The Convenient Bride by Catherine Winchester Page B

She wasn’t feeling better, she still felt as if she had a year’s worth of tears to cry but having confirmed that she could speak to Max without scratching his eyes out, she realised that it was time to get on with her life. She knew that there would be letters from her steward to answer, and she had missed two days at the orphanage, plus they were returning to the country in a week, which she had to prepare for.
    Her tears could wait until night time, when she was alone and free to grieve.
    “What were those flowers in the hallway?” she asked.
    His expression hardened as he remembered the bouquet. “I told you about them, remember?”
    “Not really, no.”
    “They’re from your frie nd, Giles.”
    Lucy frowned. “I don’t know anyone called Giles.”
    “Well, he seems to know you; he signed the card ‘fondest regards’.” Not to mention that the arrangement must have cost a small fortune.
    Lucy shrugged it off, perhaps Giles was a forgotten friend of her father’s, offering sympathy.
    Dinner was a stilted affair with little discussion, nothing like it had been just after their marriage. Max tried to initiate conversation a few times but Lucy’s replies were so short that he soon gave up.
    After they had retired to bed, Max once again ventured down the hall to Lucy’s room but once again, her door was locked.
    Tonight , he didn’t even bother to knock.

Chapter Eight
    Lucy spent the next day in the library, dealing with her correspondence. She put aside all the well-wishes she’d rec eived, unable to read let alone reply to them. Her wounds were still too fresh.
    The letters from her steward were friendly but he had simply inserted a line at th e bottom of his first letter, wishing her a speedy recovery from her fall. The rest was business-like and she could respond to him without needing to think of what she had lost.
    To be frank, she wasn’t even sure what she had lost. The baby, yes but more than that, she didn’t know. She hadn’t lost Max’s love because she’d never had it. She hadn’t lost her cosy marriage because that had all been an act; a childish dream.
    And it was that which hurt the most, because she had brought this pain upon herself, through her foolish belief. She may as well have believed in the good fairy, who disposed of childrens’ lost teeth for a reward, as believe that Max loved her.
    There was also a letter from her housekeeper, about the arrangements for the first gathering they were to host at the estate. Thankfully it had been sent before news of her fall had reached them, and she was able to respond in an efficient manner.
    She was nearly finished when Harris, the footman-cum- temporary-butler came in and announced that a Mr Gibson was here to see her.
    “Mr Gibson?” she looked confused as she tried to put a face to the name.
    “That is the name he gave me.”
    “Let Maxwell see him, it’s probably a friend of his.”
    “He asked for you, Lady Stark, and Lord Stark has gone out.”
    “Where?” she asked, her thoughts filled with visions of that faux-French harlot.
    “He did not say.”
    “Very well, send him in and bring us some tea, please.”
    “Of course, M a’am.”
    Lucy made her way from the desk, over to the cluster of chairs by the fireplace, where they could talk in comfort and gave a small curtsey as Mr Gibson was announced by Harris. The stranger’s face looked vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place him.
    “How may I help you,” Lucy asked as she gestured for him to take a seat.
    He made his way over. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember me,” he said, smiling warmly at her. “ You were rather distraught. I helped you home last week, after your fall.”
    Now she remembered him, though still only in general terms. Most of that journey home was a blank to her.
    “I sent flowers but thought that I had better wait a while before calling on you. I just wanted to make certain that you were well.”
    The truth was that he had been