Nine

The moment Edward caught sight of his home, he knew that something was wrong. His horse's gallops had a strange way of making him feel calm, and it had worked. Leaving the house early had turned into habit of sorts for him. He would do everything he needed to do then enjoy a leisurely stroll around the border of his land, saying hello to the few tenants he ran into and enjoying the calming movement of his horse with his hat always slung low on his head, obliterating his face from stares.

Today, however, the closer the horse trotted to the manor, the heavier his stomach felt. He thought it was something he ate until he caught sight of the first clue; a window with the drapes opened.

No, she didn't.

Edward didn't want to believe it, but the evidence stared him in the face. His conscience pricked him.

Surely, you didn't expect her to feel her way through the dark house. He had known that it was inevitable that she would want the drapes opened the day after they wed.

By the time he got to