glanced at the figure without taking hold of the paper.
“You are a wealthy woman.” No inflection, no emotion. Nothing. Not gratitude, relief, insulted pride, glee—not any sentiment Della could detect. But then, Della herself did not know how to feel about Jonathan’s gesture.
“We can simply deposit the bank draft, Ash, which would make us wealthy.”
“We are quite solvent, my lady. More solvent by the week.” He sauntered off, looking splendid in breeches, shirt, and waistcoat. He’d not shaved, and to Della that hint of rakishness made his looks all the more appealing.
“What would you have me do with this?” Della asked.
“What do you want to do with it?”
“Tear it up?” Della stuffed the offending paper back in her reticule lest she do just that. “The money makes me anxious, if you must know. Everything makes me anxious. I want to be left in peace to be a good wife to you and sort out how our marriage should go on, and I feel as if I can’t catch my breath. I look up, and there’s Chastain watching me. I take a book to the terrace, and Lady Wentwhistle’s coven falls silent when I walk by. I sometimes think I should do as Susannah did that day long ago and take a book into the maze and fall asleep.”
She was babbling, so she jerked her reticule closed and willed herself to silence. Now was not the time to tell Ash he’d married a fretful ninnyhammer who shook like a leaf for no reason, occasionally fainted from worry that had no basis in fact, and dreaded the end of the world every fortnight or so.
Ash set aside her shawl and, to her great relief and surprise, took the reticule from her and wrapped her in his arms.
“If you disappeared into the maze, I would find you. A week from tomorrow, we will get into our coach—just the two of us—and gallop off to Dorning Hall. Young Lord Tavistock will leave tomorrow, called to the side of his supposedly ailing tutor. With the marchioness’s permission, and his lordship’s consent, I arranged to have a letter ostensibly from Tavistock Hall delivered first thing tomorrow morning. Chastain will be left without a partner for next week’s games. Tavistock’s debts will be paid as they stand upon his departure tomorrow.”
That Ash had the matter of the young marquess in hand was an enormous relief.
And his arms around Della very nearly made all come right. She and Ash had slept as strangers last night, and Della had awoken to see Ash dressed and already reading by the window—or staring at Jonathan’s tallies.
“Thank you,” she said, closing her eyes, the better to hug her husband. “I felt as if I was watching a runaway team head for a steep curve. Chastain sank that poor young man more and more deeply into debt, and nobody intervened.”
“Sycamore had a word with Lady Tavistock.” Ash’s hold on Della loosened. “I will say something to Lady Fairchild when our paths cross again. Can you think of any reason Mrs. Tremont would tolerate Chastain’s attentions?”
Don’t leave me, don’t go away. Hold me, please. “Because Chastain will spread talk about her brother otherwise. Mr. Golding is known to have left-handed tendencies. George once told me as much. You’d be surprised the things George knows and who he knows them about. Will you come to services with me?”
She ought not to have asked. Ash stepped back, wearing his politely charming smile. “I’ll decline that honor for today. I might go for a hack instead, but don’t tell anybody I’m enjoying myself on the Sabbath.”
He’d returned from yesterday’s hack looking like he’d ridden through a Channel storm. “Tomorrow, I’ll ride out with you.”
“I’d like that.” He passed Della her shawl, and she knew that he would not waken her to join him for tomorrow’s ride. He’d make up some taradiddle about letting her rest, and one more activity they might have shared would be denied her.
“Enjoy your hack,” she said, retrieving a bonnet from the wardrobe. She was halfway to the door before Ash’s voice stopped her.
“Della?”
She faced him, and dread welled at his solemn expression. He was preparing to remove to another room, preparing to politely set her aside. Perhaps he planned to leave her at the family seat while he returned to Town. Perhaps he would send her to Kent rather than Dorning Hall.
He’d grown increasingly remote, and she had no idea what to do about it.
“I want you to be happy,” he said.