In the Arms of the Heiress (A LADIES UNLACED NOVEL) by Maggie Robinson Page A

make-believe people was not difficult, but living with real loss was.
    “Our trunks should come up any minute. Do you wish to use the—” A real wife might not be shy about her husband washing and doing other things involving plumbing, but she was not a real wife.
    “Ladies first. I’ll wait here.” He folded his long body into her father’s leather chair and shut his eye.
    Good heavens. She hoped he didn’t hear her as she relieved herself. To make sure, she turned on the taps and hummed. It was a bit early for a Christmas carol, but she had never kept the rules of Advent and would not now. In her opinion, all those mournful hymns were best left unsung.
    After a few rounds of “Good King Wenceslas,” she washed her hands and face and checked her teeth for any remnants of their lunch on the train. It couldn’t be put off any longer. It was time to see Aunt Grace.
    But when she returned to her father’s dressing room, she found her “husband” sound asleep in the chair, snoring softly at regular intervals. Louisa didn’t have the heart to wake him up—the past few days had been exhausting for her, too. Tiptoeing out of the room, she decided to make his excuses to her aunt. A few hours’ delay would make no difference. Captain Cooper was hers for the whole month, and would have plenty of time to suffer under Aunt Grace’s gorgon-like stare.

Chapter

    7
    T he blue velvet drapes were closed against the thin afternoon sunshine, but the room did not smell of illness or pending death. Aunt Grace sat up straight in bed in a lacy bedjacket, her reading glasses slipping down her nose, her faded blond hair rolled up neatly. A pile of society newspapers were littered across the counterpane. She set the
Tatler
down and stared over her lenses, her dark eyes sharp.
    “Ah, niece! So nice to have you back with us after all this time. I suppose we must put an announcement of your marriage in the papers. It is really quite shocking that we have not done so already. I imagine they’ll want to interview you, too, though of course we will shun the publicity. What has it been now—almost four months of wedded bliss?” She peered into the gloom behind Louisa. “Where is your young man?”
    Oh dear. Louisa hadn’t planned on announcements or interviews. “He sends his regrets, Aunt Grace. I’m afraid his old injury is troubling him.”
    “Injury? What injury?”
    “I may have neglected to mention it. His eye was damaged in a youthful boxing match and I’m afraid he gets dreadful headaches sometimes. Travel has been a strain for him.”
    “You’ve not gone and shackled yourself to some weakling, have you, Louisa? From your letters, I was under the impression Mr. Norwich was perfection itself.”
    “Maximillian
is
perfect, truly. I could not ask for a better husband.”
    “Your loyalty does you no credit if the man is unworthy of you and your fortune. All this nonsense about art. What kind of man spends all day looking at pictures in museums? He’s not a molly, is he?”
    Louisa choked back a laugh. Captain Cooper was definitely not effeminate in any way. “Of course not. He collects art for his château and is regarded as quite an expert in certain circles.”
    “I suppose you’ll want to settle in France then and leave me the running of Rosemont.”
    Well, that didn’t take long. “I’m not sure what our plans are.” It suited Louisa to be evasive. If all went according to plan, she’d dislodge Grace and Hugh and make Rosemont her own at last, or at the very least be back on the Continent next year enjoying her freedom. “And I shouldn’t like to tax you, Aunt Grace. Hugh wrote that you’ve not been well.”
    Her aunt waved a white hand, her diamond wedding rings glittering. She had married the younger brother of a viscount, although the marriage had not lasted long before the man got lucky and died. “Oh, pooh. A few fainting spells here and there. It was my own fault—I flirted with a new diet for a