her. She’d gotten accustomed to being Marcus’ devoted marchioness, a role she’d chosen and, in truth, delighted in. So much so that it hadn’t bothered her to suppress certain aspects of her old self because having Marcus’ love—the love of the best man she’d ever known—was worth any price.

The fact was that she’d gotten so used to being Lady Blackwood that Pompeia had receded to a figure in the background.

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