she’d catalogued items from the boxes, energy that was quickly put to use when he took her to bed. His wife would have no complaint in that area, but what would they say to each other once desire was spent?
Why was she being critical? She and Reyn had had no difficulty conversing. True, he’d been self-deprecating about his education, but he’d been charming, was thoughtful and sympathetic. He’d really been so kind when she’d been nothing but a mass of raw nerves.
He was looking at her kindly, one of his dark eyebrows raised.
What had she missed in the conversation? “I’m sorry. I must have been woolgathering. You were saying?”
“My sister asked if she could get you anything from the village shops. She and Mrs. Beecham are going tomorrow. I believe it’s all a hum so she can run into Mr. Swift before Sunday.”
“Mr. Swift the vicar? He came to see me not long ago.”
“Ginny plans on roping the man into marriage. I have not yet given my consent, however,” Reyn teased.
“But you will if you know what’s good for you,” Ginny teased back. “I hope you do not find us very improper, Lady Kelby. Now that my brother is back on British soil I must make up for all the years I couldn’t torment him. That’s what little sisters are supposed to do.”
Maris smiled. “Is that so? I’m afraid I had no brothers or sisters, so I imagine I missed a great deal. Thank you for your offer, Miss Durant—that is, Ginny—but I cannot think of anything you could fetch me.” What she really needed could not be found in the confines of Shere. “Have you set a date for your wedding?”
“The sooner the better. I cannot wait to wash my hands of this little baggage. Let poor Swift deal with her,” Reyn said, reaching for a raspberry jam-filled tart.
“You know you’ll miss me.”
“As one misses an extracted tooth, not that I would know. I still have all mine, thank Mr. Swift’s Lord.”
“If you keep eating jam tarts you won’t. Not to mention you’ll get fat.” Ginny colored, realizing that perhaps she should not be so free with her speech in the presence of a countess. But Maris was quite enjoying picturing Reyn with a pot belly and a missing tooth or two. He wouldn’t be such a perfect specimen then and would look more mortal and less like a Greek god.
“Enough, brat,” Reyn chided. “Lady Kelby must be bored to death with our bickering. We shall take our leave and promise to do better next time.”
Next time? “What cheek! Are you inviting yourself back, Captain Durant?” Maris asked, getting into the spirit of things.
“Not at all. We are hoping you will grace us with your presence at supper one evening soon. An early night. We are complete country mice, now. I can drive the gig over myself and return you safe and sound. I should like you to see Merrywood. It’s nothing in comparison to Kelby Hall, of course, or Hazel Grange. But Gin has worked wonders. For all my sister’s faults, she is an excellent housekeeper.”
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted, brother dear. Of course, we’d love to have you, Lady Kelby. Just a quiet evening, no fuss. I know with your recent bereavement you’re loath to be in company.”
Maris felt a prickle of unease. But it was impossible to withstand the charm of both Durants, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
If she accepted, would Reyn think she’d accept everything else?
She couldn’t marry him. It was an absurd notion. She could not embark on an affair with him, either. No man would think she was alluring with her suddenly pendulous breasts and swollen belly. No wonder husbands, the devils, sought amusement elsewhere while their wives stayed home knitting baby caps. It was entirely the husbands’ fault their poor wives were as blown up and gassy as a Vauxhall balloon. Damn men anyhow.
Reyn interrupted her mental diatribe. “So you’ll come, Lady Kelby?”
“I-I shall be delighted.” How easily the lie slipped through her lips. Though she was interested in seeing Reyn’s property. She had a keen interest in horses now that she didn’t have to worry over Henry. Soon, however, she’d just have to talk to Pearl rather than ride her. Though she put the animal through the mildest paces, Stephen was beginning to fret that she would get hurt on their daily outings. He was becoming worse than Betsy, if that was possible. Likely he