Free The Rogue's Return by Jo Beverley Page B

nothing on either side.
    Their home in Carlisle, he assumed. Decent but modest. Very modest. Otterburn’s school had apparently been well respected and had prepared many boys forgrander ones, but he’d clearly not made a fortune at it. There was something in the front window. He held the drawing closer and made out a card saying: Mrs. Otterburn. Haberdasher.
    He couldn’t help it. His first thought was that Jane must never show the picture to his family or to anyone in her new circle.
    He pushed the thought away, but it lingered like grit in a wound. He’d married a shopkeeper’s daughter, one who’d worked in the shop, and though he could tell himself he didn’t mind, he minded that others would.
    He put the picture down, reminding himself that the Otterburns were respectable Scottish gentry headed, he gathered, by a Sir David Otterburn, a philanthropist of some note. Simon could make some comment about charity beginning at home, since Sir David had not taken in Nan, but still, it was a decent connection. Even her relationship with Isaiah was in her favor, for he’d done well for himself in the New World and mixed with the highest levels here in York.
    He wasn’t ashamed of his wife’s origins, he assured himself.
    It would simply be better if no one back home knew about the shop.

Chapter Six
    T hey worked through the evening as if, thought Simon, it all had to be done in the one day. Or because work was escape from grief.
    When the hall clock tinkled nine, however, Hal rose. “I should return to the hotel.”
    Something made Simon think that Hal had realized this was their wedding night. He was tempted to laugh.
    â€œI thank you for your help. Will we be able to impose on you tomorrow?”
    â€œCertainly, and all the morrows.”
    When Simon returned from showing Hal out, Jane was still working through papers. He drew her to her feet. “Enough of that. You’ll wear out your eyes.”
    â€œThe writing is beginning to swim.”
    â€œCome on, then. It’s been a long and difficult day.”
    Simon locked the room. He had no reason to think anyone would pry or steal, but all these things were his responsibility now. Then he was unsure what to do next. As Jane had said, no one would expect them to treat this as a normal wedding night, but without rituals, what did one do?
    Then Mrs. Gunn marched into the hall, strange to his eyes in a good dress, black bonnet, and gloves. “If you don’t mind, sir, ma’am, I’ll pay my respects to Mr. Trewitt for a while. I put a plain supper in your room, sir,so you take your wife up there and have some peace and quiet.”
    An unlikely guiding light, but it didn’t sound like a bad idea. There were matters to talk of. Simon thanked the cook, took Jane’s hand, and drew her up the stairs. He felt her reluctance. “We need to talk, and then we can go to our separate beds.”
    â€œYou must think me silly.”
    â€œNot to want to consummate such a marriage on such a day? Not at all. There’s no hurry, after all. Come along.”
    His room lay at the far end of the corridor, so they had to pass Isaiah’s door. Simon stopped. It seemed impossible that his friend wouldn’t emerge with a genial smile and a cheery comment. “He’ll never sleep there again.”
    â€œAnd everything in there has to be dealt with,” she wearily pointed out.
    All Isaiah’s little treasures. He’d kept the horn buttons from the coat in which he’d arrived in Canada, and some rough whittled figures a friend had made up in the north. There were eagle feathers, a beaded belt, corn husk dolls, a scarred knife with a carved bone handle . . .
    â€œI want to bury them with him,” Simon abruptly said.
    Jane’s eyes met his, bright—with tears, he thought, but also with approval. “I’ll get a candle.”
    She returned in a moment and they entered