The master had Cook fix you a proper breakfast. Eggs, bacon, seed cakes. Its waiting for you downstairs.
She couldnt refuse, not without possibly insulting the cook. Since Anne would be responsible for consulting with the cook about meals, she must be politic and make herself eat a meal she did not truly want. Sounds delightful.
After Meg finished her toilette, Anne quit the bedchamber. The hallway was very quiet, almost sepulchral in its stillness, barely interrupted by the sounds of servants attending to their daily tasks elsewhere in the house. If Anne had not left Meg in the bedchamber only a moment prior, she might believe herself completely alone. Maybe even the last person alive in the entire world.
Stop this ridiculous ghoulishness! She never indulged in thoughts of the macabreshe stayed clear of the hangings at Tyburn, and even went out of her way to avoid the occasional traitors head piked on Temple Bar.
It was simply nervousness at her unfamiliar surroundings, and trepidation as a new wife. Last night had been very tumultuous, so there might be lingering emotions. But there was truly nothing to fear. These awkward first days would soon pass.
Yet as she made her way down the stairs, that prospect seemed dim. It felt even farther away as she entered the dining room. Without all the guests from the day before, the chamber was an empty cavern scoured by gray morning light. All signs of the wedding celebration were gonenot even a crumb or wine stain on the carpet. Almost as if it had never happened, save for the music and laughter ringing in Annes remembrance like broken glass.
The large table was laid for one, and as Anne moved farther into the room, a footman hurried in from a side door to pull out her chair. She smiled her thanks and sat, and helped herself to far more food than she wanted. There was nothing she could do but force food down her throat as the footman stood in attendance. Everything tasted like pasteboard.
Please tell Cook that the meal is delicious, she said to the footman, who bowed. I trust we will have more exquisite dishes for supper.
Suppose so, the footman said. Seeing as how the master dont take no meals here, I wouldnt know.
No meals at all?
Maybe a cold collation late at night, but hes often out.
Are we to expect him today?
The footman shrugged.
Leos absence at the table and in the house was a silent humiliation. Had she so little to offer her husband beyond her bloodline that he willingly left their bed to attend to business? She had believed him compassionate when hed forestalled the consummation of their marriage. Yet now, with her alone in his house, alone in every way, she wondered if it had been kindness or merely disinterest. If the scandal rags were to be believed, Leo was accustomed to wild living, indulging in every vice. Nothing checked his desires, his impulses.
Would he consider his wife another obstacle to ignore? He had said that he wanted them to wait, to learn each other before consummating their marriage. Perhaps without the inducement of his wifes body, there was little to interest him at home.
As she picked at the congealing remains of her breakfast, she felt a rush of blood to her cheeks. Disappointmentand angerroiled within her. She had no expectations of marriage, yet even in her most hypothetical imaginings she had not anticipated being an afterthought to the man who claimed her hand. Clearly, however, that was how Leo saw her: a parenthesis.
Abruptly, she stood. The footman hurried to help her with her chair, yet she was halfway out the door.
As she climbed the stairs, resolution took shape. She would make herself essential to him. This houseits baleful silence, its icy shadowsshe would find a way to transform it. He shunned his home. Yet under her care, home would become the warmth of the fire drawing him in from the cold night.
His hunting ground. Leo breathed in its aromas as a predator sniffed the air for the acidic scent of prey. The smell of coffee was the smell of moneybrewing, percolating, waiting to be consumed. He barely needed the jolt of energy from the drink. All he required for strength was here, fed by the sights and sounds of Exchange Alley. And his own deeds gave him unstoppable momentum.
Leo strode down Lombard Street, its narrow confines bound on all sides by coffee houses that served as the financial heart of London, and thus, the world. New Jonathans Coffee House. Garraways. Lloyds. Dozens, maybe scores more. Lombard Street and the cramped
alleys of Cornhill and Birchin Lane demarcated the boundaries of the commercial kingdom. The air was thick with talk, hundreds of mens voices all crashing together in a din some might call discordant. To Leo, the sound rang as clear and sacred as an oratorio.
Seven hundred shares of the coffee venture. No less.
The demand for cotton only increases. Youre a fool not to buy now.
The Quakers have me by the stones, but theres no help for it. Our future is made of iron.
Theres Bailey, the Demonif youre looking for deep pockets, hes your man. But mind, he asks scores of questions and is anything but a silent partner.