When one is the rightful heir and the other wants everything just for himself. Josephine realised that she was caught in the middle of a succession war.
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The next morning, Josephine awoke surprisingly well rested. Last night after she'd finished the warm cocoa, she'd lain in bed, listening to creaking floorboards, the result of her husband pacing late into the night. From the moment she'd come to stand beside him at the altar, she'd sensed that he was troubled, not quite himself. The journey yesterday had been pleasant enough that she'd thought they were well on their way to a comfortable marriage, but their arrival had certainly proven that assumption false.
He was troubled. He'd even admitted it. She wished he'd share the burden with her. Why did men always think they had to be strong enough to carry their worries alone?
With a sigh, she threw back the covers and clambered out of bed. She crossed the room, slipped her hands between the draperies, and peered out. The sun was shining, little evidence remained of the storm from the night before—only an occasional puddle. It was going to be a glorious day. Her first as mistress of the manor.
She marched back to the bed, leaned over, and yanked on the bellpull to summon her maid.
She could barely sit still as Charity prepared her to face the day. She wondered where Hero was now. Was he seeing to business, awaiting her in the breakfast room?
They'd not bothered to discuss their plans for the day, so she had no idea what to expect. Still, she was certain that her day would very much reflect her mother's greeting her husband, going over the items to be dealt with, deciding what should be prepared for dinner.
After she was dressed in a gown of pale green, she took a leisurely stroll through the manor in search of the breakfast room, several times stopping to ask servants for directions. The house was monstrously huge, and she wondered if she'd ever learn her way among the maze of corridors. She'd expected enticing aromas to guide her closer to the breakfast room, and as she entered, she discovered the reason that they hadn't.
The room was bare of food.
She'd not overslept, nor had she risen unreasonably early. It was the proper time for breakfast to be served. Obviously she had things to put to rights here, and she wanted it done before her husband was ready to be served.
She looked at the footman standing at attention beside the sideboard as though he actually had something of importance to guard.
"Where is the kitchen?" she asked.
"Through that door, Your Grace," he said with a tilt of his head. "Down the corridor, to the left. You can't miss it."
He then proceeded to cross the room and open the appropriate door for her. She strolled through and continued on down the hallway. As she neared the bricked arched portal that clearly led to the kitchen, she understood immediately why breakfast had yet to be served. She could hear full- throated laughter and a deeply resonating one wafting out of the kitchen along with the enticing aromas of pork, beef, and pastries that caused her mouth to begin watering. She'd not realized how hungry she was until that moment.
