“Of course.”
His man, Simms, stepped forward. “I have arranged fresh clothes for you in the master suite, Your Grace.”
Hannah, the undermaid who’d sent Tess such commiserating looks on her first wedding night—and who now acted as Tess’s personal maid—bobbed a curtsey. “And I’ve done the same for you, ma’am.”
Tess glanced at their still-smiling audience. “Very good. Shall we say dinner in an hour, then, Mrs. Ward? And a hot bath for his grace, and one for myself, in fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, my lady.”
The staff all set off to do their bidding, and Tess led Thornton up the wide staircase to the upper floors. The steady click of his boots echoed next to hers as they strode toward the west wing.
“So, are your first impressions favorable?” She was genuinely interested to hear what he thought.
“Extremely. You can’t imagine how relieved I am to find the place isn’t sinking into a swamp.”
“What? Why on earth would you think that?” Tess spluttered.
He shrugged. “Call it my natural cynicism. I just assumed it would be as ancient and crumbling as its previous owner.”
“You knew the eighth duke?”
“I’d seen him a few times in London, before I sailed for Canada. My father always told me we were distantly related, but I never gave it much thought.”
“Well, I’m glad we’ve exceeded your expectations,” Tess said dryly. “However low they may have been.”
His answering smile was wolfish. “Oh, you’ve certainly exceeded my expectations. I only hope I can return the favor tonight.”
Heat rose to her cheeks, and she hastily opened the door to the master suite.
“Here’s your room. The door on the left leads to a shared sitting room, and my chamber is beyond. That door on the right leads to a private bathing room.”
He nodded. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Tess entered her own suite, relieved to be somewhere comfortingly familiar. With Hannah’s help, she quickly bathed and re-dressed her hair, then donned one of the numerous new gowns Daisy and Ellie had insisted she buy. The beautiful amber satin rustled as she descended the stairs and made her way to the dining room.
Thornton was already there, sipping a glass of brandy, and her heart pounded at the intimacy of the scene. Instead of seating them at opposite ends of the vast eighteen-seater table, two places had been laid at one end, opposite each other, with a branched candlestick and a flower arrangement creating a romantic tête-à-tête.
Thornton raised his glass in a jaunty salute. “Good evening. You look beautiful, as ever.”
“Thank you.”
He pulled out her chair for her, then sat down himself,and Tess smiled as Withers poured her a glass of wine. She needed a little Dutch courage to steady her nerves. Was every woman this jittery before their wedding night? She surely had more reason than most to be on edge.
Mrs. Ward bustled in, accompanied by two further footmen who placed a series of covered dishes on the table and removed the silver domes with a flourish.
“What have we here, Mrs. Ward?” Thornton asked.
Tess bit back her smile as the elderly cook blushed in pleasure that he’d remembered her name.
“Well, Yer Grace, there’s asparagus in butter, roast parsnips and carrots, a pie of pheasant and woodcock, roasted potatoes, and peas. And for dessert, almonds, candied ginger, and a gooseberry fool. Plus, cheese with shaved truffle.”
Tess smiled. “It sounds perfect.”
The servants withdrew, but as soon as they were out of earshot Thornton gestured toward the food.
“Your staff seem to be in favor of our marriage.”
“How so?”
