He would explain it to her in no uncertain terms once he was calm.
*
Jane settled her pets into their enclosures with shaking hands, and left feeding instructions with the head groom. Tomorrow, she’d bring each of them a treat to make up for all the upheaval. Poor Mr. Cuddles. What a fright he’d had, and now her husband was furious with her. Livid, honestly. She didn’t know how she could ever face him again.
For now, she would do as he said and retreat to her room. In fact, there was nothing she wanted more than to hide away in shame and change out of her soiled traveling cloak and scuffed slippers. She put a hand to her head. Yes, her hair was disarranged too. Why wouldn’t it be, after she’d scuttled about on the ground in her new husband’s stable?
She walked past the restless stable hands, attempting to appear dignified even in her dirty, bedraggled state. Beyond the stable, the great house rose against the now-dark sky like a pretty holiday cake, with rows of windows for decoration. Her faithful maid waited within the entryway to show her to her rooms on the second floor.
“My lady…?” Matilda’s voice trailed off when she saw her disarray.
“There was a snake escape,” she replied, her voice tight.
“Mr. Cuddles escaped?”
“Yes, and was almost trampled by a horse. He’s fine now, but I’m feeling rather frazzled.”
“The servants have already drawn a bath for you,” the maid assured her.
A bath sounded like just the thing. She looked around as she went up the stairs, admiring her new home even in her wearied state. Somerton was as beautiful inside as it was against the night sky, all elegance and grace. The upper landing was tastefully decorated with marble statues lit by a jeweled chandelier, while flickering sconces illuminated hallways headed in either direction. Fresh swags of winter greenery scented the air. She couldn’t wait to see Somerton’s charms in full daylight—if she survived the reckoning with her husband.
“This way, my lady.”
Matilda guided her to the right, past silent footmen and a line of polished doors. When they arrived at her suite, she found her rooms, too, were elegant and beautiful. The furniture was decorated in a floral motif, and real blooms nestled in vases upon every table, giving the room a homey feel. A gauzy set of curtains concealed the moon and the night’s darkness. A fire warmed the soaring space, its occasional crackling a reminder of her childhood bedroom.
The bed was larger than her childhood bed and embellished with a canopy matching the curtains. The carved headboard was tall and imposing, while the footboard was lower and cushioned across the top. A thoughtful artisan had added a stepping stool in the center, sure to come in handy since it was such a high bed. As she kicked off her slippers, a soft wool rug cushioned her feet.
Matilda led her through the dressing room to a private bathing chamber with its own fireplace and a steaming tub of scented water. Jane sank into the bath with a relieved sigh and washed herself with rose scented soap as her maid rinsed bits of hay from her hair. The faithful servant promised to do her best at brushing clean her soiled traveling gown and cloak before she sent them to the laundress.
After her bath, Jane put on a diaphanous white nightgown and robe in the softest embroidered lawn, a gift from her husband. If he could have, he probably would have taken it back after the evening’s events. As she toweled dry her hair before the fire, a note arrived at the door.
Please present yourself in my chambers when you have completed your evening toilette.
It wasn’t signed—it didn’t need to be. The note’s tone was unpleasantly terse. Present yourself? How dire that sounded.
“I suppose I must go to him,” she said to Matilda. “Or…shall I wait for my hair to dry a bit more?”
The older woman’s expression softened with sympathy. “My lady, if he wishes you to attend him, it might be best to go right away.”
Jane wished she could hide in the cozy curtained bed and wait for her husband’s mood to improve, but it was their wedding night, more or less. Matilda showed her to the proper door across the hall and Jane steeled herself for whatever lay on the other side. She knocked quietly, then straightened as the door swung open.
Her husband looked out at her, but she didn’t meet his gaze right away. Instead, she stared forward at his chest, barely covered by his night robe. She’d never seen a man in such a state of undress.
“Come in, Jane,” he said, his voice level enough after his earlier shouting. “How do you like your rooms?”
“They’re lovely.” She finally met his eyes. “Somerton is a beautiful manor.”