“Oh.”
Ivy closed her eyes briefly. What was she expecting? Some grand gesture of romance? Some words of devotion, of how he fell in love with her the moment he first saw her? Of course she could not inspire such a thing in a man.
She twisted in her seat, setting her gaze on the passing countryside that offered not much more than fields and trees. Not even a farmhouse or a small town to divert. At least the roads were dry. Their journey would be quick and perhaps in Devon things would be better. A little fresh seaside air and some gentle walks along the beach would make it all better, surely?
***
Why the devil had Cillian gone along with a honeymoon?
He offered out his hand to Ivy and something in his chest squeezed. His heart perhaps? There would be many in his past who would say he didn’t have one. He used to think the opposite, that, indeed, he felt too deeply but perhaps it was true. Perhaps war and bloodshed had turned it into a dusty old clockwork machine just now cranking into life when he spied the creases on Ivy’s cheeks and the slight pink from where she had fallen asleep against one of the cushions in the carriage.
He wouldn’t embarrass her by telling her about the creases or the tiny noises she made as she slept. He certainly would not confess that seeing her so made him feelsomething.
It was not such a terrible thing to feelsomethingfor one’s wife, he supposed. However, Cillian reckoned it was only that tiny pulse that always made him want to leap in and protect those in need. He didn’t need it to be anything more.
Didn’t want it to be anything more.
“The house is lovely,” she said, the most genuine smile he’d seen all day curving her lips and crinkling her eyes.
A large cream building with roses crawling up one side and long, white-framed windows faced out over the clifftops. The front lawns were generous but more informal than those at the Bath estate, with flowerbeds planted in reds and pinks. Cillian couldn’t claim to know much about women, but he understood why such a house would appeal to Ivy.
Wind whipped across the clifftops, forcing him to put a hand to his hat as he eyed the house. “I’ve never been here before,” he confessed. “All this belonged to my cousin.”
“Oh. I did not know that. I assumed it was yours.”
“You read the newspapers surely?”
Her cheeks pinkened. “I avoid them if at all possible.”
His surprise inheritance had caught attention, though he didn’t blame her for avoiding the news. The newspapers were not happy unless they were sowing the seeds of discontent or malicious gossip. What better way to ensure continued sales than to tell all of the privileged classes?
From what he had read, the Musgraves made up a lot of that content, despite their escape to Bath all those years ago. If only he had the luxury of never reading a newspaper again. Unfortunately, given his new status, he needed to remain informed of the world though it had been a long time since anyone had written anything about him. After all he was but the penniless, solider cousin of a viscount. Whatever was written about him, he was glad Ivy would not be exposed to it and he intended to do his utmost to ensure it remained that way. There was no sense in frightening the young woman.
“Where was your home before you inherited then, my lord?” She stepped aside as the footman unloaded their luggage from the roof of the carriage and stacked it in one large pile.
What to tell her? that he was effectively a nomad? That he dare not set down roots for fear of a repeat of the last time he and his mother tried to make a home.
No. She had enough to deal with.
“My mother resides in Ireland. She returned there from England a few years ago.”
“How lovely. I’ve yet to go. There are several castles there I would love to visit.”
Cillian could offer to take her. To tour her around Kilkenny. Show her the sights as a doting husband might.
Instead, he gestured to the house where the housekeeper and several servants remained waiting by the front steps. “Shall we head inside? It’s getting quite windy.”
“Yes, my lord.” She did an odd little bow of her head.
Cillian clenched his jaw. He might not wish to let her get too close, but he couldn’t stand formality at the best of times.
“Cillian,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“No moremy lordnonsense.”
“Cillian.” Her brows furrowed as though