Breathe in. Pause. Breathe out. Pause. Breathe in… “Perhaps. I am anxious to see Dorning Hall.”
Della was not merely anxious, she was in an immediate, irrational welter of panic. The problem had befallen her frequently enough that part of her mind could watch the situation and know it would pass, but the rest of her—the vast majority of her awareness—was caught up in the maelstrom.
Breathe in. Pause. Breathe out. Pause.
“You look a bit pale,” Ash said as they made it to the bottom of the steps. “Are you chilly?”
“I forgot my shawl.” In her current state, that oversight loomed as the mistake that would presage the destruction of the world. “I’ll fetch it and be right back down.” The dread became a crushing force in her mind, even as she told herself to just keep breathing.
“No need,” Ash said. “I will happily retrieve it for you.” He patted her hand again and trotted up the steps, leaving Della alone, barely able to speak, and certain that eternal damnation was at hand.
Ash had sought the stables in search of enough privacy that he could pleasure himself, though it wouldn’t have been pleasure. It would have been taking the edge off in hopes of acquitting himself competently with his new wife.
Della was nervous, of that much he was certain. She’d been quiet all day in the coach. A thousand times, Ash had almost asked her if Chastain’s pawing had truly fallen short of rape. To preserve Ash from dueling, she might lie about even that.
That Della had gained some experience with the Throckmorton bounder was no consolation. She’d been relieved to send her first lover packing, but a husband couldn’t be as easily dispatched.
Ash fetched her shawl from the back of her vanity stool and headed back down the corridor at an indecorous jog. Della had asked him not to leave her alone, and she waited until he rejoined her to go into the parlor.
The second bell sounded just as Ash nearly ran over some fool idling about in the middle of the corridor.
“Sycamore?”
“Ash.” Sycamore bowed. “Have you taken to wearing a shawl in your dotage?”
“What in seven putrid purgatories are you doing here?” Though Ash had a suspicion, one that made him want to pummel his baby brother.
“I am preparing to comport myself graciously to all and sundry and to most especially charm any friendly widows. That was the second bell, if I’m not mistaken. Shall we go down, or would you like to put your shawl away first?”
“Damn you, I do not need a bear leader on my wedding journey.”
“Perhaps wedded bliss has addled your wits,” Sycamore said, turning to saunter toward the main steps. “This is a house party, a party which transpires at a house. This is not a wedding journey. Lady Wentwhistle was short a few handsome, debonair bachelors, and I allowed myself to come to her aid. If you and Della are underfoot while I’m having a bit of a frolic, that is nothing to me.”
Sycamore was usually a better liar. “Who is managing the club?”
“Tresham is keeping an eye on things. It’s not like we’re off to darkest Peru, old boy, and the time of year is hardly our busiest. Why, if that isn’t my darling sister-in-law at the foot of the staircase.”
“Wait.” Ash grabbed Sycamore by the arm when he would have descended the steps. “You will leave Della alone. You will leave me alone. You will not hover, you will not lurk. You will not try to be helpful or protective or any other polite term for your damned meddling.”
“I never meddle. Marriage has made you crabbed and contrarious, Ash.”
“Your arrival did that. Promise you will keep your distance.”
At the bottom of the steps, Della stood unusually still, and Ash thought she’d edged closer to the giant potted ferns spaced around the Wentwhistle foyer.
“You promise me you won’t interfere with my diversions,” Sycamore said, jerking his arm from Ash’s grip. “I’m told the Marchioness of Tavistock is among the guests.”
Sycamore made that disclosure with just enough self-consciousness that Ash was supposed to think the pretty marchioness had inspired Cam’s sudden interest in making up the numbers at a rural house party.
“Do not meddle,” Ash said, starting down the steps. “I will pummel you to flinders if you are in any way bothersome, and I do mean pummel, and I do mean to flinders.”
If Della had overheard this disagreement, she was politely ignoring it. Ash came around the landing, Sycamore at his heels.