I release the covers and sink back against the mountain of pillows propping me up. Felford places the tray over my lap. The soup looks delicious and the bread roll looks freshly baked.
“Thank you, my lord husband,” I manage to croak out.
He seats himself on the edge of my bed and fixes his gaze on me. His proximity and attention are consuming all of my senses, but he quite clearly wishes for me to eat, or why else would he have served me with his own hands? I swallow and pick up my spoon. The soup truly is delicious. I take three spoonfuls and then place the spoon neatly down.
“Is there something wrong with the soup?” growls Felford.
“No, no, not at all. It’s wonderful,” I nearly stutter.
It is so hard to not end with, ‘my lord husband’. But he doesn’t like it. I forget that far too much. I must do better.
Silence. Somewhere a clock ticks.
“Are you sick?” Felford asks.
My heart flutters frantically against my ribcage. “No! I’m feeling much better, thank you, my lord husband.”
Damn it! I slipped up. Again.
Felford’s hand rests on my knee, on top of the covers. Every part of me focuses on the feel of his touch. It is consuming all of my awareness.
“I’m not calling the healer,” he says. “You are never seeing Henderson again.”
His words pull me back from wherever my mind had wandered off to. I’m never seeing Henderson again? That is surprising, and confusing, but most welcome news. My neck twitches and I almost look at Felford, but I keep my head down. It is not my place to ask questions and I must remember that.
“I…um…am sorry I accused you of having an affair.”
Oh gods. The healer must have told him everything. I don’t know whether to be relieved or mortified. Is it possible to be both? This is all so overwhelming.
“So why aren’t you finishing your lunch?” asks Felford quietly. Drawing my attention back to the here and now.
He seems truly concerned. Which is extremely bewildering. But I need to put his mind at rest.
“It’s rude to be greedy. No one wants to see a vessel gorge themselves.” I explain, even though surely he knows this.
Felford draws in a sharp breath. “You truly believe this?”
“Of course I believe my parents and my trainer!” I say far too sharply.
Does he think I was not brought up properly? Does he think my training is lacking? All my many faults are mine, and mine alone.
Felford says nothing. He just sits on my bed while a winter storm lashes at the window. I feel as if I’m frozen in a tableau.
“What about school teachers, outside influences?” he asks suddenly. Breaking the silence.
“I was tutored at home,” I assure him.
I know I lost my mind last night, but that truly is no fault of my upbringing. If he is looking for answers, the root cause is me. It is not something that can be fixed by additional instruction. Unfortunately.
“What about friends at university?” He asks.
For some reason, my cheeks are heating at that question and my hands wish to pick nervously at the blankets covering me. I have nothing to hide about friends, but the subject of university is potentially stormy.
I can feel Felford’s gaze burning into me and reading my guilt as if I’m a book laid out before him.
“I stated that I wanted you to have an education,” he says, and the displeasure is clear in his voice.
“And I did!” I plead. “Online.”
Felford swears, and I flinch. I always thought enrolling me in an online university was obeying the law of Felford’s stipulations, but not the spirit. But who am I to question my parents?
“Do you have any friends at all?”
Gods. He really does doubt me. Not that I can blame him. But he needn’t worry about bad influences leading me astray.
I tilt my chin up. “A good vessel shouldn’t have any distractions. They should be fully devoted to their husband.”
Not that my reassurance is good news. A bad upbringing can be remedied. Bad influences can be eliminated. But I have neither. Last night’s only cause was the fact I am defective. And that’s not so easy to fix.
For a moment, our eyes meet. Felford looks utterly astonished. I drop my gaze.
“So you grew up and have been living all alone with only your fundamentalist parents for company?”
I nod. Why is he making that sound like a bad thing?
He lets out a heavy sigh. “Gods, Lucien, I had no idea.”
What do I say to that? All the details of my upbringing are in the paperwork of our union. He would have known all this. Unless his parents checked the particulars and he married me purely because he was told to. Which is not a bad thing. It’s good to obey one’s parents. It is not a slight to me that he didn’t bother to look at any of my documents.
“Most of the world has moved on. Few people are truly as fundamental as your parents,” he says abruptly.
I nod again. This conversation is straying far from anything I have ever rehearsed. I truly do not know what to say or what is expected of me. I thought he was trying to ferret out the cause of my awful behavior, but now I have no idea.
Felford sighs again. This time sounding as if all the weight of the world is on his shoulders. The sound makes me squirm. It’s a clear declaration of how much of a burden I am.
“Eat the soup. All of it.”
My gaze flicks up to him in surprise. His look is stern and uncompromising. I was not expecting his command. Not at all. But Butterflies flutter in my stomach and my heart does a happy little skip. Finally. Clear instructions. I know what he wants and the relief of that is immense. I hurriedly pick up my spoon and do as I am told.
He watches me as I eat, and I could purr for the joy of it. I finish and look up at him for further instructions.
“Well done,” he smiles.
I beam back at him. The taste of approval is far more delicious than the soup. I want to savor it forever and ever and never let it go. He blinks and looks completely taken aback. His cheeks color ever so slightly. Oh gods, have I never smiled at him before? Have I frightened him?
A dark look clouds his eyes, and I want to cry. Can we not go back to a few moments ago? Everything was looking so promising. He was pleased with me and it was the most wonderful thing in the world.
“I am so very sorry about last night and Gregory.”
