“Must we?” she asked, closing her eyes. “This house party seemed like a lovely way to start married life, with idle diversions, no family hovering, none of London’s stink and bustle, but now… I want privacy with my husband, and there’s none to be found.”
Ash wrapped her in his arms. “I want privacy with you too, madam, but we must face the other guests sooner or later. We can plead fatigue and retire early.”
“And to think I’ve often admired your practicality.”
He patted her bum. “Let me braid your hair. We will be the picture of decorum as we go down to supper, and only we will know that the true dessert course will be served in our bedroom while the other guests gather around the tables for a hand of piquet.”
Della made herself step back. “You promise we will retire early?”
“No matter when we withdraw, the other guests will remark our leave-taking. We will retire as early as decently possible.”
Marriage meant compromise. Della had seen that with her siblings, over and over. In-laws, children, daily life… They all wore on a marriage, either forging it into a union or fraying its edges. In this case, Ash was right, and Della was being peevish for no reason.
“We will be married for decades, I hope,” she said, smoothing Ash’s lapel. “I can wait a few more hours to share a bed with you, but they will be long hours, Ash Dorning. Long, slow hours.”
“Then be assured I will make long, slow love with you, Mrs. Dorning.”
Dressing, by contrast, was accomplished with disappointing dispatch. Braiding Della’s hair was the work of a moment for Ash, and by the time Della was ready for him to do up her laces, he’d seen to his ablutions and donned his evening finery.
“I’m a bit wrinkled,” he said, passing Della’s corset strings forward for her to tie off in front. “I suppose we’ll all be a bit wrinkled this evening. You do have the most delicious fragrance, my lady. All honeysuckle and sunshine.”
“I bring my soaps and sachets with me when I travel. May I ask a favor of you, Ash?” She was being ridiculous, but this first supper had taken on the proportions of an ordeal.
He remained behind her, a large dark presence reflected in the cheval mirror. “Anything.”
“Don’t let me out of your sight tonight. Don’t wander off to smoke a cheroot with the fellows, don’t disappear to the men’s retiring room without telling me.” If the meal was a buffet, the men would not remain at the table to enjoy their port, and Della would not be consigned to gossip and catlap with the ladies.
Ash met Della’s gaze in their reflection. “You think the tabbies will pounce?”
“I know they will, and I’m prepared for their claws, but I’d rather not face them just yet.” That wasn’t the whole of Della’s concern, but it was close enough.
“I don’t blame you. We will be in each other’s pockets all evening, then, and you will keep the curious and rude away from me too.”
Della tied off her corset strings, donned her petticoats, and slipped her evening dress over her head. The gown was modest to a fault, the neckline worthy of an elderly spinster, the fabric an unremarkable brown velvet. Ash did up her hooks without being asked, and then the moment had arrived to go down to supper.
Ash offered his arm, and they were halfway down the main staircase before Della felt the first wave of dread crash over her.
Not on the steps. Do not faint on the steps. Do not collapse on a stairway. She’d done that once at age eleven and given herself a ferocious shiner. She had learned to take stairs quickly or not at all.
“Don’t be nervous,” Ash said, patting her arm as they reached the landing. “We will smile fatuously at each other all evening long and send each other melting glances. I will have only inanities to add to any conversation, and… Della, are you well?”
She hated that question. Hated it, but just then, she was not well. She was battling the sensation of a horse sitting on her chest and the certainty that the world was about to end.
“I’m fine. A bit tired.”
They started down the second flight of steps. “As am I. I have little enough positive to say about the French army, but French roads are far superior to ours. Would you like to jaunt over to Paris in the