The Marquess Method by Kathleen Ayers
21
Theo sidestepped around a pair of strapping young women carrying a bucket of water, soap, rags, and a mop, headed in the direction of Haven’s study. The pair bobbed politely in unison before hurrying down the hall.
She smiled back. Thank God for Rolfe.
Theo adored the imposing man, who’d once been the Duke of Haverly’s butler, on sight, hiring him after only a brief conversation. He had a certain bit of Pith about him, something Theo appreciated. While his explanation for leaving the duke’s employ was a bit vague, she surmised, after some careful questioning, that it had had something to do with Haverly’s housekeeper marrying the duke’s valet.
Rolfe, bless him, had immediately taken charge and set about hiring the remainder of the staff required to run Greenbriar properly. Mr. Henderson would stay on to help when needed, but since Theo guessed him to be seventy if he was a day, his main job would consist of offering his opinion when required, keeping track of where Erasmus had fallen asleep, and napping.
The cook, Mrs. Dottie, arrived with an apple-cheeked smile, marshaling the kitchen into order even before her staff had been hired. The roast she’d prepared for dinner on her first night nearly made Theo burst into tears, it was so delicious.
Haven had yet to dine with her, often arriving home well after she’d gone to bed. Theo made sure Mrs. Dottie kept a plate warm for him.
Now that she had secured Rolfe and Mrs. Dottie and the running of the household seemed to be in hands far more capable than her own, Theo felt far less overwhelmed. She could take a deep breath and feel the satisfaction of the enormous progress she’d made in such a short time.
Greenbriar was being scrubbed from top to bottom. The floors gleamed and smelled of beeswax. One could now see through most of the downstairs windows. Yesterday, Theo had left a stone-faced Rolfe in charge, requested the Averell coach, and taken an ecstatic Jacinda to Warwick.
She hadn’t bothered to ask Haven if he’d like to join them, mainly because she’d had no idea where her husband was and was too embarrassed to ask.
Now today, beds arrived. Mattresses. Rugs. Linens. A decent dining room table. Cutlery. Plates, cups, and saucers. She sent to London for swathes of velvet for the windows. And most importantly, Theo had written to Olivia, who liked to read as much as Jacinda did. The order from Thrumbadge’s, London’s finest bookseller, would arrive next week. She couldn’t wait to see Jacinda’s face when all those leatherbound tomes fell out of a crate.
Not once did Theo visit her trunks, locked way with Betts in the parlor; she was far too busy creating upon a much larger palette. Still, she found herself scribbling on bits of paper at odd times because it was a compulsive habit, the need to draw. Paint. While she made notes on the color scheme she envisioned for the drawing room, Theo looked down to see she’d drawn the outline of Haven. He’d still been in bed when she awoke this morning, snoring softly on the other side of Theodosia’s Line of Demarcation.
At least, that’s how Haven referred to the line of pillows dividing their bed, which he’d made no attempt to remove. Theo had started to make a great effort to stay awake until he came up to their room, if only so she could inform him of her plans for Greenbriar, almost daring him to disagree. He never did.
Nor did he kiss her or touch her.
He’d been beautiful lying on his stomach as he slept this morning, one foot sticking out from the sheets. Had she not been afraid of waking him, Theo would have examined the extended foot to check for the damaged toe. Instead, her gaze had lingered over the curve of one muscular buttock disappearing beneath the sheets, the magnificent expanse of his back with the scar above the shoulder. Haven’s entire upper body and face had darkened to a light amber, proof he was spending his days out in the sun. Shirtless.
The mere thought of Haven, scandalously strolling about without a shirt, his glorious form on display for anyone to see, such as a widow possessing good eyesight, was incredibly unwelcome. Theo didn’t care for the idea of other women casting their lures at Haven. Or that he might wish to be caught.
Annoyed at both herself and Haven, Theo tore up the paper and threw it into the fire.
Except for being shirtless, Theo had no idea where Haven was all day, and she refused to ask. She assumed Mrs. Dottie and her delicious cooking were keeping Haven’s appetite satisfied, but what about his other appetites? Haven had a lustful nature.
A small growl left her. Haven, whether out of kindness or out of the need to just annoy her, was allowing Theo’s anger towards him to thaw slowly.
Far too slowly.
