“Where is Papa? I thought you two had gone to look at new furnishings together,” Emmeline said.
“He went on to Tattersall’s, speaking of horses. As if this household needs another horse.”
“Another one for Beast to take a nip out of,” Geoffrey agreed.
“Beast holds nothing over Warring when it comes to snippiness. Honestly, that man has the most backward of tastes. Egyptian, that’s what he wanted! But it has become passé, in my opinion, and so I told him.”
They fell into conversation, and before long a game of whist was being played across the surface of the bed.
Quite unlike a wounded patient, Alessandra’s face was aglow, her part in the discourse as bright and bubbly as her smile. Emmeline, however, was uncharacteristically quiet and observant.
***
Geoffrey awoke to a loud thump. He sat up in bed, looking over the pillow and seeing at once that Alessandra was not in her place. “Alessandra?” he whispered loudly into the gloom.
It was silent for a moment, but then she answered, “Here. On the floor.”
“What are you doing on the floor?” he asked as he crawled out from under the covers.
“I slipped.”
“Your ankle!”
“Exactly.”
“Well, what were you trying to do?” he asked, coming around the bed and stooping in front of her. She caught a flash of skin up to his thigh, and averted her eyes.
“I was trying to get to the necessary,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Oh. Well. Let me help you then.” He gathered her up into his arms, taking a moment to settle her more securely. In a moment he was steadied, and he carried her to the dressing room, kicking the door aside as he passed through. He set her down near the convenience, and backed out of the room, saying, “Call me when you’re ready.”
He rubbed his hands up and down his arms, hopping from one foot to the other to try to stave off some of the early morning chill as he waited.
Time elapsed, and she did not signal, so he called out, “Is all well?”
“I…I have a problem. Would you ring for Maggie?”
“Alessandra, it’s three in the morning.”
She was silent, so finally he said, “Can I not help you?”
“No!” she cried.
“What do you need?”
“Supplies.”
“Supplies?”
“Female supplies.”
His growing irritation evaporated once understanding dawned, and he felt abashed. “Right. I’ll just ring for Maggie.”
The maid came to their room, her clothes hastily thrown on, her look sleepily sour. He gave her to understand her mistress was in the dressing room, and then crawled back into bed.
“Well,” he said softly to himself, “every servant will know by morning that there’s no heir on its way.”
He crossed his arms behind his head, gazing sightlessly up at the ceiling, realizing he had not given much real thought to having an heir. It was something that was supposed to come one day, like marrying Jacqueline had been.
An heir. His heir. His child.
Strange how the thought of begetting a successor could send this tingle of promise through a man’s spirit, how it could make him think of his life and his future. That was natural, of course, but still there was something distinctly stirring about the very thought.
Oh yes, he was definitely coming to that point in life that parents referred to as “settling down,” and he could see there was something to the idea. Children, his own, making his life noisy and full of bother, their dark curls gleaming in the sun as they played in the small garden at Mama’s former house. That made a pleasant picture for his mind’s eye.
Maggie came from the dressing room, her mistress’s arms draped over her shoulders as they hobbled forward together. She helped Alessandra into bed, her sour look having faded to a rather maternal clucking, and if she noticed the oddly placed pillow on the bed, it did not register on her kindly face.
When she had gone, the bed’s occupants were silent, quite aware the other was awake. At length, Alessandra said, “I am so mortified.”
“But why?” he asked, sincerely baffled. “It’s normal.”
“Not between us, it’s not.”
He had nothing to say to that, feeling strangely discontent at her faintly embittered words.
When he awoke in the morning, the one extra pillow was now under his head, he was on his stomach, and his right arm was lying along Alessandra’s back. He lay there unmoving for a little while, observing the tiny sensations that went with touching someone else. There was the shared warmth; the softness of the fabric of her nightrail; the way small movements allowed him to feel each individual hair on his arm as it lay pressed against her; and the tickling of a long, loose, dark hair across his skin.
After a while, he slowly, carefully moved his arm, rolling to lie in the opposite direction, to pretend at being still asleep until she began to stir for the day.
They had worked out a system on who should rise first. It was Alessandra’s turn, and she reached for the bell pull. Angie came in time and helped her to the dressing room, coming back to the room to select articles of clothing, then disappearing back into the dressing room. Before long, Alessandra was helped back to one of the chairs before the fire. “I’ll bring yer tray right quick,” Angie whispered.
Geoffrey opened his eyes, finding it awkward to pretend to be sleeping when he was not, and found Alessandra looking directly at him. She blushed a little, and murmured, “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” He stretched under the covers, and gave a big yawn.
“Are we still going to the Tower of London today?”
“Yes, I planned on it. I shall carry you where a bath chair cannot go.”
She blinked rapidly, looking down at her plate. “At two? I promised Emmeline I would help her start to let out some of her gowns this morning.”
“Two is fine, unless it would tire you too much?” He sat up, the front of his nightshirt parting open almost down to his navel. The tie must have come undone sometime last night. He reached to retie it, pretty sure Alessandra had noticed, for she had averted her face.
“No,” she cried, then more calmly said, “I should not like to be a burden—”
He waved a dismissive hand.
“Then, yes, I should still like to make a little bit of a tour there. If Maggie binds my ankle well, I think I could walk a bit.”
It was Maggie who returned with the tray, setting it on the little table they usually used for cribbage and which Angie had placed before her mistress. “Angie’s helping Cook, my lady, so I said as I’d bring this up to yer,” Maggie explained.
Geoffrey lay back on the pillows while Alessandra discussed her ankle with the maid, pondering whether or not he was expected to wait until she had eaten before he could get out of bed. She would have normally gone down to the dining room. I will not wait, he thought in mild defiance of this unspoken portion of their contracted behavior, and reached for the bell pull. Winters came in shortly after, and though he must have been a little surprised to find Alessandra there, without raising so much as an eyebrow, nodded a greeting to her and bid her good morning.
“I wish to wear dark gray today,” Geoffrey told his man. “I am going back to Pithers, Ostrum, and Williams today, and wish to look suitably clerkish.”
“Very good, my lord,” Winters replied, moving to start gathering his master’s ensemble.
“You plan to work on the estate matters?” Alessandra asked as she put marmalade to toast.
“It is why I was sent to London in the first place, as the season began. I must say, I believe my father was correct in saying the barristers would find my estate records a different matter than I do. Pennywise and pound foolish, as the saying goes.”
“Why is that?”
“Oh, I suppose it’s not their fault, being town fellows, but they had drafted up a five-year plan that included never allowing three of my father’s fields to lie fallow, as if they could produce forever, season after season.”
“Well, even I know better than that.”
“So all those romps out to Chenmarth Hall left their mark, did they?” he smiled at her approvingly. “Or, as you called it, Timepiece Hall.”
“Timepiece. I had almost forgotten the nickname.” Her smile was soft and sweetened by long ago memories of days in the country sun.
“All those clocks in the study.”
“Yes, I remember they drove a person quite mad, with all their chiming and ding-donging, especially along about midnight.”
“Now I,” he said, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, for he saw Winters was ready for him, “I remember loving to hear the clocks striking the midnight hour. Do you recall Cousin Roger? He and I would sneak out of the house and down into the chapel, to see if anything untoward or spooky happened at the witching hour, but—alas!—but for our vivid imaginations, it never did.”
“Cousin Roger. He’s on the Peninsula now, with the army, isn’t he?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“I saw a ghost there once, at Timepiece Hall,” Alessandra said.
He stood up and moved in front of her, crossing his arms across his chest. “No!” he cried with a wide dash of relish.
“I was sure I had, but Emmeline came down the hall with me, and ended up proving it was only Old Puss.”
“That flea-bitten thing? How disappointing.”
“At the time I was quite relieved.” She smiled up at him, then said quietly, “May I say something when you have a moment...in private?” She cast a look toward Winters.
“Why wait?” Geoffrey waved his man into the dressing room as soon as Winters had helped him into a dressing robe. He tied the sash and looked a question at her.
“Thank you for helping me last night,” she said, turning her countenance toward the fire.
“Of course.” Spontaneously, without meaning to, he crossed the couple of feet to her side, and leaned down and planted a kiss on her cheek. If he had had any intention in mind, it had been to give her a “family kiss”, not even to be counted as a second kiss after the secret one last night…but when his lips touched her smooth skin, something very like a spark leapt to his mouth, and he lingered longer than he ought to have done. As she started to pull away, he allowed his mouth to trail across hers, barely touching, as if in passing, and for a second he felt her lips respond under his before she ducked her chin shyly. He had taken her by surprise...but he was sure for the barest moment she’d kissed him back.
He stood up, mentally and physically shaking himself, pretending to be cold. He cleared his throat, rubbed the sleeves of his arms briskly, and said huskily, “I’ll find you at two and carry you down to the carriage.”
“But I’m sure I could contrive a way to get down the stairs,” she said, her voice very small.
“Why risk a fall? No, I’ll fetch you.”
She did not refuse him. “Anyway, thank you again. You have been very patient and very understanding.”
He gazed down at her soberly, realizing he was not appropriately dressed for standing about and conversing, but not really caring. Why should night garb be any the more shocking just because the sun was up? He wanted to compliment her in return, but fell back on simple politeness. “It is no bother.”
In the attached room, he watched his own reflection as he was being dressed, assessing the head that common sense told him was finely shaped, the hair that needed a trim but was not unruly, the dark eyes set well above an aristocratic nose and cheekbones, and the handsome mouth with white, healthy teeth. He saw wide shoulders tapering to slim hips and a flat stomach that could only help to complement the lie of his breeches and his waistcoat. He knew Winters enjoyed dressing him, that he relished that his master’s long neck showed his well-tied cravats to advantage, and his shapely calves filled out the silk stockings and breeches hot ironed by the servant personally. Geoffrey knew he had strong, muscular legs, for he liked walking and enjoyed riding often, and his feet were neither too big nor too small. What he saw in his mirror told him again what he had always rather offhandedly known: he was an attractive man, capable of sending a flutter through a maidenly breast or two.
He did not even ask himself the question that might have loomed—for he was sure there’d been some kind of flutter in Alessandra’s briefly returned kiss.
Geoffrey came back into the main room, pulling on his ear, thinking about the day ahead. He idly gathered up his purse and watchfob. As he filled his pockets he realized he was quite pleased that his decision to woo his wife, still dining a few feet away, was coming along.
His hand froze as if floated over the handkerchief Jacqueline had embroidered. He took it up, only to find the fire had all but died on the grate. Carry it away? Put it in his pocket? No. He crumpled it up and tossed it in the waste bin. “I’ll be home before two,” he told her. “Shall I ring for a maid before I go?”
“Please. I’ll have her bring Emmeline to me here.”
He did as she had bid, and then said, “I shall bear thee down anon, good lady.” It was odd, he had not needed to say such a silly thing, but it had just come out of his mouth. Another silly little phrase, one he knew would make her smile, popped into his mind, but he firmly suppressed it, and promptly left, forbidding himself to stand about, lingering just because a part of him wanted to.