Autumn's Wild Heart (Seasons #4) - Laura Landon Page 0,24

hurt and agony. The fact that it was the latter spoke volumes.

He sat in silence until the last tone faded into silence, then watched as she lifted her fingers from the keyboard.

“Why did you choose such a sad song?”

Her head swiveled round to face him. “No reason,” she answered without conviction. “My life is not sad.”

“What would you say it is, wife?”

She studied him, then looked away.

“I’m not sure. What would you say your life is, my lord?”

He smiled. “That’s easy. Interesting.”

He heard her small intake of breath.

“Is it?”

“Yes, Petronella. It is.”

She rose from the piano bench and walked to the small table where several decanters sat. She reached for the wine, then pulled her hand back.

“You changed your mind?”

“Yes. I don’t need fermented grapes to feel better. After last night I’ve learned it only makes me feel worse.”

She turned and walked to the door. “I think I’d like to go to bed now.”

There was that blush again.

“Go ahead, Nella. I’ll be up in a short while.”

She nodded, then opened the door.

“Nella?” he said, stopping her footsteps.

She turned to face him.

“The day will come when we will need to discuss what’s bothering you.”

She opened her mouth but James held up his hand to stop her words. “No, there is something. Denying it only allows the problem to grow.”

In the silence that stretched between them she turned and left him. And James refilled his glass.

Chapter 8

Nella had never been happier in her life.

Every day of the past week had been perfect. James had taken her to Siding Cross and she’d spent hours in the bookstore purchasing far too many books. The next day they’d chosen one of the horses from his stable and had gone riding.

Another day they went to a dress shop and Nella chose several pieces of material she wanted made into new dresses. The lady who owned the shop, Mrs. Blankenship, was a marvelous modiste. She showed Nella patterns she’d never seen before and told her which styles and colors of gowns to avoid because of her shape. Nella was stunned. Most of the styles and colors she was told not to wear hung in her closet.

Each day she wrote letters for James to deliver, and then suddenly, Thursday was here and he was about to leave for London. She tied the letters with a ribbon and tucked them into his valise as he bade her farewell.

A few days later he sent word back that he would return in one week and bring her two friends, Lady Rosamonde Littleton, and Lady Patricia Bickerton with him. He would also be accompanied by two more guests, the Earl of Candleton and Viscount Pomeroy.

Nella fairly sang as she readied the house for their party. She spent hours with Cook, planning the daily menu for the two weeks their guests would be here, preparing adequate rooms for them, organizing indoor and outdoor entertainment for each day, and completing the list of things that must be done.

Nella would be glad when they arrived. She could finally stop her worrying. She wasn’t so concerned with Rosamonde and Patricia. They’d been friends long enough that they were accepting of Nella and anything she had planned. It was Lord Candleton and Viscount Pomeroy that concerned her.

She paced the drawing room that looked out onto the front drive then stopped to look out the window. They should be here any time now. Oh, she wanted everything to go perfectly. She didn’t want to embarrass James in front of his friends. She would die if anything went wrong.

Nella had dressed carefully in the first of her new gowns. Two more were promised by Saturday. Now that she understood exactly what making subtle, flattering style changes could do for her, she could scarcely wait to show off her new wardrobe. And the new upswept hairdo the modiste had recommended showed off the neck she’d not realized was quite as long as it was. Certainly not at all swanlike, but long, nevertheless. She resisted the urge to preen.

Suddenly, a carriage came up the drive followed by three men on horseback. She recognized James right away. He was the tallest and sat his horse as if he had been born astride the beautiful beast.

The other two men were tall, as well, yet not as broad-shouldered as her husband. Nella ran to the door to welcome her guests.

“Patricia. Rosamonde,” she sang as she ran from the house and stopped before the carriage door. James had handed his horse over to a groom