Ridiculous (7 page)

“Dear God, you are a silly rattle,” said Shoffer, rubbing his hair briskly. “But, you have a point. At this moment I'd pay a hundred pounds to sink into a tub of warm tea to my chin.”

“I expect the house does contain a bathtub,” said Millicent.

“It does. I have just seen it being carried up to my sister's room.”

“Ah, well,” sighed Millicent, wishing for that long ago time when she had quarreled with her sisters as to who would be first to take a bath – and won. “A gentleman waits upon the comforts of a lady.”

“Exactly so,” said Shoffer coming bare-chested to sit beside the fireplace – full square in front of her – to towel his hair dry. “Speaking of my sister…”

“You need not fear, sir,” interrupted Millicent, turning her gaze away from his nakedness. On the other side of the room he had been much easier to take. This close, her insides turned to melted wax and her brain insisted removing her own clothing was the only appropriate response. “I only teased her to distract her from the accident. I know my place and will maintain the proper distance in future. I am not so ignorant that I cannot tell that
Mister
Shoffer could not be your only title.”

“You are correct,” said Shoffer, with a smile that showed the damned man possessed a dimple in his cheek! How was she to maintain her composure? “Shoffer is the name used by my intimates. I am, in fact, Timothy Shoffer, the Duke of Trolenfield.”

“I beg you, Your Grace,” cried Millicent. “Do not tell Mrs. Prichart.”

Shoffer laughed. “I do understand you, but then, perhaps you should not call me ‘Your Grace.’”

“My lord, perhaps. I'm certain you have some minor title that would be less intimidating. Sir? Vicar? Indian Chief?”

“You are the least encroaching gentleman I have ever met,” Shoffer dropped his towel on his lap and turned to face Millicent.

She kept her eyes firmly locked on his and refused to glance downward at the carved torso or the broad column of his throat.

“Indeed,” continued Shoffer. “I am amazed at your calm. There is no bowing or scraping in your manner at all. Were I the King indeed, I believe you would be little changed, oh, Master Cat. You have managed a disaster on the road, my servants, your tenants, and my sister with such alacrity and humor I cannot be less than impressed.”

And if he had known I was a woman, thought Millicent, he would have dismissed my orders, ignored my aid, and banished me to the corner to get on with fainting and weeping as is appropriate to my gender.

“Perhaps I should hire myself out?” Millicent wondered aloud. “I would, if I could but think of a name for the service.”

“Court Jester?”

They both laughed.

Shoffer resumed drying his hair and chest. For a moment Millicent wondered what it would be like to be the one moving the towel across that skin, or better yet, having
him
dry her. She blinked realizing she had missed some comment by the duke.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said, I would like you to give Elizabeth, or Beth, rather, since she seems to approve of the diminutive, conversation lessons.”

Millicent stared at him for a long moment, then realized her jaw was dropped open and shut her mouth with a snap.

“I'm sorry; I do not have the pleasure of understanding you. I cannot think of anything a duke's sister could learn from me.”

Shoffer crossed the room to drag a fresh shirt out of his case. He grimaced at the creases, but pulled the thing on to Millicent's mixed grief and relief and buttoned it up.

“My sister told you that she had an unhappy season this last winter in London. Indeed, that conversation in your carriage is the most words I have heard from her in all my life.”

“She seemed chatty. Well, not chatty, but she responded quite well to my conversational gambits.”

“She did with you. But last winter she stood so quietly beside my grandmother, so unresponsive, that it began to be bruited about that she possessed no wits at all! My sister, an idiot! It is not to be borne!”

“I cannot believe it. She is a little shy, I admit, but with a little encouragement I am certain she was charming.”

“No, North, you do not understand. She said nothing! Made no movement unless ordered. Did not meet the eye of any of her suitors. Stared at the floor from arrival to departure. A stiff wooden doll has more life than she. I admit I became quite frightened for her. My grandmother, when I asked her, could not give a reason for the odd behavior. When I called upon them for morning visits Beth gave me quite the same treatment. Her reticence gave me concern and I would know the reason for it and have it corrected before next season.”

“Is she still grieving for her parents?”

“I hardly know, since she does not answer my questions. Besides, they have been dead for many years. That can hardly be the explanation.”

“How very odd,” said Millicent, running her hand through her hair and pulling the strands forward. It was getting long and shaggy again. She should have cut it before she left Bath. Long hair might give her away to an observant person. She must exercise more care!

“That is a dreadful haircut, by the way,” said Shoffer. “When we catch up with my valet, I shall have him do a better job.”

“I thank you, no; I permit only one person to cut it,” said Millicent frowning. “Your sister seems everything charming and quite bright. Only think of that story she told about the horse and the cat.”

“You are the only one to think so. And I must admit, despite my many efforts I have never been able to draw her out as effectively as you. That is why I ask, since we will be here a few days at least waiting for the roads to dry, that you would talk with her. Teach her conversation. For a woman to be a chatterbox is more acceptable than one who is completely silent. Men like a woman to listen once in a while, but this is ridiculous.”

With that comment the duke rose and pulled down his mud splattered trousers. Millicent averted her eyes lest the sight of his thighs clad only in damp smallclothes strike her blind or witless. Then she realized that he had discarded his smallclothes as well and was as naked as the day he was born!

She winced and bit her lip lest a moan escape.

By the gods – thank goodness men could swear; nothing less than profanity could relieve her agitation – he was perfect. Not for him withered buttocks and hocks. Smooth firm globes of flesh, a perfect peach paraded before her. Millicent set down her cup with a rattle and clutched at her constricting neckcloth as Shoffer walked across the room and bent over his valise.

When he lifted fresh clothing out and turned toward her, his masculine parts came into view directly at a level she could not ignore. Her years of study of ancient Greek and Roman statues were not enough to prepare her for the sight. God had not seen fit to provide the Duke of Trolenfield with a natural fig leaf. Indeed, such a leaf would not have been enough.

His member fortunately was at rest, nestling in a small mass of dark curls. She gulped and looked away. At least now she had an idea of why gentlemen occasionally seemed to have some mass behind the falls of their trousers. She wondered briefly if having such a thing made walking uncomfortable. Shoffer turned and bent again as he put one foot then another into buff inexpressables. When his private places were covered Millicent could finally draw air into her lungs and reach for her tea cup with trembling hands. Keeping her face turned from Shoffer, she could only pray that the disorder of her thoughts was not visible on her face.

 Standing up and moving away, she decided, would be too obvious. Gentlemen of Shoffer’s rank were accustomed to undressing before their valets. Instead she concentrated on sipping tea until the man was clothed again. When the torture was over she shot to her feet.

“I must see those boys about the withdrawing room,” she said and ran from the room.

The withdrawing room, she was reminded by the housekeeper, was a privy, which turned out to be a chilly hut standing alone and proud, buffeted by wind and rain at the end of a stone path. Millicent shivered at the thought of using such a thing in midwinter. Indeed, it was moderately horrible to use it during a cold spring rainstorm, but the chill air and odiferous hut was enough to calm her agitation. By the time she was back in the warm house, she was calm and under control – but determined not to go back to the parlor until she could not avoid it. As she walked back through the corridors she saw two maids descending the steps carrying covered chamber pots. Yet another example, Millicent thought, of the advantages of being female.

Trenton Manor was a decent-sized, two-story building in the shape of a horseshoe, with narrow enclosed passageways running to the stables and other outbuildings. No doubt, given the winter weather in Wales, such a thing was necessary. Millicent's wanderings took her to the stables where she found her hired driver and outriders had been given the hayrick for their beds. Looking at the soft fragrant straw Millicent suspected they would have a better bed of it than she, trying to sleep on a short lumpy couch or the carpeted floor of the parlor.

She accepted their assurances that they'd been promised a good meal and were warm and well tended, and returned to the main house leaving them to small beer and a dice game.

From the uproar she walked in on it seemed that Shoffer's status as a titled gentleman had been revealed. Millicent followed the noise to the kitchen.

“A duke! A duke!” shrieked Mrs. Prichart. Her position in the center of the kitchen ensured that no work could be done around her. “Oh, what are we to…”

The woman froze seeing Millicent enter, then fell silent and pale into the nearest chair. Everyone in the room, gathered to witness her histrionics, turned to stare.

“Yes, he is a duke,” said Millicent softly.

“But what are we to feed him?” demanded Mrs. Prichart.

“Food, I imagine,” said Millicent, “since it is only a rumor that they live on moonbeams and starlight.”

“We cannot have him sleep in the parlor!”

“You have already moved all the boys into the same room to clear a room for Mr. North,” said her husband, “and the ladies have taken that one. The girls already share a room. We have none other to offer beyond our own bed.”

“Oh. Oh. Oh.” whimpered his lady. “What are we to do?”

This time Millicent was convinced Mrs. Prichart's distress was real. Stalking down the corridor, Millicent flung open the door into the front parlor to find Shoffer stretched out on a couch, his arm flung over his eyes, asleep. Leaving the door open Millicent tiptoed back to where Mrs. Prichart sat and pulled her to her feet. Millicent pressed a shushing finger to the woman's lips and led the way to the parlor.

“See,” whispered Millicent, pointing toward the sleeping peer. “All is well. All the scones gone from the tea tray and he is fast asleep. Your hospitality can be judged a success. Keep your bed. His Grace and I shall sleep here quite happily.”

Then she turned the woman over into her husband’s keeping.

“When shall we gather for supper?” asked Millicent.

“In an hour, Mr. North, in the other parlor,” replied the housekeeper. “The ladies have requested trays in their room.”

Millicent nodded and tiptoed into the parlor, closing the door softly behind her. The next hour she spent trying to read and not to watch the steady rise and fall of the duke's linen covered chest. When the hour was almost up she woke the duke with the simple expedience of kicking his couch. The man came awake in an instant and blinked at her.

“Good God, I did not expect to sleep.”

“It is well that you did to fortify you for what is to come.” At Shoffer's questioning look, she continued. “Someone told Mrs. Prichart your rank.”

“Dear God. But it was not me.”

“Quite likely one of the ladies,” said Millicent, pointing to the ceiling. “Though to be honest, I think she would still be in a taking if you were a mere baronet.”

“True.” Shoffer rose and retied his cravat. “Well, since it is too late for me to be a vicar, shall we go and face the mob?”

“Be careful of the food. Mrs. Prichart was trying to think of a dish worthy of your eminence.”

Shoffer pulled himself up and regarded her with stony ducal dignity.

“My dear sir, I survived the food at Eton. I can survive anything.”

* * *

Dinner itself went fairly well with the younger children of the house fed early and it being too late for any strange dish to be added to the menu. There was at table only Millicent, Shoffer, Mr. and Mrs. Prichart and two daughters of marriageable age – Eilowen and Gweneth. Since from their manners and features Millicent could tell the girls would age to resemble their mother, she felt some pity for Shoffer when the girls fluttered and giggled at every word he uttered – until she realized that she too was under siege.

Millicent found her pose as a foolish rattle served her well for deflecting the flirtation directed toward her by the second eldest daughter. Millicent was on her best form directing outrageous remarks to everyone at the table be they male or female. By the end of the evening everyone declared they could not remember laughing so much in their lives, and neither of the girls behaved as if they were in expectation of an offer.

When Millicent shut the door behind her hosts leaving just herself and Shoffer and a pile of bedding in the parlor, she rested her head against the wooden panels and gave a heartfelt groan. Shoffer laughed.

“Oh, come now, dear fellow. You were excellent and you know it. The ladies of the household are entirely yours to command.” Shoffer struggled for a moment with his fashionably tight jacket then surrendered. “Come over and help me with this damnable jacket.”

Millicent walked slowly across the room and took hold of the collar as Shoffer wiggled this way and that. Her fingers brushed against the warmth of his neck and the fine, soft hairs and she could feel the tingle all the way to her toes. Shoffer, of course, did not notice her blush or any fumbling in her assistance. In a few minutes, he was freed and the jacket hung on the back of a chair.

“So fine a line to walk,” continued Shoffer, unwrapping his cravat, “between flirtation and interest. I have never seen so direct a look between a man and a woman as you gave Gweneth mean nothing more than intelligent attention. If I were to try to imitate you I would find myself facing a demand for a betrothal.”