She nodded, satisfied. “Good. Should we start with the estate or the staff?”
“Neither.” He closed his eyes again.
“Ethan!” she said in exasperation. “We’ve already wasted a day and most of the morning! We can’t afford to waste any more time.”
He opened his eyes again, and his languorous gaze traveled over her disheveled state. “Is that what we were doing? Wasting time?”
She was immediately contrite. “No, that’s not what I meant at all. I—” She paused, uncertain how to extricate herself from her latest predicament.
He sighed, seeming resigned. “I know, I know. You’re a woman with a mission. I can’t expect you towaste timein the frivolous pursuit of pleasure.” Francesca tried to protest again, but Ethan shook his head. “We’ll begin with the house, my eager pupil. I imagine you want the whole history?”
Francesca nodded enthusiastically, a little trickle of excitement rushing through her. “Oh, yes! Start at the very beginning.” She wished she’d thought to pack foolscap and a quill in her satchel so she might take notes.
He looked heavenward as she folded her hands in her lap and gave him her complete attention. “From the beginning—you’re certain you want to hear this? I’m convinced I can find a much more gratifying way for us to pass the time.” Hope flickered in his eyes.
She squashed it. “From the beginning,” she instructed, her voice firm.
He sighed again and began. “The house was built between the years 1519 and 1523, during the reign of Henry VIII. It was commissioned by Edward Louis Caxton, the second Marquess of Winterbourne.”
His voice was a monotone, but she didn’t mind. She’d endured her mother’s inexhaustible prattle for twenty-one years; nothing he could say would bore her. He paused, a weary look in his eyes, but she only murmured encouragingly, settling back to hear the story of her new home.
She made him tell it twice so that she could commit as much as possible to memory, but when she requested a third recitation, Ethan balked. He was only successful in silencing her by taking her in his arms and making love to her until she forgot even her own name. They passed that night at the inn in much the same manner, and Francesca decided she and Ethan would have to travel together more. It didn’t matter where. She always had questions and though Ethan’s answers weren’t very informative, they were incredibly satisfying.
Thirty
Just past noon on thethird day, Ethan looked up and out of the carriage window. Though Francesca had stared at the landscape for hours, never tiring of the changing landscape, it was the first time he’d shown any interest in the scenery. She scooted forward to peer at the passing roadside.
“What is it?” she asked Ethan, frowning at the view that, from all appearances, was perfectly unchanged from her last inspection.
“We’ve turned onto the road for Winterbourne Hall. It’s about a mile from here.”
Francesca shot up. “A mile!” She fumbled desperately with her hair, which never seemed to be in order when Ethan was near. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.” His gave her a bemused look.
“Yes, but why didn’t you tell meearlier?” She abandoned her hair and began trying to smooth some of the wrinkles from her skirt. It wouldn’t do for the staff to see their lord and lady occupying the same seat—married or not. Ethan raised an eyebrow, then gazed, with a paternal air, at his estates.
