Although she had given him a very fine watch, which was unnervingly situated to his tastes and had not been equipped with any gunpowder, as he had suspected.

He’d checked the item rather thoroughly.

Between her disgruntled mutterings about leaving civilization and removing to the wild, and the uninhibited disapproval about leaving London so soon after the wedding rather than making an appearance in Society, Harrison had rather a clear impression of his wife’s feelings toward this journey. And the style of the coach. As well as the condition of the roads. Not to mention the safety of her trunks, and the many items packed within.

He’d typically have no issue with sleeping part of the way, but her frequent inquiries as to the remaining length of time for that day’s travels neatly kept him from any sort of slumber. Were he alone, he would have avoided stopping at inns and paid a driver to push on through to shorten the journey as much as possible. But with a bride, he would be more lenient on the pacing.

He needed sleep, and separate rooms with adequate beds allowed for such things.

It was clear his wife had not anticipated the simpler establishments of coaching inns on her journey to Cornwall, and her expression upon realizing her present accommodations brought him more joy than a great many things in his life.

Her cantankerous attitude that first morning had been well worth contending with.

It was an odd sort of fun, toying with his wife’s extreme emotions. He did not flatter himself that she hated him already, but that she simply could not bear the thought of his refusing to bow to her demands and wishes. He was no lapdog, and she had only ever known those in men. Having a contender for her strong will was unfamiliar, and being at odds with the circumstances made her rather reactionary, which was a riotous amount of fun when one was travelling great distances and had little else to engage with.

He’d tried ignoring her, and that hadn’t gotten him anything but a bruised shin.

Baiting her was becoming a favorite pastime, and he was getting rather good at it.

Still, by the time they resumed travel after luncheon on the third day of this, even he was wondering when they would be arriving at Trevadden.

“Basset,” his wife suddenly began, the silence between her last vocalization and this one a blessed relief, “I hadn’t thought to ask before now, but what is the family name?”

Harrison blinked and turned his attention from the window, where he had been studiously seeing nothing, to the entirely earnest and humor-free expression of his wife, which gave him concern that therein there might also be nothing. “I beg your pardon?”