Bypassing several pretty, eager young misses casting him coy glances, he handed the flowers to the Dardingtons’ eldest daughter. Stephanie’s face broke into a happy grin as she held the prize reverently in front of her.

“Well done, Benton,” Carter joked, before he entered the carriage and sat beside his bride.

The newlyweds turned toward the window and waved as the coach pulled out of the drive. There were shouts and cheers that could be heard until the carriage turned onto the busy street. And then a hushed silence filled the coach.

“I’m glad that’s over,” Atwood remarked.

“I thought it went rather well,” Dorothea replied, deciding she was not going to be sensitive over his obvious relief. Most men did not enjoy weddings, especially their own.

Summoning a pleasant expression, Dorothea turned to her husband. A lock of his dark hair had fallen over his left brow. Captivated by the teasing eyes, she drew closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his lean, powerful body. His clean, masculine scent seemed to surround her, intoxicate her.

Carter’s gaze lowered to Dorothea’s mouth. His eyes darkened, his breath hitched. She leaned in a little closer…

The carriage hit a deep rut and they were thrown apart. The spell was immediately broken. A sigh whooshed out of her lungs as Carter leaned back in his seat, turning away from her. Dorothea felt a keen rush of disappointment that she immediately struggled to conceal. A bride should be happy and smiling on her wedding day.

She mentioned the food at the wedding breakfast, inquiring as to which dishes were his favorites. He responded in kind and they spoke of inconsequential matters for the next few miles. Upon reaching the outskirts of Town they made a brief stop at a posting inn.

Atwood left the coach and to Dorothea’s great surprise did not return. Instead, he mounted a spirited gray stallion and continued the journey on horseback, leaving his bride to her own company.

As she sat alone in the coach, Dorothea caught an occasional glimpse of her groom riding past her. She wondered constantly what thoughts were crowded into his head. Was he happy? Pleased he had chosen her for his wife?

These worries were her only companion for the remainder of the journey. After what felt like an eternity, the carriage came to a stop at the top of a hill. Dorothea gazed out her window to the valley below. Nestled in the center was a magnificent stone mansion, surrounded by parklands and intricately designed gardens, and beyond that thick woods.

Even at this distance, Dorothea could see sprays of water shooting high in the air from the marble fountains, spotted also the diminutive figures of several gardeners as they toiled in the many-colored flower beds. Normally she would have been entranced by the sight of such a beautiful place, but her nerves had started to fray with each mile they drove.

“Ravenswood Manor,” Carter proclaimed, drawing his horse beside the carriage window.

“’Tis magnificent,” Dorothea responded.

“Oh, hell, I was afraid of this,” Atwood muttered beneath his breath. “It appears we have a welcoming committee.”

Stupefied, Dorothea peered closely at the house, noticing the two rows of staff neatly lined in front of the main entrance. Oh, dear, this was the very last thing she needed. She was tired, out of sorts, and trying to cope with a brand-new husband. Now there would be servants to gawk at her.

When they reached the manor, Atwood himself assisted her down from the carriage. He introduced her to the upper house servants, the butler, housekeeper, cook, and head footman, then turned to lead her away. But Dorothea tugged gently on his arm. “I should like to meet all the staff, if you please.”

A corner of his mouth edged upward and his eyes glittered with an emotion she could not identify. It might have been an annoyance, but frankly Dorothea didn’t care. No doubt the staff had been standing outside for at least an hour, perhaps longer. She felt it was her duty to acknowledge them with a personal greeting and a smile.

Dorothea fully expected the butler, or housekeeper, to take over at that point, but again she was surprised. Carter continued down one row and up the next, calling each servant by name. Dorothea was vastly relieved to find so many kind eyes and shy smiles as the staff bowed or bobbed a curtsy.

“It has been a long journey and a most tiring day,” Carter said as the staff began to file inside the manor. “I’ll have Mrs. Simpson show you to your rooms. I’m sure you would like to rest before supper.”

Dorothea struggled to contain her shock. They had just arrived and once again he was planning to leave her on her own?

“Naturally I should like to freshen up, but I doubt I will nap,” she answered.

He smiled charmingly. “Nevertheless, I’m certain the rest will do you good. Mrs. Simpson.” He made a motion with his left hand and the housekeeper materialized at Dorothea’s side. She had not even realized the woman was so near. “Please show Lady Atwood to her chambers. I will see you at dinner.”

And with that settled, he left. Dorothea felt almost too shocked to have a reaction. It had been such an extraordinary day, fraught with excessive emotions. Exhaustion lay just beneath the surface, yet Dorothea knew that sleep was an impossibility. So what precisely was she going to do for the remainder of the afternoon?

She turned to the waiting Mrs. Simpson and gave her a brave smile. “Could I possibly impose upon you for a tour of the house?”

“’Tis a very large residence, my lady. Seeing everything will take hours.”

“Well, perhaps just the first floor today,” Dorothea countered, starting to feel an edge of desperation.

Mrs. Simpson arched her brow, hesitated, then answered, “I shall be honored, my lady.”

They started with the numerous formal rooms, all grandly and expensively furnished. After seeing the duke’s London home, Dorothea expected nothing less, but there was a comforting quality to these quarters that was lacking in London. Ravenswood felt more like a home and less like a showpiece, though it was grand enough to qualify as one. The clear difference buoyed Dorothea’s spirits.

All it took was a few words of praise at the excellent condition in which she found everything and Mrs. Simpson’s formal attitude faded. Dorothea was vastly relieved. They concluded the tour in Dorothea’s rooms, a pleasant, large suite that included a well-furnished sitting room and a spectacular view of the gardens.

As predicted, once she was alone, Dorothea was unable to sleep. Instead, she lay on her back beneath the soft sheets that smelled pleasantly of fresh lavender, staring at the elaborate silk bed hangings, wondering when it would be time to dress for dinner.

When someone finally arrived at her suite, Dorothea was delighted to see it was Mrs. Simpson.

“I thought it might be best if I assist you this evening, since your maid hasn’t yet arrived,” the housekeeper said. “I have some skill with arranging hair.”

“I’ve yet to hire a personal maid and would very much appreciate your advice. By any chance is there a local girl who might suit?”

Mrs. Simpson bit her lower lip thoughtfully. “Sarah Mallory has a bit of experience and I know her family would be grateful for the income. She was widowed last year and forced to return home. I don’t think she wants to remarry and there are nine other siblings in the household to feed.”

“She sounds perfect. Can you arrange an interview later this week?”

“I’d be delighted.”

Grinning with satisfaction at making her first decision as mistress of her own home, Dorothea felt herself relax. Mrs. Simpson had not exaggerated her expertise with hair. She pinned Dorothea’s blonde curls in an elegant upsweep that showcased the long line of her throat and the creamy perfection of her chest, so elegantly exposed by her daring décolletage.

“You look stunning, my lady.” Mrs. Simpson smiled. “Lord Atwood won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”

Or his hands. The raucous thought popped unbidden into Dorothea’s head. But wasn’t that what she wanted? To beguile and bewitch her husband?

On less than steady legs, Dorothea followed the housekeeper downstairs to the drawing room, still pondering that thought.

Carter was waiting for her. He had changed from his wedding finery into more casual attire. His hair was still damp from a recent bath and his jaw was freshly shaved. They walked into the dining room and took their seats and again spoke of their wedding and the festivities that followed.

“At least my father did not make a scene,” Carter said as the second course was served.

“The duke is not the most congenial of men, yet I find myself respecting him for his honesty,” Dorothea replied. “He did not approve of our marriage initially but seems to have accepted it. I felt when he wished us well, he truly meant it.”

Carter’s mouth drew tight for a moment. “You seemed pleased to have your younger sister attend the ceremony.”

Dorothea felt her face warm. “Yes. It was delightful to be with Emma again. I had not realized how much I missed her.”

“Ah, is that not so often the case? We rarely appreciate the real blessings in our life until they are gone.” He took a sip of wine and stared at her over the rim. “After we are settled back in Town, you must invite Emma to visit.”

“Nothing would please me more. She is entertaining company, well, that is, when one can drag her away from her easel.”

His brow rose in confusion. Dorothea explained. “Emma paints. She is extremely talented. Jason has arranged for a private instructor, and her progress under his able tutelage is nothing short of remarkable.”

“If you wish, we can commission her to do your portrait.”