Improperly Wed (Aristocratic Grooms #3)(27)
Author: Anna DePalo

Having stopped, too, Belinda pasted a smile on her face. “I am looking forward to meeting with Mrs. Brown tomorrow.”

“Excellent.”

“I’ll speak with the chef.”

“You are unused to how we run things at Halstead Hall.”

It was hard to argue with the facts. “Yes, I would say so.”

“An important realization.”

“One of many, I hope.”

With that, the dowager marchioness sailed on, and the two of them passed each other like two ships with canons manned but holding most of their fire—at least for now.

Belinda sighed. She wondered how many such skirmishes she was destined to have.

As if fate laughed, she descended the stairs and ran into Sophie.

The other woman looked uneasy. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon.”

“I just arrived. I came to Halstead for the weekend to pick up some of my things, and I plan to leave tomorrow.”

Colin’s sister stopped as if out of breath—and as if belatedly realizing that her words could be construed to mean that she was gathering up her belongings and clearing out now that Belinda was living in the house.

What could she say in response, Belinda thought, that could not also be misconstrued? Take your time? Let me know if I may be of help?

She sensed that Sophie didn’t bear her as much hostility as her mother but, rather, was finding the whole situation awkward and strange.

Belinda could hardly blame her. She and Colin’s sister were contemporaries, but they’d never had any real interaction. Public events such as Royal Ascot and Wimbledon were big enough to lend themselves to selective socializing by Granvilles and Wentworths alike.

Belinda opened her mouth and voiced the first passably sensible thought that occurred to her. “I’ve yet to discover an art room in the house.”

“There isn’t one,” Sophie said.

“Didn’t you ever have one?” Belinda asked curiously. “With your profession…”

“I did most of my work outside the house and then took many of my things with me when I moved into a London flat. Mother didn’t approve of graphic des—”

Sophie cut herself off.

Belinda was glad she wasn’t the only person or thing that Colin’s mother frowned upon. “Perhaps I’ll create a room, then. I’m sure the youngest Granville cousins would appreciate it, and the staff must have children and grandchildren who would.”

Seemingly despite herself, Sophie showed a spark of interest.

Belinda felt surprisingly heartened at the positive sign. She and Colin’s sister were both in artistic professions, and she wouldn’t be surprised if Colin’s sister had an appreciation for nineteenth-and twentieth-century artwork. Maybe the next two years wouldn’t be as bad as she’d feared.

“Sophie?”

The dowager marchioness’s voice sounded from above them, and Sophie shot Belinda a rueful look before heading up the stairs.

Belinda continued on to the dining room.

Perhaps, she thought, all was not lost. Or at least, she’d survived another day…

There was something incongruous about a marquess doing his own grocery shopping. Belinda watched Colin eye a display of imported tapenade and other spreads.

She’d been at Halstead Hall a couple of days when Colin had returned. When he’d realized she was making a trip to the supermarket, he’d decided to come along—to her chagrin.

She pulled a crunchy French loaf from a bin and deposited the bread in her shopping cart. She rolled her cart a few feet, and stopped next to Colin.

Her brow furrowed. “How often do you run out to buy your own milk?”

Colin looked amused. “Now and then.”

She searched his face.

“More so now,” he teased, “that there’s a marchioness who insists on selecting her own brand of jam.”

“Except I didn’t know I was a marchioness for all of the past three years.”

“If William and Catherine can be caught buying their own produce at the market,” he joked with a reference to the British royals, “then I suppose a marquess can, too.”

“We are in Waitrose, however,” she countered. “I refuse to be too impressed.”

She knew just as well as he did that the upscale supermarket chain, run by a workers’ cooperative, was popular in well-heeled social circles.

Colin smiled. “I’ll just have to keep trying, then.”

Her eyes skated away from his as she was conscious of the air between them changing.

She continued on with her cart, and Colin turned to follow.

She scanned the shelves, glad for the distraction. While it was safe to think of Colin as all aristocratic hauteur, she had to admit that he’d pleasantly surprised her with today’s outing.

They continued on through Waitrose, stopping to chat with the occasional local who recognized Colin as the local marquess. At each conversation, Colin introduced her as his wife. There were no looks of surprise, presumably because everyone in this corner of Berkshire was well aware of the recent notoriety of the Marquess and Marchioness of Easterbridge.

Belinda was relieved not to have to offer any delicate explanations about how she’d become Colin’s wife—particularly since there’d been no recent wedding celebration. Or at least, she corrected with an inward wince, there had been no wedding in which she’d been the bride and Colin had been the groom.

Still, even though their grocery shopping went smoothly, she was glad when they reached the checkout.

They stood in line like everyone else. Colin paid by credit card and then declined assistance to their car by one of the baggers.

“No need,” Colin said to the teenager. “I’ll have no problem handling these bags myself.”

When they exited the supermarket, she followed Colin to their vehicle, where he loaded their purchases. Then she waited while he began to wheel their empty cart back toward Waitrose.

He’d only gone a few feet, however, when a petite older woman, well-dressed and carrying a Chanel purse, stopped him.

“Young man, would you mind assisting me inside with a return purchase? If you could simply bring your cart over here.” She gestured to the back of her car.

Belinda realized that the woman had mistaken Colin for a Waitrose employee or manager. Perhaps the Chanel lady thought that Colin was reporting for his shift and had decided to tidy up the parking lot by taking an empty shopping cart inside with him.

Belinda opened her mouth. “Oh, but—”