Edith stared out the window, remembering when she'd first posed the idea of marriage to Tom.
"I'll deter most women, one should hope. Although I'm sure there will be plenty who will imagine you'll still be eager for a mistress."
His blank look hadn't wavered at her feeble attempts at self-deprecating humour.
"But any handsome married man has to tend to that type of woman from time to time, I'm sure."
"Like Gregson," he'd sneered, at last showing some emotion.
She'd held his gaze, somewhat disconcerted that her motives should be so obvious from the first. "Yes," she'd finally conceded.
"That's why you want this marriage? To hide your clandestine affair with another married-"
"There's no chance of a divorce-"
"As there won't be with you and I, if we do this. And you'll have to convert to Catholicism. You're willing to do all this so you can have your way with this man?"
This was where she'd faltered, suddenly uncertain. Who knew that her religious convictions would be the one thing she'd be worried about compromising?
"Where will we live?" he'd asked before she could debate his arrogant stance on the church any further. "Here in the estate manager's house?"
She'd sniffed at his incredulous tone, and eyed his lodgings. She recalled what she knew about the house: six bedrooms and indoor plumbing.
"My only request is that I am allowed to take over two bedrooms."
"You won't be needing any fancy clothes if you marry me, you know."
"I don't need a dressing room," she'd snapped.
"Then, why?" he'd demanded, but she'd just bitten down on her bottom lip, refusing to reveal why she wanted a second bedroom just yet.
She still hadn't told him. She supposed that particular secret would be revealed when they returned from London.