"Oh my!" Ellie laughed. "Look at you!"

He glanced down as he sat next to her on the floor. He was covered with soot. "You're rather filthy yourself," he said.

They both laughed, unable to deny the silliness of their appearances, and then Ellie said, "Oh, I forgot to tell you. I visited Mr. Barnes today."

"And was everything arranged to your satisfaction?"

"Oh yes, it was perfect. It was really quite heady, actually, being able to take charge of my finances without subterfuge. And it will be a boon for you, as well."

"How is that?"

"You wanted a wife who won't interfere with your life, correct?"

He frowned. "Er, yes, I suppose I did say that."

"Well, then, it stands to reason that if I have something to keep me busy, I'll stay out of your hair."

He frowned again but didn't say anything.

Ellie exhaled. "You're still angry with me, aren't you?"

"No," he said with a sigh. "But you must stop taking on potentially dangerous tasks."

"It wasn't—"

He held up a hand. "Don't say it, Ellie. Just remember this. You're married now. Your well-being is no longer just your own concern. What hurts you hurts me. So no more unnecessary chances."

Ellie thought that was just about the sweetest thing she'd ever heard, and if they'd been at home, she probably would have thrown herself into his arms on the spot. After a moment, she said, "How did you find us?"

"It wasn't difficult. I simply followed the trail of tenants singing your praises."

She beamed. "I did rather well today, I think."

"Yes, you did," he said softly. "You'll make a fine countess. I always knew you would."

"I'll fix up the muddle I've made at the Abbey, I promise. I checked the oven and—"

"Don't tell me you fiddled with the oven again," he said, looking very much like the most beleaguered man in Britain. "Whatever you do, don't tell me that."

"But—"

"I just don't want to hear it. Tomorrow, maybe. But not today. I simply don't have the energy to give you the thrashing you deserve."

"Thrashing!" she repeated, her back stiffening in righteous indignation. Before she could go on, however, Helen opened the door to the cottage and poked her head in.

"Oh, good, you're out," she said. "We were beginning to worry about you. Sally was certain you'd be stuck in there all evening."

"Please offer her our apologies," Ellie said. "We have both behaved abominably." When her husband didn't so much as murmur even the barest hint of agreement, she kicked him in the foot. He grunted something, but if it was in English, it wasn't a word Ellie had ever heard before.

She stood, smoothed her skirts—an action that did nothing but get her gloves utterly filthy—and said to the room at large, "I think we ought to be returning to Wycombe Abbey, don't you?"

Helen nodded quickly. Charles didn't say anything, but he did rise to his feet, which Ellie decided to interpret as a "yes." They bid their farewells to Sally and were on their way. Charles had brought a small carriage, which both Ellie and Helen appreciated after a long day on their feet.

Ellie was silent during the ride home, using the time to review the events of the day in her mind. Her visit with Mr. Barnes had been just as splendid as she could have hoped. She had made marvelous headway with the tenants, who now seemed to well and truly accept her as their new countess. And she seemed to have turned some sort of corner with her husband, who, even if he didn't love her, clearly felt something for her that went beyond mere lust and appreciation for the fact that she had saved his fortune. All in all, Ellie felt remarkably pleased with life.

Chapter 13

Two days later she thought she might like to strangle the entire household. Helen, Claire, the servants, her husband—especially her husband. In fact, the only person she didn't want to strangle was Judith, and that was probably just because the poor girl was only six.

Her success with the tenants had proven to be a short-lived victory. Sirce then, everything had gone wrong. Everything. All of Wycombe Abbey looked upon her as if she were inept. Good-natured and sweet, but still clumsy and inept. It drove Ellie crazy.

Every day, something new died in her little indoor garden. It had gotten to be a sick little game in her mind—guessing which rosebush had gone to plant heaven each day as she entered the orangery.

Then there was the beef stew she'd made for her husband just to be contrary when he said countesses couldn't cook. It had so much salt that Charles couldn't have hidden the pinched expression on his face even if he'd tried. Which he hadn't. Which irritated her all the more.

Ellie had had to dump the entire pot outside. Even the pigs wouldn't touch it.

"I am sure you meant to season it properly," Charles had said while everyone was gagging.

"I did," Ellie hissed, thinking it a wonder that she hadn't ground her teeth down to powder.

"Perhaps you mistook salt for another spice."

"I know what salt is," she fairly yelled.

"Ellie," Claire said, just a touch too sweetly. "Clearly the stew is a bit oversalted. You must see that."

"You," Ellie burst out, jabbing her index finger in the fourteen-year-old's direction. "Stop speaking to me as if I were a child. I have had enough of it."

"Surely you misunderstand."

"There is only one thing to understand, and only one person who has some understanding to do." By now Ellie was practically breathing fire, and everyone at the table was agog.