Chapter 38
As it turned out, there was a second outfit in the many boxes that had been carried into their impromptu dressing room.
Gervaise discovered it later as he inspected his purchases.
“Here is something else for you to wear,” he announced, carrying two boxes into their sitting room, where Caroline was clearing the smart little table and tucking in the four matching chairs.
It had been covered with a bunch of her sewing things which she was hurriedly putting away.
“I’m afraid Remus has unwound some of my threads,” she said guiltily.
“Entirely my fault as I used them for an inducement earlier. What is it?” she asked, eyeing the boxes with interest. “My new walking gown?”
“No. Why would I want you to don a walking gown to eat supper in our private rooms?”
Slotting away the last of the cotton reels, she whisked around and lifted the lid off the first box. She took one look and flashed a quick glance toward the hearth where Reg was busy laying the fire. “It looks like undergarments,” she said in a low voice.
“It is your new nightgown.”
“Oh. And this?” The second box was different from the first, the packaging of pale blue cardboard instead of cream.
“That is the dressing robe I bought you previously but did not wish for you to wear belowstairs.”
“But I may wear it up here?” Caroline countered hopefully.
“You may.”
She looked pleased. “Should I put it on now or wait until after we have eaten?”
“Put it on now,” Gervaise said, glancing toward the fireplace. “I want to speak to Reg about ordering our supper.”
Caroline promptly disappeared into the dressing room and Reg straightened up, swinging the coal scuttle.
“All done now, milord. Want me to feed Master Remus? Only the other one’s had his share already,” he said, glancing at Romulus, who was lying under the sofa, snagging his claws into the fancy fringing.
“No, I shall feed himself. I was told by an old groom of ours that one should always feed one’s beasts yourself, so they recognize you for their master.”
“Not sure that works with cats,” Reg said doubtfully and Gervaise laughed.
“You may be right.”
“I only fed Master Romulus ’cos he was tripping up all those pretty maids in the kitchen and making a rare nuisance of himself.”
Gervaise deduced he was referring to the new barmaids and nodded absently. “I’m sure you did right, but I will come down all the same. I need to do my duty and introduce myself to the newcomers. Come, Remus!”
A hunted look entered Reg’s eye. “Are they all to live here in the attics?” he asked hoarsely as they walked out of the room together, Remus on their heels. “The whole pack of them?”
“If not all, then a good few of them. Have you been displaced, Reg? I did not think anyone was sleeping in the dormitory.”
“Nah. I’ve been dossing down in the scullery, haven’t I, to keep an eye on the liquor in case of break-ins.
Besides, I’ve never officially lived here.
I’ve a room at my cousin’s place round the corner.
Not Jeb’s,” he clarified. “He’s still hoping Effie will come back to him. I’m speaking of my cousin Doug.”
Gervaise paused at the top of the stairs. “I believe Jeb’s only hope for reconciliation at this point would be to produce a ring and a date in church.”
Reg squinted at him. “You think that would do the trick?”
“Effie’s far too many prospects to settle for anything less.”
Reg shook his head as they started down the stairs. “My aunt Kathy would never accept it.”
“You think not? A pity. Still, I am sure Effie will soon find new suitors aplenty. Now,” he said, in a swift change of subject. “Tell me about our new staff. Effie assures me they are a fine body of women.”
“I’m sure they are everything they ought to be,” Reg said, clearing his throat. “I’ve just got used to the way things were, with me, Jeb, and Effie and that wicked old woman what does the charring.”
“Change is a necessary part of life, Reginald,” Gervaise said, clapping a hand to Reg’s huge shoulder as they passed through the door and into the scullery. “We cannot allow ourselves to stagnate.”
Reg made a rumbling noise in his throat that could have been one of either agreement or disagreement as Gervaise busied himself preparing Remus’s supper. “That Gracie took some getting used to,” he reflected darkly. “They can’t be any worse than her.”
“Gracie is the charwoman?”
“Correct, milord.”
“Yes, I can see how she might be an acquired taste. Caroline tells me you have an admirer among the ranks.”
Reg’s face turned a dull shade of red. “I dunno about that, milord. I reckon she’s like that other cat of yours.”
“Like Romulus? How so?”
“She likes to toy with a body,” he said disapprovingly and Gervaise laughed again. He was becoming rather fond of Reg.
Returning to their rooms ten minutes later, he found Caroline knelt before the sofa, entreating Romulus to spare the new furniture from his claws.
Her pose gave Gervaise an enticing view of her décolletage, framed in little pink bows.
“He is being absolutely wicked,” she complained about the cat, who watched her through slitted eyes that gleamed. “Nothing I say has any effect.”
Remus meowed as if to draw attention to his own exemplary behavior.
“Yes, I know you’re a good boy,” Caroline said, reaching out to stroke him between his ears.
Romulus, taking violent exception to this unfavorable comparison, whisked around with a yowl and disappeared under the sofa.
Remus promptly dived under after him and much scrabbling was heard.
“Oh, boys!” a frustrated Caroline said, throwing up her hands.
“Never mind, there is nothing to be done with them,” Gervaise murmured. “Come, let me look at you.” He extended a hand to her and pulled her to her feet. “Very nice,” he observed, taking in the pink satin petticoat, the cascade of flounces down her front and the open-fronted robe of ruby velvet.
“Do you like it?” Caroline asked, turning this way and that, so he could get the full effect. “I feel very grand. Rather like a duchess.” She turned her head to look back over her shoulder. “I’ve never worn a Watteau pleat before. It feels like I am wearing a train.”
He held her hands out to the sides and narrowed his eyes. “I think pink may be your color after all, my dear Miss Halperston.”
She gave a breathless laugh. “Really? You don’t think it too…girlish for me?”
“No,” he said decisively. “It suits your coloring which is that of an English rose. We will have to buy you more pink gowns. Pinks of every hue.”
“I don’t know why you did not want me to wear it downstairs though,” Caroline said, brushing an appreciative hand down the plush velvet robe. “It is not particularly scanty, and it’s so lovely it seems a shame not to show it off.”
Catching sight of his expression, she said quickly, “Oh, not paired with this nightgown, of course! This one is…rather low. But with a high-necked gown I feel I would be quite respectably covered. And after all, ladies receive morning callers arrayed like this, do they not?”
“They receive other ladies to drink tea and gossip with,” he stressed. “They do not mingle with occupants of a common gin palace, which is a different thing altogether.”
“There is nothing common about this place!” she objected strenuously.
“Besides,” he finished, ignoring her interjection. “I have no intention of buying you any high-necked nightgowns. You will be showing them off to me, and me alone. That should satisfy any exhibitionist tendencies you may harbor.”
“I—” She broke off, looking taken aback. “Exhibitionist tendencies?” she repeated faintly.
“As for Romulus,” he continued smoothly, “I would encourage you not to waste your breath. I’m afraid he is a wayward youth who will cause us much heartache over the next twenty or so years.
I am quite resigned to the fact already and recommend you do likewise.
We will rely on Remus to carry on the dignity of our family name. ”
He walked over to the cabinet containing a selection of liqueurs. “Can I get you an aperitif? A dry sherry, perhaps?”
“That would be lovely, thank you,” she replied, taking a seat on the sofa and being careful to avoid any protruding paws.
“There you are,” he said, passing her a delicate crystal glass which she accepted with thanks.
“What—er, what did you order us for supper in the end?”
“We will be partaking of a meal from a local chop house. I predict brown soup, roasted meat with potatoes and gravy, and to finish, something stodgy like a treacle pudding.”
“Well, that all sounds very…traditional.”
“English dining at its finest,” he agreed, sitting down next to her.
“You are not having a drink?”
“No, I crave another indulgence altogether. Come, sit on my lap.”
“Your lap?” she queried, even as she rose off the sofa and perched herself in his lap. “Well, this is an easy favor for me to grant.”
His arms settled around her, and he brushed his lips against her brow. “You are beneficent,” he said, resting a hand on her thigh and spreading his fingers. “But you could be kinder still to this poor petitioner.”
“How so?” she asked, cautiously sipping her sherry.
“You could take exquisite pity on me and allow me to lift your skirts and finger you to completion,” he whispered in her ear.
Caroline coughed, nearly spitting out her drink. “How is that an act of pity?” she asked, turning watery eyes on him.
“It is an act of pity, because I have been dying to get my hands on you, Miss Halperston, ever since I clapped eyes on you in that nightgown.”
The look in his eye no doubt convinced her of his sincerity. “Someone will be coming soon with our food,” she uttered, crimson-cheeked.
“Yes,” he agreed. “That is why I did not ask to put my mouth between your legs.”
“I see!” she spluttered. “Very considerate!”
“And? What is the verdict?” He traced his fingers over her satin-clad thigh.
She tipped her head and he tensed, suddenly suspecting she was about to mention Miss Pomfrey. He had tired of that game altogether. It was Caroline Halperston he wanted. To hell with Miss Pomfrey.
“I will allow it,” she said, robbing him of all breath.