Page 33 of Cold November Rake

"Yes, but you can see now why I cannot leave this world and my father's dukedom in his hands, can't you?"

"Unfortunately, our attempts at an heir shall have to wait a bit."

Unfortunately.

Sutton knew that she meant it in the context of an heir, but he liked to think that she also meant it for personal reasons—that she enjoyed last night and was upset at having to postpone their relations until he was healed.

"I can always ignore the doctor's orders and⁠—"

"Risk the hot iron?" she finished with a smile.

"Gladly," he said.

"I have the laudanum to dull the pain." She patted her pocket.

Sutton grimaced. "That I would rather not risk."

"In that case, I shall leave you to rest, my lord," she said, but didn't move.

Sutton looked down and only now realized Temperance had not let go of his hand.

Neither had he.

Chapter Nine

Berne

9th July 1816

Dear husband,

It has rained since June, and everyone speaks of the dead summer as though it were a person who had wronged them. They say the mountains here are magnificent, but I haven't seen them once because of the weather.

A painter from Naples, who has been following our party for a week with a sketchbook and an air of suffering, says I have the best profile in Switzerland. He wishes to paint me. My aunt says I should let him, as it will give me something to do besides stare at the post.

And though I enjoy his attention, I would much prefer he taught me to paint.

P.S. I find I enjoy sauerkraut, and the Bernese eat a lot of meat. Their smoked and cured meats are fabulous and perfect to take with oneself for the upcoming journey.

Your wife,

Temperance

[Sketch of sauerkraut in the margins]

Sutton lay on his back, staring at the canopy of his bed.

It had been three days since the doctor assigned him bed rest, and he was going mad.

For one thing, he barely saw his wife. She came into his room a few times a day to check on him and offer him laudanum, which he refused, but aside from that, he had spent the time in the company of his valet, his man of business, and the occasional visitor.

Most of what he knew of his wife's whereabouts came from Whitlow. Apparently, she had busied herself with renovations, hiring workers who had already stripped a few of the drawing rooms bare and were now starting on the guestrooms, while his wife ordered new paper-hangings, paint, and curtains.

She had assumed the duties of mistress of the house from the day she arrived in London.

Sutton felt oddly reassured by her activities.

When they wed seven years ago, she had barely learned the servants' names at Sutton Hall before fleeing to the Continent. Now she was acting as though she actually wanted to build a life here.