She took her seat, once more on his right; she refused to sit at the end of the table when they were alone. Cottsloe appeared to agree with her; he'd set her place as she'd wished, even though she'd made no request. Shaking out her napkin, she glanced at Luc. "Is there any particular" — she gestured—"element of household management you'd like to see changed?"

He sat, clearly gave the matter thought while Cottsloe served. When the butler stood back, Luc shook his head. "No. Over the past years, we've reorganized virtually everything." He met her gaze. "Now Mama has handed over the reins, control of household matters is entirely in your hands."

She nodded. Once they'd both started to eat, she asked, "Is there any aspect of the estate presently on your plate you'd like me to take over?"

A delicate question, but Minerva wasn't young, and Luc was Luc. While his mother had undoubtedly fulfilled her duties unstintingly, she knew he would have transferred as many responsibilities as possible from Minerva's shoulders to his.

Again, he considered, then went to shake his head — as she'd fully expected — but stopped. "Actually" — he glanced at her—"there are a few things you could take over."

She nearly dropped her fork. "What?" She hoped her eagerness wasn't too transparent. It was essential to her long-term strategy that she establish herself as his wife, not only in the eyes of the staff and estate workers, and all others, but in Luc's eyes, too.

"The Autumn Gathering — it's an… estate party for want of a better name, held in late September."

"I remember," she replied. "I've been here for one, years ago."

"Ah, but you wouldn't have been here for one in my grandparents' time. Now those were parties."

She met his eye, grinned. "I'm sure we could match them if we try."

"Cottsloe was a footman, and Higgs was a parlor maid — they'd remember enough to resurrect some of the more unusual events."

His eyes remained on hers; she inclined her head. "I'll ask and see what we can organize." She laid down her fork, reached for her glass. "Was there anything else?"

Luc hesitated. "This is more prospective. Mama visited the tenants, and I'm sure you'll do the same, but we're taking on more workers, not just on the home farm but on the tenant farms, too. There's a lot of children about. Too many to eventually work the farms in their fathers' stead."

He picked up his glass, sipped, leaned back. "I've heard good reports from various estates where schools have been set up for the workers' children. I'd like to institute something along those lines here, but I simply don't have time to look into it properly, let alone do the necessary planning."

And if Devil and Gabriel had their way and co-opted him into the Cynster investment cartel, he'd have even less time for such activities.

He was watching Amelia carefully; he saw the spark of eagerness in her eyes.

"How many estates do you have?"

"Five." He named them. "Each is productive, and the returns are sufficient to justify the time and effort to keep them running smoothly."

"That won't leave you much time for anything else."

He inclined his head. "I travel to each estate at least twice a year."

She looked at him. "I'll be coming, too."

No question. Pleased, he inclined his head again.

"Your other estates — are any big enough to justify a school?"

"In the next few years, it's likely all will have sufficient numbers."

"So if we trial the concept here, and work through all the problems, then we can later expand to your other estates."

He met her now overtly eager gaze. "It'll take time and considerable effort in each case. There are always prejudices to overcome."

She smiled. "I'll have more than enough time — you may leave the matter with me."

He acquiesced with a nod, masking his satisfaction. The more she became enmeshed in his life, in the running of his estates and his household, the better.

His ride about the estate had brought home how many repairs and improvements were under way — works she'd undoubtedly think were being paid for by her dowry.

Convention stated that no woman had any right to know her husband's business.

Regardless, he couldn't imagine not telling her the truth.

That her dowry was a drop in the ocean compared to his wealth, that he'd known it from the dawn she'd offered herself — and her dowry — to him, that he'd been careful to allow no hint of the truth to reach her, even to the point of corrupting her father and making a pact with Devil…

Could he rely on her temper to blind her to the real revelation therein?

He inwardly grimaced; she was a Cynster female — he had too much respect for her perspicacity on such subjects to risk it.

He had until September to make his confession.

Sufficient unto the day the evil thereof.

"My lord?"

He looked up to see Cottsloe standing by the door.

"McTavish has just come in. He's waiting in the Office."

Luc laid down his napkin. "Thank you." He glanced at Amelia. "McTavish is my steward. Have you met him?"

"Yes. It was years ago, however." She pushed back her chair; a footman started forward — rising, Luc waved him back, drew out the chair.

Amelia stood and faced him, smiled into his eyes. "Why don't I come with you and you can reintroduce us, then I'll leave you to your business while I continue with mine?"

He took her hand, set it on his sleeve. "The Office is in the west wing."

After meeting McTavish and casting a curious glance over the Office, Amelia rejoined Mrs. Higgs, and they continued their inspection. While the house was in excellent condition, and all the woodwork — floors and furniture both — gleamed with beeswax and care, virtually every piece of fabric was in need of replacement. Not urgently, but within the next year.

"We won't be able to do it all at once." They'd completed their circuit of the reception rooms; in the main drawing room, Amelia scribbled a note putting the curtains in that room at the top of her list. Followed by the curtains in the dining room. And the chairs in both rooms needed to be re-upholstered.

"Will that be all, ma'am?" Higgs asked. "If so, would you like me to get your tea?"

She raised her head, considered; unlikely that Luc would wish for tea. "Yes, please — send the tray to the small parlor."

Higgs nodded and withdrew. Amelia returned to the parlor off the music room.

Leaving her notes — a considerable pile — in the desk, she retreated to relax on the chaise. A footman appeared with her tea tray; she thanked and dismissed him, then poured a cup and slowly sipped — in silence, in isolation, both very strange to her.

It wouldn't last — this had always been a house full of people, mostly females. Once Minerva and Luc's sisters returned from London, the house would revert to its usual state.

No — not so. Not quite.

That was, indeed, what this strange interlude signified — the birth of a new era. As Higgs had said, the weather had changed, the season swung around, and they were moving into a new and different time.

Into the period when this huge house would be hers to run, to manage, to care for. Hers and Luc's the responsibility to steer it, and the family it sheltered through whatever the future might bring.

She sipped her tea and felt that reality — the fabric of their future life — hovering, as yet amorphous, unformed, all about her. What she made of it, how she sculpted the possibilities… it was a challenge she was eager to meet.

Her tea finished, the sunshine tempted her to try the French doors. They opened; she strolled out into the gardens.

As she walked the clipped lawns, then strolled along a wisteria-covered walk bathed in sunshine, she turned her mind to her master plan, to charting the immediate future.

Their physical relationship appeared to be taking care of itself, developing of its own accord — all she needed to do was devote herself as required, something she was perfectly willing to do, especially after last night. And this morning.

She grinned. Reaching the end of the walk, she turned into the crosswalk and continued on. She hadn't expected to feel so confident, to gain such a fillip from knowing she pleased him in their bed, from knowing that his desire for her was real — entirely unfeigned; if anything, it had grown rather than diminished since first they'd slaked it.

Another unlooked-for success had been his readiness to accept her assistance with the Autumn Gathering and his new idea about schools. It might simply be that he saw her as competent, and he was willing, given the burdens he already shouldered, to let her help; nevertheless, it was a start. A step toward true sharing, which was, after all, what a real marriage was about.

A real marriage — that was her goal, the absolute achievement she'd promised herself. The marriage she intended to have.

At the end of the crosswalk, she looked up and ahead — to the stables, and the long building that extended beyond. From there came the unmistakable yipping of hounds.

Luc's treasures. Lips curving, she set out to view them for herself. She was quite partial to dogs — just as well, for Luc's pack of prize Belvoir hounds had been his hobby since boyhood. A lucrative one — the pack would be a source of income now, both through being leased to the local hunt and through breeding fees and sales of the offspring of champions like Morry and Patsy.

The kennels, clean, well run, spic-and-span, were reached via the courtyard around which the stable was built. A narrow aisle ran down the center of the long building with pens giving off on either side; there she found Luc talking to Sugden, the kennel master.