To her disappointment, he was fully dressed and groomed when he answered her knock. "Your grandmother wants to see me immediately," she said nervously, afraid he would find her visit unwelcome.
For a moment he seemed not to hear her words. His gaze was transfixed upon her. She realized, with a blush, that her corset was still only half laced up, and her dressing gown gaped open. The message had unnerved her more than she realized.
Arthur stood rooted to the spot, not certain whether his impulse to take her in his arms and kiss her deliciously exposed neckline would be welcome. At last he decided it would be best if he simply shifted his gaze away from her. A formal interview with his grandmother, he knew, was not good news. Given Hero's intelligence, and the unfortunate conversation at dinner last night, he suspected she knew that.
He said briskly, "I will put off my business and accompany you." His duty was clear, no matter how unpleasant.
"There is no need for you to change your plans," she protested.
"I will accompany you," he repeated, looking directly at her, not allowing his gaze to stray down toward the open corset, and the sight it revealed. "Let me know when you are dressed and ready to go."
"Stay," she said, putting out her hand. "I have questions for you."
"Very well." He sat upon her bed, watching as her maid dashed between the dressing table and Hero to help her finish dressing. He could not help but hope it would be a scene that would eventually become a part of his morning routine. "What do you wish to ask me?"
She raised her eyes to meet his, ignoring the maid who was using a buttonhook to fasten the back of her gown. "Have you had another note?"
"I would tell you if I did." He chose to answer cryptically, with a wary glance at the maid, aware that no matter how cheerful or innocent she seemed, she could be a spy for his grandmother.
"Good." His reassurance brought a smile to her face. "I wondered if perhaps, now that we are here . . ." Her voice faded. And then she finished. "I was being foolish, I suppose. I apologize for doubting you."
So she had thought he would withhold his confidences from her now? Simply because they were at Camelot, his home? What had given her that impression? "We are in this together," he assured her.
There was a sadness in her expression when she said softly, "Sometimes it feels as if I am here alone."
He felt the sting of her rebuke, gentle as it was. "I have had business to attend to .... " He trailed off. That was not the full truth, and he should not insult her intelligence by pretending it was.
He tried not to boast as he said, "I believe I met one of my challenges yesterday."
Her eyes lit with excitement, and she waved the maid aside as she came over to grasp his hands and look directly into his eyes. "Which?"
"I don't know if you will approve," he teased.
"Why not?" She seemed taken aback.
"Well, you are my wife, after all."
And then she realized he was teasing and said with a smile, "Does this challenge have anything to do with damsels in distress?"
"Indeed, it does." He nodded. "I have met the challenge of Chivalry."
"What maiden did you aid, then?" Did he imagine a flash of jealousy across her face, quickly suppressed?
He wondered what her expression would reveal if he said he had helped Gwen out of some difficulty or another. "None, as it turns out. I helped one of the tenants on the estate to dig a new ditch, as his old one no longer carried water because the river has lowered in the last few years."
Her brow knit in puzzlement. And then, with a look of enlightenment, she broke into a smile. "So you are telling me that you, as a future leader of the Round Table Society, could find no damsel in distress and had to settle for a ditch?" She pressed her fingers against her lips but still could not prevent the chuckle that escaped her.
He found her amusement catching. "I'm afraid so," he sighed, fluttering his eyelids for comic effect. "There is only one damsel I truly wish to offer aid and succor, I confess. I am not as knightly as I should be."
He had hoped his compliment would soften her for a kiss. But she frowned at him as if she did not wish to be the damsel he aided.
He abandoned the barely formed idea of dismissing the maid and making love to his wife. He would not subject Hero to an intimacy she did not wish.
After all, he still had small pleasures left to him. Instead of a kiss, he would content himself with enjoying the way she moved about the room while she was preparing for the day. Enjoy the privilege of being able to observe her in a way no other man ever had.
Unfortunately, as he watched her, his thoughts returned once again to the sweetness to be found in kissing her, brushing the skin of her neck with his fingertips, his mouth — To divert his own wayward imagination, he asked, "Have you any other questions for me?"
"Which broach should I wear with this dress?" She smiled, and he had the distinct impression that he could choose a twig from the ground and she would not mind. She asked his opinion only because she did not want him to leave. It pleased him that she craved his company, for he certainly was hungry for hers after these last few days with so little sight of her. He wished that her desire did not stem only from being a stranger here, though.
Hero held her breath, wondering if he would dismiss her request. But no, he came to stand next to her, peering down into her jewel box with a frown on his face. "What will suit you best?"
You, she thought. But he had made it clear that he needed time to adjust to the marriage. She must give it to him. No matter how much she longed to lay her cheek against the smooth material of his sleeve and feel the warmth and strength of him, she must not do so.
Still, she reflected, it was sheer pleasure to have him this close. Though she could not deny she would have much preferred having him even nearer. She did not want to give him an excuse to move farther away from her.
Using her index finger, she stirred through the jewelry his grandmother had sent up to her on their second day there. Idly, she asked, "One more question for you — have you any advice on how l can make amends to your grandmother for whatever she holds against me?"
He plucked out a pretty little ruby pin that went well with the dark rose of her gown and handed it to her. "Amends?"
"Thank you," she murmured as she took the pin. "Yes, amends. I know you have been busy about your own affairs, but surely you cannot be completely blind to the extent to which your grandmother resents me." She had not meant to be so sharp with him, but the situation was wearing on her.
"Time is the best remedy for my grandmother's tempers," he said philosophically.
"Then time I shall give her," Hero answered, trying to hide her own doubts about the wisdom of such action — or inaction, as it were. She moved to pin the broach, but her fingers were not steady enough. Ellen stepped forward, but Arthur waved the maid away and took the pin up himself.
His fingers brushed against her breast while he pinned the broach upon her, and it seemed to her that they lingered longer than necessary. That his breath hitched just the slightest bit. She had the urge to reach up on tiptoe to press a kiss against his mouth to see if he would respond. If Ellen had not been present, she might have even done so.
Recognizing that she was ready at last for her meeting with Grandmama, the pit of her stomach grew more and more unsettled.
"Are you ready?" he asked, holding out his arm to her.
She hesitated, knowing that she could tell him she preferred to go alone. He would most likely respect her wishes, ultimately. "I am," she answered, deciding that she would prefer reinforcements in this battle.
"I see now that I have missed the advantage of your escort these last few days," she said as they walked to the study.
"In what way?"
"Well, in addition to the pleasure of your company as escort, I will not waste fifteen minutes today trying to find your grandmother's study."
He paused, holding lightly to her arm, so that she would pause also, and turned her to face him. With an utterly serious expression, he gazed down at her. "Surely it has not been that difficult?"
"It has." She laughed, to show him that she did not mean her words as a criticism. "You cannot imagine how freeing it is to have you beside me so that I don't have to ask the servants for direction."
"They have not been disrespectful, have they?" His eyebrows lifted in surprise.
"Of course not," she answered quickly so that he would not have cause to investigate. He might perceive the cook's failure to follow her menus disrespectful and she would not want to get the woman fired. Such an action would not win the confidence of the rest of the servants. "I am always directed in a most polite manner."
"Are you certain?" He searched her face as if looking for the truth behind her words.
"Yes." She added, knowing that it would disarm him, "Once, even a parlor maid named Ann took me to the music room herself, just so I wouldn't lose my way."
"Very well, then," he said. "For a moment you had me imagining I must fire the whole staff."
"You would do that for me?"
"Do you doubt it?"
She answered sensibly, "Well, yes. It would be highly impractical to replace an entire staff this size. Your breakfast would likely be served cold for a good week or more."
"I will have no one on my staff who shows you disrespect. Remember that, Hero." He sighed. "I know my grandmother has not made the transition easy for you, but you are the mistress of this house and I will not have you treated with less than full respect."
Except, she thought sadly, by the husband who would not share her bed. "But it is only natural for a servant to wonder about the possibility that I might very well have difficulty running a household this size when I cannot even navigate it without becoming hopelessly lost."
His lips turned up in amusement. "Perhaps I should escort you every day." When he smiled at her like that, she almost believed he could love her.
"I'm afraid I must learn sometime," she demurred. He would be firing her, not the staff if he saw her true abilities. Although, she supposed, it was not truly possible to fire a wife, no matter how much one wished to.
"Feel free to call upon me for assistance at any time," he said softly. "This is your home now."
"I may," she teased. "It has been especially pleasurable today not to have to schedule extra time for the inevitable minutes that I must spend wandering about totally lost."
He laughed aloud, and then, as they reached the study door, he sobered abruptly. It was not promising to see how quickly the thought of his grandmother and her summons had wiped the joy from his expression.
The study, which was used exclusively by Arthur's grandmother, was a revelation to her. It was an opulent room with a generous fire and well-cushioned settees draped with exotic scarves that had come from lands far distant from England. There was a hint of an exotic smoky scent as well, one Hero could not identify, but which put all her senses on alert. All the same, it was not a restful room; the shadows seemed in permanent residence despite the sunlight from the arched window behind the teak escritoire. No wonder the woman never smiled.
Eustacia Watterly seemed unsurprised to see Arthur at Hero's side. Indeed, she seemed almost pleased as she waved them both to sit. Hero sank into the chair, feeling as she had when she was a small girl and her father had called her before him to administer some punishment. She tried to smile, to lighten the mood.
Arthur's grandmother waited, as still as a sphinx as they settled themselves before her. Her hands played idly with a small crystal ball she had taken from its pedestal when they arrived. There was no answering smile from her. Abruptly, she replaced the crystal ball upon its pedestal and said, "Do you think your wife too inept to handle a simple meeting with me, Arthur?"
"Not at all, Grandmama." Again, Hero marveled as he lied without compunction. "Hero and I had planned to go for a ride this morning, and rather than cancel our plans when your summons arrived, I thought we would both come to speak to you, and then go riding."
She frowned at his answer.
He half rose as he said, "If you prefer that I not be present — "
She waved him back to his seat, to Hero's relief.
And then, again ready for battle, said, "I am most disappointed in the both of you. You have managed to turn an ally of this family into an enemy."
Arthur tensed beside her and protested. "That is an overstatement, Grandmama."
"Is it?" She questioned him sharply, an eyebrow raised in disdain. "Did you not notice that you were conspicuously not addressed all last evening?"
He sank back in his chair, as if he had been struck. "I noticed, of course." He sat forward, more stiffly, as he added, "But that does not mean that Fenwell and I are enemies."
She asked in challenge, "Then, what does it mean?"
"He is angry, that is understandable." Arthur argued, his tone raised despite his obvious effort at self-control. "But the simple fact is he came to dinner, nonetheless."
Unwilling to let go of the upper hand, his grandmother said plaintively, "He came at my invitation, but I cannot say whether it was to enjoy my company or to disdain yours."
Hero said quietly, "It takes time to heal certain breaches, Mrs. Watterly." They both stared at her as if they had forgotten she was in the room. "No doubt Arthur is right, and it is a sign that Mr. Delagrace will eventually reconcile with him."
"And how will you ensure that this breach is healed? Or are you willing to sit back and wait, willing to let my status in our society wither because of this betrayal of your husband's?"
Arthur flinched at the word betrayal. "He knows that circumstances were completely out of your hands, Grandmama. He does not blame you — "
"Of course he does not blame me. But you do not have much time to change him back into your ally."
"I cannot force the man."
His grandmother's expression indicated she disagreed. "Have you begged for his forgiveness?"