Bartered Bride Romance Collection (82 page)

“Agreed. And I’m making the most out of my talents by making this house into the home where Gregory will want to spend his time.”
I may not be able to make him want to share his life with me, but Cranberry Hill could prove an irresistible lure
. Libby left the thought unspoken but was certain Sarah knew, anyway.

“You’re doing a wonderful job, that’s true.” The other woman’s eyes gleamed with determination. “But I’ve a gift for knowing what will flatter the figure and bring a bloom to the cheeks of a young woman who never spent the time to experiment with such things before. Surely you wouldn’t deny my gift?” Her eyes were widely incredulous now. “Not your mother-in-law!”

“It’s not that I’m denying your gift, I’m just asking that you use it to help me with Cranberry Hill.” Libby pasted on a smile.

“I’m already doing that, Libby.” She strode—no, stalked—up to where Libby had retreated. “Behind your modesty there is a surprise waiting to be discovered. Let’s make the most of it!”

“Now, Sarah,” Libby admonished. “You can’t turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse.”
And I’ll never be the beauty Tabby is
. She forced cheer into her tone. “Let’s just keep our focus on Cranberry Hill for now. Have I told you what I’m planning for the music room? With a little added elegance, it will do well as a ballroom, should we ever have need of one. Come with me.”

Though Sarah frowned at Libby’s obvious evasion, she followed her new daughter-in-law farther into the house. Libby was simply grateful Gregory’s mother hadn’t pressed the issue of her admittedly plain appearance. Lovely dresses couldn’t conceal the fact that she wasn’t the bride Gregory had wanted.

Chapter 6

G
ood to have you home, Captain Royce.” Jenson gave an angled bow at the waist before taking Gregory’s coat. “Mm? Oh, yes.” Gregory looked up long enough to dismiss the butler before returning his attention to the floor beneath his feet.

The slate-gray tile he’d ordered and overseen as it was installed was no more. And he couldn’t say he mourned the loss, not when its replacement was fit for a palace. In place of the gray lay the finest marble tile, golden streaks threading gracefully throughout the main entry. His footsteps clicked sharply as he moved toward the grand staircase, intent on a good bath and shave before he greeted his wife.
My wife
. He shook his head and kept moving.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the parlor to his left. He halted, making a measured turn to verify his first impression. It was correct—she’d decorated the room in a soft butter yellow turned sweetly vibrant by the afternoon sun. He detoured into the parlor to explore farther. Gregory moved toward the center of the room, halting as a feminine voice spoke from the doorway behind him.

“Welcome home, husband.” Libby sounded warm but hesitant. ”

Thank you.” Gregory moved to face her. “It’s good to be home.” The platitude escaped him before he had the chance to examine it. Was it good to be in the home where he’d brought the wrong bride? More importantly, was this even his home anymore?

He cast another glance around the room, taking in cream drapes with gold braid and fringe, settees and chairs furnished in the same eggshell, softening the yellow silk wall hangings. Even the rug beneath his feet, tempering the hardwood floors with luxurious depth, matched the décor.

“What do you think?” His wife sounded downright nervous now, and Gregory mentally kicked himself for his long silence. She’d obviously been hard at work.

“I like it.” He made the decision aloud, surprised to find it true. “Yellow wouldn’t have been something I would have chosen, but it’s just right in here.”

At his nod and words of praise, she beamed. Gregory stood stock-still for a moment, transfixed by his bride’s sudden transformation. Libby’s smile lit her face, brought a sparkle to her eyes, and almost seemed to make her taller.

I’ll have to make her smile more often
. The thought caught him off guard, and Gregory wondered why he’d never noticed Libby’s smile before. He’d known her for months, shared countless meals with her. It was hard to believe she’d never smiled in front of him even once in all that time. He must have been distracted by Tabitha.

The thought brought him crashing back to the reality of his disappointment. Clearing his throat, Gregory excused himself from the room.

“I’ll freshen up and see you at supper.” The question came out sounding more like an order than a polite request.

“I look forward to it.” Libby had raised her chin as though answering a challenge. “Though it will be served in the breakfast room tonight, as we began renovating the dining room yesterday afternoon.”

“Very well.” He strode past her, boots clicking smartly on the new marble tile as he made his way to the staircase. The sound almost seemed to echo in the large space of the house.

When he reached the second floor he turned left by habit, only to be brought up short. The master bedroom was where Libby slept now. If he went there, it would be tantamount to announcing his intent to share the room—and its bed—with her. He made a sharp turn to the right, unwilling to make such a weighty decision before spending more time with his unexpected bride.

Libby stood in the parlor, trying, as she had many times before, to see it as Gregory would. As Gregory had.

When the housekeeper informed her the master of the house had returned, Libby hastily made her way downstairs to greet him. He’d already left the entryway, robbing her of his reaction to the new floor. She’d headed for the library, since that’s where he’d disappeared on their wedding night, only to see him standing in the doorway of the parlor.

The light from the windows shone on his dark hair and illuminated the breadth of his shoulders beneath his jacket. His hands clasped behind him, legs spread for balance, he could easily have been on board one of his ships, surveying his domain. Which seemed to be precisely what he was doing here.

Libby opened her mouth but found herself reluctant to speak as her husband moved farther into the room as though drawn to its warmth. She bit her lip as his gaze swept the room, taking in the drapes, the newly refurbished settees, and even the carpet now beneath one of his black boots.

Still silent, Libby took in his every motion—the inquisitive tilt of his head, the measuring way he swept a hand along the back of the settee, and the way he compared the time displayed on the porcelain mantel clock to his own watch, nodding as he returned it to his pocket. When it seemed he’d fully assessed the room and would turn to find her gauging his reaction, Libby hurriedly said the first thing she could think of before he caught her watching him.

“Welcome home,” she’d told him, as though it were her place to do so. And, strange though it felt, it was.

“Thank you. It’s good to be home.” His words sounded sincere, if awkward, before heavy silence fell between them. Gregory glanced around the room once more as though weighing his words before he gave his opinion. Still he remained quiet.

He hates it
. Suddenly, she questioned her choices. Soft primrose and eggshell? What had possessed her?
I should have chosen what Tabitha would have—deep jewel tones vibrant enough to enhance her own beauty
. The bitter tang of failure clawed its way up Libby’s stomach while she awaited his verdict, spilling out in a rush of blurted, desperate words.

“What do you think?” She winced as she heard herself demand that he share his thoughts with her. But she had to know.

When he praised her efforts, Libby locked her suddenly shaky knees, putting a hand to the door frame to steady herself. She could feel herself smile, practically from ear to ear, knowing that ladies gave tiny, polite, demure smiles, but unable to reign in her joy at the first hint of approval from her husband.

When he told her he’d go freshen up and see her later, at supper, she saw another opportunity to win his admiration. As he headed up the steps of the grand staircase, Libby rushed to the large kitchen hidden behind. She bypassed the cook for the moment, flinging open the door to the pantry and eyeing its contents. What would Gregory enjoy the most?

“I’d like to change tonight’s menu,” she informed Mrs. Rowins, who merely nodded. “As the captain is home now, we’ll have more than a simple supper. Instead, we’ll need to serve multiple courses. Not seven,” she hastily amended as the cook blanched, “but certainly a soup course and a main course and dessert.”

“Oh, yes.” The cook nodded, obviously relieved not to be called upon to prepare a feast at the eleventh hour.

Libby had taken to a bit of soup and some cold cuts with biscuits on a tray for her supper. Since the dining room wasn’t useable and the master wasn’t home, it had been a sensible arrangement. Now that Gregory was back, meal plans needed to change. She and the cook put their heads together, planning a simple but robust meal of his favorites.

When all was settled, Libby headed to the breakfast room with one of the maids, issuing last-minute instructions that it be dusted, scrubbed, polished, and set for supper. As she left another room in a flurry of activity, she smiled. She would pull off this mistress-of-a-grand-house thing yet. Gregory would have no cause to complain of her ability to manage Cranberry Hill.

Libby turned to the master suite, coming up short when she realized Gregory might well be using the water closet. After all, he was the master of the house, and this was his room. He didn’t forfeit his rights because he had elected not to share it with her on their wedding night. Now that the shock of it all was further behind them, would he come to her?

Libby tentatively stepped into the room, both relieved and crestfallen to find the door to the restroom wide open, the room beyond completely empty. He’d chosen to use a different room for now, perhaps out of consideration for her. Perhaps out of his own discomfort. Libby firmly pushed the troubling thoughts away. Now was her time to prepare, not wallow in doubt.

She freshened up, repinned her hair into her customary chignon, and stood before the enormous armoire. She flicked through her dresses, suddenly wishing she had taken Sarah up on her offer to “make Libby over” or had, at least, ordered a few more stylish items.

No. I’ll not become a pale imitation of Tabitha. When Gregory comes to accept me, it will be for who I am without any furbelows or gewgaws to mask me
. Her decision made, Libby changed into her best dress, a pale mauve with lace edging, and slid her feet into delicate leather slippers in a slightly darker shade. She may not look as though she’d stepped from the pages of
Peterson’s Magazine
, but it was a vast improvement over the dowdy gray dress and walking boots she’d worn earlier.

So Libby went downstairs to meet her husband, a prayer on her lips and hope in her heart.

Chapter 7

G
regory came back to find the feminine touches that would make Cranberry Hill a home—furnishings and decorations and whatnot. Even better, he’d discovered a delightful supper companion for what might just be the best meal he’d eaten in the past year.