Chapter 19
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Gervaise did not sleep well. He woke early feeling tired and irritable. He had no idea why he was tormenting himself like this. No protest would have burst from Caroline’s lips if he had rolled on top of her last night. Far from it!
Caroline Halperston clearly had no qualms about the impending loss of her virtue, so God alone knew why he was fretting over it.
His only comfort during a trying night had been the presence of cats in his bed.
He absently tickled Romulus under his chin and the little cat rolled onto his back in a display of bliss.
Beside him, Remus took a luxuriant stretch.
Thankfully no one need ever know that he, Gervaise Langdon, was turning into an old maid of the cat-loving variety.
He shook his head in some disbelief, before shooting an accusing look at the sleeping beauty lying mere inches away.
Caroline’s face was serene in sleep, her recumbent body relaxed.
She slept as peacefully as one without a care in the world, when in point of fact, she lay practically in his clutches.
Not actually in his clutches, for the cats had insinuated their bodies between them at some point last night and Gervaise had been most scrupulous in keeping himself aloof, however hard the temptation to do otherwise rode him.
Still, at one point her foot had brushed his ankle, and an arm had flailed out and touched his hair. He had been acutely aware on both occasions. His pulse had picked up, and his libidinous body had seemed to crane toward her with a will of its own.
She had sighed and muttered something under her breath.
Gervaise’s ears had pricked up and he had held his breath to listen for more.
He wanted to know what she was dreaming about, even if it was whistling under-gardeners.
If he asked her this morning, would she tell him?
He had a lurking suspicion she would, for Caroline had not the smallest inclination toward self-preservation.
He thought fleetingly of that cheery adonis from her schooldays and cursed him softly as he rolled out of bed and wrapped himself in his green silk robe. He had no idea why the thought of her admiring brawny types annoyed him so much. Why should he care in which direction her inclinations ran?
Clearly Miss Halperston’s tastes were ill informed. She had little judgment and no discernment whatsoever. That was partly his fault, he acknowledged as he made his way down the servant’s stairs. She had now slept twice in the same bed as him without suffering even the slightest besmirchment.
Her reputation was ruined just the same, it was true.
But still, he had allowed her to carry on her merry way believing herself quite impervious to the wicked world and its repercussions.
It was unfathomable. She had agreed to his proposition; a severance sum had been settled upon and still, still, instead of pouncing, Gervaise found himself hesitating. Why?
He paused at the scullery door, remembering his sudden anger on hearing Jeb’s dismissal of Caroline’s character the day before.
That had been strange too, now he came to think about it.
He was not usually so chivalrous. Then he recalled introducing her to his uncle.
My wife’s name is Caroline… We were married by Canon Petrie of St. Catherine’s church and have been man and wife these past four days.
The words gave him a decided thrill even now. Why was that?
At the time he had wondered if he had not overdone the details but now, finally, his confusion cleared. This was why he had lain there last night still as a stock. He wanted Caroline to be his wedded wife, not his mistress.
Well. Fuck.
He opened the door feeling somewhat dazed. Reg, who was standing over by the table swigging tea from a tin mug, straightened up self-consciously. “Milord,” he muttered, dragging his sleeve across his mouth and setting down his mug.
“Good morning,” Gervaise greeted him, pulling himself together.
Reg squinted uncertainly at Gervaise’s dressing gown. “Kettle’s not long boiled, milord. If you want me to fill that up for you,” he said, nodding toward the wash jug Gervaise held in his hands.
Gervaise glanced down at it. He’d almost forgotten the wretched thing in the midst of his realization. “That would be helpful, thank you,” he said, handing over the chipped jug.
“Tea’s brewed if you want to take the young lady up a cup,” Reg said, then cleared his throat, turning rather red. He nodded toward an earthenware teapot.
Gervaise, who had never made anyone a cup of tea in his life, found himself casting about for a cup and saucer.
Reg helpfully made for a nearby cupboard and swung open the door to reveal a haphazard collection of mismatched china.
Gervaise nodded and selected a pairing of cup and saucer which least offended his eye.
Reg, he noticed with disfavor, had rolled up his shirtsleeves. Though his arms were certainly brawny, no one could ever accuse him of being “cheery.” “Tell me, Reg, are you familiar with a tune called ‘I’ve Been Roaming’? he asked.
“Never heard of it, milord.”
Gervaise nodded with satisfaction. “I am heartily pleased to hear it. Sugar?” he enquired. “Milk?”
“There’s sugar ’ere,” Reg said, nudging a jar in Gervaise’s direction. “But the milk smelled funny this morning, so I poured it down the sink. Effie will bring more along later, like as not.”
“I see.”
Five minutes later Gervaise mounted the stairs again, steaming jug in one hand and cup and saucer in the other. He eyed the tea feeling somewhat mystified about its existence. He had seen Caroline drink tea at breakfast the past few days, so he knew she drank the stuff but still…
He found her propped up on one elbow, stroking Romulus’s belly and talking to him in a low, sweet voice he imagined she would use to address an infant.
She sat up at his entrance and cleared her throat, tugging self-consciously at her nightgown.
This seemed odd to Gervaise as the thing could not possibly be any more encompassing.
He set the water jug down in the cracked basin and then perched on her side of the bed. “I made you tea,” he said, presenting cup and saucer.
Her face brightened and she took it from him. “Lovely.”
“There wasn’t any milk, but there was sugar.” She took a cautious sip. “How is it?” he asked curiously.
“Wonderful,” she assured him. “Nice and hot.”
“Was one teaspoon of sugar too little or too much?”
“Just right,” she answered at once and gave him a smile. “Why do you look like that?” she asked, seeing his frown.
“I doubt very much my debut cup is perfect. Besides, I imagined you would take milk.”
“Oh, I do, but I can do without when the occasion demands.”
“Tell me then, what would constitute a poor cup of tea in your opinion?”
“That’s easy. I hate it when it is stewed, or even worse, lukewarm. Or when it is too milky. I only like the veriest splash of milk.” He nodded, saving this information for later. “I am quite exacting in my standards, I assure you.”
“That’s good,” he answered, taking her hand in his.
“You should have high standards and what’s more, you should hold me to them.
” He pressed an absent kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I have business to attend to today,” he said in an abrupt change of subject.
“I mean to collect a few essentials and see my man of business. Is there anything I can pick up for you?”
“Uh, no, I don’t think so, unless—” She hesitated, lowering her eyes. “That is, I do need a new nightgown, do I not?”
Gervaise’s eyes drifted down over the expanse of white cotton currently swathing her body.
“You do,” he agreed. “Yet, I think this one has done you solid service so far.” Ignoring her puzzled expression, he stood up.
“Now where is that boiled wool monstrosity you spoke of? Is it in your carpet bag?”
“I thought you did not want to clap eyes on my ugly dressing gown!” Caroline reminded him in surprised accents.
“I don’t, but I am going out, remember? You need to be decently arrayed when Reg comes up to the light the fire for you.”
“Oh! But surely, he is going to light the fire in the sitting room, not in here,” she objected as he retrieved and shook out the brown woolen garment.
“Even so, I need assurance you are both warm and seemly. Put out your arms,” Gervaise said, and performing yet another unaccustomed office, he buttoned her into her frumpy robe.
“I thought modest young ladies were supposed to wear their hair in unbecoming braids when they went to bed,” he remarked critically, lifting the heavy curtain of her dark hair out of the way.
“Oh, they are. But you forget I am neither young nor modest these days.”
Ignoring this nonsense, he sat back to evaluate the result. Seeing she still looked far too pretty in it, he suffered a pang. If anything, its ugliness accentuated her good looks, by way of contrast. It was most unsatisfactory.
“I told you it was ugly, so you can’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said, misinterpreting his reaction and picking up Remus to cradle him to her breast.
Gervaise washed and dressed while Caroline lolled in the bed with the cats. He spent far too much time contemplating the picture they made as he tied his cravat.
“Don’t feel like you need to venture out of our rooms, unless you really want to,” he heard himself suggest as he fastened his waistcoat. “Stay where it’s warm and entertain yourself.”
Caroline glanced around the bare room as though in search of some means to do so. “Alas, I did not even pack a book to bring with me,” she confessed.
“I’ll buy you some. Anything else?”
“A ball of yarn for the cats?” she suggested. “And perhaps a bigger mirror for the wall. You cannot even see your whole face to shave in the one we have.”
He did not intend they should remain in these four rooms for long but that was a subject to be broached another time. “What about sweets?” he asked instead. “Do you have a particular favorite?” When she looked blank, he guessed, “You do not have a sweet tooth. Perhaps then—”
“Oh, but I do!” she interrupted him. “Last Christmas the squire brought a box of crystallized fondant creams, and I was permitted to choose first from the box for a special treat. It tasted like absolute heaven. The most delicious thing I have ever tasted in my life. It had a sort of sugary shell on the outside and on the inside, it was fondant cream. Could you buy a box of those, do you suppose?”
She looked so excited by the prospect that his jealousy of the squire usurping his role dissolved in an instant. “Nothing could be simpler,” he replied, fighting down the instinct to demand to know why Squire Pebmarsh had wished to give her a “special treat.”