It was nice to have a fire going, but that did not warm the
sheets. Regardless, she settled her head into the pillows which swallowed her
up in one gulp. But the fluffiness did not prevent the hairpins from digging
into her scalp, and she heaved out of the cloud that was her pillows and began
removing the pins, dropping them one by one onto the side table.
Once her hair was free, she reached for…she looked at the
side table, at the wooden wardrobe on the other side of the chamber, on the
other table nestled next to the fire.
There was no brush.
She began finger-combing her hair instead. When she’d
loosened as many tangles as she could, she lowered back into the devouring
pillows. They surrounded her and it was rather nice to be enveloped in such
extravagant softness.
Contessa rolled to one side, pulled her knees up, and tugged
the blankets to her chin. She was still cold….
And could she sleep? No, certainly not. So she lay there
watching the shadows dance across the wall, taking in the smell of the fire.
She twisted her cheek farther into the pillow, drew in another breath and
thought what delightful smelling sheets these were. Like roses? Or lavender?
She could not recall. She then rubbed her cheek and fingers against the varying
fabrics smothering her, experiencing the different weaves.
And shivered another time. The sensations against her flesh
became almost torturing: The fabrics of the covers were soft, but when she
moved, she encountered the cold parts that had not been warmed by her body. The
left side of her was warmed by the fire, but not the right. She rolled,
attempting to even out the experience, but heat would quickly flee from the
first side as the second warmed.
Finally after flipping and flopping for what she suspected
was half the night, she moved from the bed, dragged the top coverlets and a
pillow from it, then moved closer to the fire. She dropped the pillow at one
end of the thick rug lying before the hearth, curled up and tucked the blanket
in around herself like a cocoon.
She was awakened by the voice of a woman saying, “My
lady?"
Chapter
16
Privy
Jackson had just given Christian his coat when an
earsplitting scream cut through the quiet and caused his skin to crawl.
“Do you think, perhaps, Bea found a ghost?” the butler
whispered.
He certainly hoped not as another screech reached his ears.
But it sure sounded like the maid had discovered a ghost. He shared one glance
of shocked worry with the old man before bolting for the door.
He wrenched open Contessa’s door and then halted at the
sight that greeted him.
Standing on the stripped bed, shrieking like a banshee, was
the maid. And upon the floor near the fireplace was a struggling lump of the
missing bed coverings, which was also emitting muffled cries.
Christian dove for the lump.
And carefully held it down, feeling relieved to discover she
was quite solid underneath the material. “Shh, Contessa. What ever is the
matter?”
“I-I know not,” he thought she said.
Keeping a hold of Contessa, Christian twisted to face the
maid who was still perched upon the bed, looking as though an evil beast truly
lurked within the chamber. “Beatrice? What is going on?”
The maid pointed to the far corner. “’Tis a-a f-filthy
mouse, my lord.” And apparently it moved because the silly girl began flailing
and squealing in terror again.
He frowned and rolled his eyes. A mouse of all things…. The
distressing sound coming from Bea upset Contessa again, and she resumed her
muffled cries and wriggling.
“Get off that bed, Bea, and go and fetch
a man
to
take care of it then!” he bellowed angrily as he scooped Contessa up from the
floor and moved to the mattress setting her on his lap. The maid tiptoed from
the room with her skirts held high as though the little creature could slither
over and halt her escape.
As Tessa continued to struggle, he searched for an opening
in the blankets so he could see her face. “Darling, it is all right. Please be
calm. It was only a mouse.”
She stopped twisting at his words and muttered through
fabric and down, “A mouse?” he was fairly certain she said.
Finally he found a gap and revealed an adorable-looking
Tessa with flushed cheeks, bright green eyes and mussed locks of honey. “Yes, a
little brown mouse, and a baby one, I’d suspect from the size of it,” he said.
She burst into a peal of giggles. “
That
is what she
was going on so franticly about?”
His eyes rounded. “You weren’t frightened of it, too?”
“Of a wee mouse? Are you daft? I think they’re such cute
little creatures. ‘Twas the maid’s bellowing that distressed me. I did not know
what horrible thing she was hollering about and could not get free!”
And now he laughed. “Which reminds me, what in the world
were you doing on the floor with the blankets when you had a perfectly fine bed
to sleep in?”
She blushed more so, and he recalled how he’d wanted to see
that. He’d been right, she blushed absolutely beautifully. “Well, I was cold
and could not sleep, so I moved closer to the fire.”
“Ah, I see. I’m sorry I didn’t start the fire sooner. Were
you able to sleep once you did get warm?”
“Mostly.”
“Only
mostly
?”
“It is,” she began, paused to nibble her dark pink lip and
then whispered, “overwhelming to
feel
.”
“I can imagine that is the case.” He began untangling her a
little more and revealed her shoulders and arms, but she snatched the covers
back to her chin with a gasp.
“Christian, I’m not…decently clothed!”
He could feel the smile twisting his mouth; he sure liked it
when she said his name. Christian chuckled and kissed her nose. “Then I will
leave you to getting dressed so that you may join me for breakfast.”
Those gorgeous green eyes of hers widened at the mention of
food, and she smiled a smile that melted his insides.
Go on, kiss her again
,
he thought, then decided now wasn’t the best time.
“Christian,” she asked drawing his gaze from her plump pink
mouth.
“Yes, darling?”
“What am I to wear? My wedding gown again?”
“I suppose for now that is all you have. We could go to the
dress shop later and get some new clothes made up for you.”
“But I do not have any coin.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“But your allowance—”
“…will be restored. At least part of it will be.”
“But—” His fingers landed gently on her lips to silence her.
The feel of her soft mouth beneath his skin reminded him of the kiss he’d been
thinking about a moment ago, and without considering his actions, Christian
hunched closer.
He most definitely wasn’t prepared for her to squeak
suddenly and fight to get loose of the blankets as she slid from his hold.
“What is it, sweeting?” he said, attempting to help her, worried she didn’t
want the kiss he nearly gave.
She batted at his fingers. “I can do it.” But she looked
slightly frantic.
“What is it you need?”
“I need…I need…” But she seemed afraid to actually say what
it was she really needed.
And then he understood, “Ah, the privy.”
“Yes!”
“That’s the medieval word for it. You should be proud I
remembered—”
“I do not care what it’s called! Where is it?” She’d managed
to escape two of the blankets and had the last one wrapped around herself like
a cloak.
He took her arm and led her to the door. “The water closet
is different then you’re used to. I’ll need to show—”
She halted their momentum. “Truly you are daft if you think
I want you there!”
Again a laugh escaped him, and he forced her to continue.
“Princess, we have the most modern commode, and running hot water.”
“Running
hot
water?” She halted again.
Which caused him to pull her once more. “Yes, a newly
installed system last year. I’ll show you.”
As they reached the water closet, he tugged her inside.
Contessa gasped and fell back against his chest.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Christian looped his arms around her
waist, and walked her over to the commode. “Well, obviously, you sit…and then
pull that chain to flush—”
“Flush?”
“Uh…” He honestly didn’t know any other word to explain it,
but she didn’t give him a chance as she began pushing him back toward the
doorway.
“Out! I mean, thank you, but I can figure it out on my own.”
“Very well,” he said, knowing when not to push, and left.
As he went down to the dining room and began filling his
plate from the sideboard with eggs, sausage, kippers and bacon, Christian noted
the look on the maid’s face. And it wasn’t flattering toward him. Hoping to
distract her, he said, “I didn’t see anyone come up to take care of the rodent.
Could you not find help?”
“Jackson said he would catch it when he was finished with
his other duties, my lord.”
“I see.” He pulled a chair out from the table and settled
into it. “What is wrong, Bea?”
“That lady, my lord,” his title came out sounding like a
curse, “do you plan to marry her?”
He rolled his eyes. Yet another person stood judging him.
Perhaps he was too lenient with his servants…. “In fact I do plan to wed her,”
he countered.
The girl looked at him with not a little suspicion, and he
couldn’t help but wonder where she’d gained the impression he was some sort of
rake. He hadn’t been the type of man who brought any women here in the past.
“Why do you doubt me?” he asked with his anger showing.
She saw it, displaying the appropriate amount of submission
and snatched up a bacon-laden plate, muttering a blatant fib, “’Tis half empty.
I must fill it.”
When she returned, he demanded, “Why do you doubt me, Bea? I
must know.”
Bea hesitated, wringing her apron with thin fingers, and
then said quietly, “Lady Spencer’s maid is my sister. I heard that—”
“Bloody hell, no!” Christian shot to his feet, knocking over
the chair. He seized the maid by the arms. He knew he wasn’t hurting her, but
her expression was terrified and he could feel her trembling. Not wanting to
cause the girl to suffer for his anger toward that spoiled chit, he lowered his
voice. “Forgive me, but whatever she said was a lie—”
“Poppy would never lie to me—”
“Not your sister, that brat, Lady Spencer!” Bea gaped;
obviously shocked he would call a lady a brat. He went on, “I only danced once
with her! She has no claim!”
The girl still gawked at him, her mouth opening and closing
without any words coming out.
“Please, my dear, tell your sister that whatever foul words
are spewing from Lady Spencer’s lips are untrue. I will not have Tessa hurt by
this.”
Remaining mute, Bea nodded, bobbed a curtsy, slipped from
his fingers, which weren’t holding her very tightly at all, and scurried away.
He groaned, wondering what gossip that brunette was
spreading about him, righted his seat and sat back down. After dragging his
fingers through his hair, he forked up some eggs and stuffed them into his
mouth, then pushed the plate away. They were cold. He touched the meat with his
finger, so was the bacon…and where was Tessa? Surely it should not take this
long for her to….
Jackson entered, noted his rejected dish with a flicker of
his gaze, then said, “Is the meal not fitting, Chri—my lord?”
“It is cold. Would you please warm things up? I do not want
Tessa’s first breakfast to be a disappointment.”
With a bright smile that crunched up the old man’s face, Jackson agreed, “Certainly.” The butler then began carrying plates back to the kitchens
while whistling a cheerful tune. And Christian realized the old man was
apparently over his initial shock and was equally fond of her.
But where was she? Surely she hadn’t fallen and…. Lunging to
his feet again, Christian made for the stairs, took them two at a time and
dashed for the toilet, then pounded on the door. “Contessa! Are you all right?
Please answer me or I swear I’ll break the door in!”
“This bath is most wonderful! The heated water is a magical
dream!”
He dropped his head against the wood with a soft thump, and
exhaled in relief.
Sounding startled and worried, most likely from the sound of
his head bumping the door, she said abruptly, “Oh, please do not break the door
in! I am not clothed!”
After letting out a bellow of laughter, he said, “Don’t
worry, I won’t come in.” He paused momentarily and then added, “So, you like
the new privy?”
The only reply he received was a contented sigh, and the
sound of water sloshing. He imagined it sluicing down her smooth…then shook
himself mentally and decided he’d best not follow that line of thinking.
“Now don’t linger so long you turn into a prune,” he said.
“You still need to eat your breakfast, which Jackson is reheating for us.”
“Oh, yes,” she mumbled back.
He could almost see the adorable pout touching her full
mouth, and as he turned back toward the staircase he struggled to keep his
thoughts from drifting again to places they shouldn’t. If he kept letting his
mind wander like this he’d be no better than that rakehell of a prince. And
that was the last thing he wanted.
Chapter
17
In
Vogue
The relief on Jackson’s face made her wish she had dressed
and gone down to breakfast with more haste. But the bath had been so pleasant
she could not bring herself to get out until the water eventually grew cold.
“I apologize for making you wait,” she said, moving into the
dining chamber where Christian had stood and pulled out a chair next to himself
for her.
“Nonsense, I’m glad you enjoyed it, but surely you’ve had
that luxury before.”
“Of course I have,” she was beginning to remember
experiences like that, “but even the little things are so
new
right
now.”
He smiled. “Such as food.”
“Yes.” She turned to Jackson and said, “Again, forgive me
for dallying.”
“It wasn’t any trouble to put the dishes into the cooker for
a bit,” answered Jackson.
She assumed “cooker” meant the fire or something and sat
down as the old butler began dishing up her breakfast. As it was set upon the
table in front of her, the aromas that rose to her nose were divine, and she
reached for the meat with her fingers.
Apparently this was the wrong thing to do, because both men
were watching her with expressions of distress, then Christian said, “Use the
fork, love, the sausage could be hot.”
“Fork?”
He lifted what she suspected was a fork and what she knew
was a knife and began cutting up her meat. “Yes. Do you remember our first
conversation when you asked where my trencher was, and I said we no longer used
them?”
“Aye, but you did not have a,” she looked at the silver
item, “fork then.”
“That is because my meal only consisted of soup, I did not
need a fork.”
“And at the ball the food was eaten with our fingers….”
“Hmm, well, yes, but those were finger foods, we commonly
use forks with most meals.”
“I see,” she replied as he offered the fork with sausage on
it. She opened and he carefully slid the food-laden, pronged thing into her
mouth.
The warm meat was so tasty and so well seasoned she forgot
all about not knowing much about his world and snatched the fork from his hand
to then feed herself. She sampled the different items: the eggs, which she did
recognize, the herring, which Christian called kippers, and the mushrooms. The
bread, which he called toast, was the only dish she hesitated at, wondering if
she was supposed to cut it up, as he’d done her meats or—Christian, it seemed,
noted her looking at the bread and had snatched it from her plate, slathered
butter and a red jelly onto it and then held it out to her. “This you may eat
with your fingers.”
“Oh,” she said, wondering how she was to know what she could
and could not eat with her hands and began watching him. Perhaps she could
learn from his example.
He was holding his fork in his left hand with the prongs
pointing down toward the plate, and his knife was gripped loosely in his right.
In that fashion he sliced a bit of sausage from the link, pushed some mushrooms
onto the curved back of the fork and then lifted that to his mouth. It was as
though he used the fork as an upside-down spoon. Contessa wondered how he
managed to balance his food on the rounded surface rather than spearing
everything.
Observing her observation of him, Christian lifted his gaze
and lowered his hands. “Are you finished?”
Silently she shook her head and bit into the jelly-covered
toast. Then moaned audibly as she chewed, swallowed, and then took another
bite, knowing she was smiling.
“Eat up, darling, and when you’re finished we will go and
purchase you some new gowns to wear.”
She opened her eyes, only realizing then that she’d closed
them, and looked at him.
“Are you certain—?” she began, feeling guilty for his having
to spend his gold on her.
“Please do not worry about the funds. It is my pleasure to
care for you.”
That dimple of his showed itself again and she could not
help but return his smile. “Very well, but I insist upon repaying you.”
“If I’m to court you, Contessa, you must not...” she thought
he said, but he’d muttered the words around a mouthful of fish so she couldn’t
be entirely sure.
“What?” she asked.
He hesitated in his response, swallowed and cleared his
throat. “Mistress Madison will be delighted to meet you.” He blotted the
corners of his mouth with a linen napkin. “She is quite quick with a needle,
and frequently has dresses pre-made, and ready to be fitted.”
“How do you know she has dresses ready? Have you purchased
for other women before?”
He laughed and nearly choked. “Certainly not, but my mother
has purchased for herself. Madison fashions most of the clothing for Mother and
Emma.”
“I see, but—what was it you said earlier?”
“You’d look lovely in an aquamarine day dress.”
With the blatant way he chose to
not
answer her
question, she understood he never meant to repeat what he’d muttered and
figured that perhaps she had imagined the comment. It was true that she’d not
heard him properly.
She decided she was done as she finished the last bite of
the bread and used her napkin as well. “I am ready.”
“Shall we?” He stood and offered his arm.
Which she took, and was instantly reminded of how warm his
body was.
And solid, she remembered, as he moved her around the table
to the doorway.
Mistress Madison was a thin, dark-haired woman who resembled
one of the needles she used to stitch things. Especially with the large
spectacles perched upon the tip of her long nose.
“Oh, my! That gown is so unusual,” exclaimed the woman,
urging Contessa to turn about for her perusal.
As before, Christian appeared bothered whenever anyone made
too much of a fuss over her medieval attire and quickly changed the subject.
“Madam, what do you have for us today? Lady Contessa is in need of a whole new
wardrobe.”
“But she is so well dressed already.”
“And if she is to remain so, to remain at the top of
fashion, she must have new gowns.”
“Yes, yes, of course, my lord,” the woman said, leading
Tessa to a platform and encouraging her to step up onto it.
He followed and lifted one booted foot to the platform next
to her slippered one. “Tessa, darling,” he whispered near her ear, “I must go
to the library while you’re taken care of. In about an hour or two, I will
return to collect you and take you out for tea and scones.”
She nodded, at a loss for words, and spent those two hours,
which felt like much more, in a whirl of chatter between the Mistress Madison,
her two assistants, measuring tape, pins, and yards and yards of fabric.
Contessa ended up in an aquamarine day dress, just as
Christian had suggested. And he was right, it did bring out her eyes. The
flowing material was solid, but accented with pink rosebud trim and a pink and
white ticking intermixed with tiered ruffles of aquamarine that danced around
the hem. She felt pretty dressed as she was.
The fitted coat, which flared at the hip, was flattering to
her shape. The sleeves reached down to her wrists. The full skirt bustled out
in the back and the hem brushed the top of the soft leather boots placed upon
her feet by the cobbler they’d visited earlier in the day. Even her
undergarments matched, constructed of white linen adorned with pink lace and
aquamarine ribbons. These under things were quite different from what she
remembered, and possibly more complicated. Mistress Madison thought it unusual
that a lady, such as she appeared to be, did not have something similar on
already, as again, the woman studied her current attire with a level of
bewilderment that was written in every line of her face.
The finishing touch was the hat pinned atop her hair which
had been swept back with two pearl encrusted combs.
Relief and curiosity as to what he would think upon seeing
her so modernly clothed described how she felt when Christian finally returned.
He paced a circle around her with a deep dimple etching into
his whisker-darkened cheek.
Mistress Madison stepped forward.
“Lovely,” he said, whilst smiling at the ball gown made of
pure white linen and adorned with blush-colored roses made from silken ribbon
which the woman presented for his perusal. Contessa couldn’t help but be
relieved there were long white gloves to go along with it, as Christian
fingered the nearly nonexistent sleeves. Before tucking it carefully into a
trunk, Mistress Madison explained that another lady had ordered it and then
changed her mind, saying she wanted a gown of lavender instead. And because of
that, she was able to sell it to her…or to Christian, really.
He nodded and smiled as the woman displayed and explained
the remainder of what she’d created, or altered for her due to the short notice
they’d given. His gaze frequently flickered to her, however, as he and the
woman agreed upon a price. Funds were exchanged in the form of paper and coin,
the paper of which she had never seen before, and wondered how it had any
worth.
When finished, he looped her fingers around his arm, and
muttered softly, “I knew that color would complement your complexion and eyes.”
“Thank you,” she whispered in reply, feeling tremendous
guilt for the way he spoiled her. She knew they walked away with a trunk laden
with elaborate gowns, supple shoes, lacey night-rails and silky under things.
And knew it could not have been inexpensive.
Before Tessa could move to step inside the carriage,
Christian steered her away from it. “This way to Little Betty’s. I know you’ll
love the food. You must be famished after having been fitted for all of that,”
he said cheerily, then cast a gaze over his shoulder. “Come, Jackson, you’re
our chaperone.”
“Yes, sir. Of course,” the butler muttered as he trotted
behind them as only an old man could. Slowly.
“And,” Christian reached into a pocket and pulled out a
small box, saying to her, “I have a treat for you. You may eat one now and then
save the others in your reticule.”
“My what?”
“This.” He lifted the little pouch tied to the waistband of
her dress.
“Oh, a tiny rucksack which matches my—” She was silenced
when he pressed a brown confection against her lips. She opened and his fingers
pressed inward touching her tongue with something sweet and rich. Once his hand
was clear, she chewed, even though it did more melting than crumbling and she
recognized it.
He opened his mouth to speak.
But instead she said, “Oh, Christian, I do love chocolate!”
“Then you’ve had it before?”
“Yes, of course. Daily.”
“Really? Hmm.”
“Thank you,” she repeated, then began taking in the sights,
sounds, and…smells of this great city as the last of the chocolate dissolved
along her taste buds.
The smells were not so pleasant. The Thames, as Christian
called it, smelled like medieval privies had. That was one of those aromas that
came back to her memory with a vengeance. But when they passed by a bakery, she
tried to follow the fragrance of pastries inside, yet he would not allow it.
She could feel her bottom lip inch outward as they passed by the flakey treats
lined up for display behind the glass.
His fingers gave hers a little squeeze. “When we are
finished with lunch, my darling, we will purchase some sweets to take home with
us. How does that sound?”
“Yes, please.”
Christian tugged on her arm as she twisted around for one
last look. “I promise,” he added with a low chuckle.
They entered what Christian called a tearoom and were seated
at a small, round table draped with white linen and dressed with a crystal vase
holding several fresh daisies, which of course she had to touch and smell.
He said nothing about, what she assumed to be, her
unorthodox behavior.
Together, with Jackson, they sipped mint tea, nibbled on egg
mayonnaise sandwiches, smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches, raisin scones
with clotted cream and jam, fruit tarts, cakes, and macaroons. Contessa was so
full afterward she felt sick to her stomach, but could not bring herself to
regret a single bite she’d taken.
After swallowing the last remaining morsel of her berry
tart, she said another time, “Thank you,” as she rubbed her aching middle.
Christian laughed. “Now stop that."
“Stop what?”
“Stop thanking me.”
“But I feel so grateful to you. I—”
“I, as well, am grateful for the fine meal, my lord.”
Chuckling shook his broad chest. “It was my pleasure,
Contessa, Jackson.” He smirked almost wickedly, then said with a quirk of his
brow, “Do you still fancy a visit to the bakery?”
She groaned and giggled. “Yes, please.”
A guffaw escaped him this time, and then he fell silent as
his gaze focused on someone or something just past her shoulder. She turned,
and frowned. It was that Lady Canary from the ball leering down at her. A
cloying scent overpowered her nostrils and she wrinkled her nose.
Today Lady Canary was adorned in a dark pink gown with orange
ribbons trimming the edges, and a hat that was bursting with more ribbon and
many fat feathers. Her chestnut ringlets rained from underneath it.
Christian and Jackson stood and offered short nods of their
heads. Was she supposed to do the same? But when she attempted to rise, he
settled one hand on her shoulder with enough pressure for her to stay put.
The young maiden bobbed in reply, and just as curtly. “How
lovely to see you out and about
together
.” She peered down her nose at
Tessa, as if Jackson were not truly there, and Tessa thought the expression in
her gray-blue eyes betrayed the pleasant twist of her blushing mouth. “Will you
not introduce us, Lord Sparks?”
“Yes, of course. Lady Spencer, this is Lady Contessa.
Darling, might I introduce Lady Muriel Spencer.”