Hilde
The other, even more pressing problem was that she could not stop thinking about Elmwood’s mouth pressing against her neck. The memory of it was making her palms sweat and her heart pound.
He had asked her if the kiss had been a part of her plan of seduction, and she had said yes.
She had come here to seduce him, she reminded herself. That was why she had kissed him. To get what she needed from him. Thorgoode’s resurrection. Croftholde’s salvation.
But that embrace…well, it had been nothing at all like she had expected.
When the Widow Elsbeth in the village had been hit by lightning and survived it some years back, she’d said that before it had hurt, there had been a moment of all-consuming bliss, wherein she was aware of every ecstatic fiber of her body all at once.
That was what kissing Elmwood had felt like. The bliss and the hurt alike.
It would be unforgivable to have enjoyed it, to have demanded more because she wanted it and not because it was part of some strategy. But even now, when she thought about the way Elmwood had groaned when she…
“Ouch!”
She tripped over Rollo, who had appeared in the kitchen as if by Charm when she began toasting cheese over the fire.
The stumble pitched her forward, and she spilled tisane all over Lady Isobel’s pretty suit.
It was made of some sort of fine linen in a seafoam green and had more flounces and ruffles than Hilde would have thought possible to squeeze onto one garment. Now it was doused in hot mint water.
“I’m so sorry,” she cried, apologizing for the tisane since she couldn’t very well apologize for everything else.
Rollo, meanwhile, began yapping and cavorting around her ankles, threatening to trip her again.
She set down the pot and searched for a cloth.
Curse Nimsby and his slovenly ways. “I don’t think it will stain… ”
“Never mind,” said Lady Isobel, dabbing at it with the lace-edged handkerchief she’d been using to dry her eyes from all the weeping. Her voice still had a little emotional hitch in it, though her tears had stopped. “It will dry. Thank you for the refreshment.”
“It won’t do you much good in your lap,” said Miss Floret, in a surprisingly cheerful tone. She was also wearing a suit, with mustard-colored ribbons fluttering around the neck. She was so slender, she reminded Hilde of the herons that gathered in the millpond to catch frogs.
“No, indeed,” said Hilde. She managed to pour them all cups of tisane without further incident, then served the toasted cheese to Lady Isobel and Miss Floret, sacrificing one piece to Rollo.
Appeased, he gave his fringy tail a wag and then trotted off to devour it someplace, or possibly hide it in one of Elmwood’s boots.
She found herself rather spitefully hoping that it moldered.
It was that word, betrothed, chewing at her good nature.
The tisane tasted bitter and left a film on her teeth.
They sat in silence. Hilde had no idea what to say.
She wondered if she ought to apologize for entertaining them in the dirty kitchen, but it was the only room with a fire to cut the chill.
The situation was altogether terribly awkward, and she wished there were some way to extract herself from it.
She wished she had fled for home when they’d all appeared at the door.
She wished she’d never come. No, that wasn’t true.
She couldn’t wish away what had transpired between herself and Elmwood…
because he had agreed to help her, she told herself firmly.
He had agreed to use his Charm on her behalf.
“I’m so embarrassed by the way I carried on,” said Lady Isobel, breaking the silence.
“You must think me the silliest of girls. It’s only that I had anticipated a warmer welcome from my darling Erol.
I am so pleased to see him again after our long separation, especially when he has been through such a terrible ordeal. ”
“I suppose being held accountable for his actions is an ordeal for him,” muttered Hilde.
“My poor Erol suffered greatly in the war,” said Lady Isobel, dabbing her eyes again. “They say he nearly perished. To think what it must have been like for him…It’s no wonder he is much changed.”
Hilde’s chest gave a strange little squeeze.
She didn’t know that he’d nearly perished.
Perhaps that was how his leg had been injured.
The idea of him lying hurt and half-dead on a battlefield seemed so incompatible with the wry but good-natured energy that animated him from within, even when he was dispirited or angry.
Lady Isobel must be right, though. She was his betrothed, after all, and undoubtedly knew him far better than Hilde. And what else besides mortal danger would have inspired him to use the Charm he feared and hated so deeply?
“In truth, I know very little of his suffering,” she said.
She realized that Miss Floret was scrutinizing her, staring rather pointedly at her chest, though Hilde could not tell if she disapproved of her cleavage or her Relancian dress.
“How long did you say you’ve been acquainted with Lord Elmwood?” said Miss Floret.
“Oh…since shortly after he arrived at Merewyth. He’s had some difficulty with his…staff. Here at Merewyth. I only mean to say that I called this evening to advise him on finding someone to look after his needs. For the house!” Good grief, what was wrong with her?
“Hmm,” said Miss Floret, sipping her tisane. “Well, that is certainly very neighborly of you, but you needn’t worry about Lord Elmwood’s needs any longer. My niece will be managing his staff from this point on.”
“Oh, yes!” said Lady Isobel, brightening considerably. “I can hardly wait to get my hands on his staff!”
Hilde wondered briefly if perhaps she were succumbing to some sort of brain fever, given that Elmwood’s love of innuendo seemed to be catching. She needed to change the subject.
“When did…that is, how long have you and Lord Elmwood been betrothed?”
“Since his dear father’s funeral,” said Lady Isobel, wiping away one last errant tear. “Though it was a secret engagement for a very long time. I was forced to reveal it in order to find him.”
Hilde’s insides went hot. How could Elmwood have propositioned Hilde to begin with, when he had a long-standing engagement to this sweet young woman?
And where did this leave the agreement they had only just come to?
Would he still expect her to go through with it, in exchange for resurrecting Thorgoode?
Or would he do the decent thing and release her from such an obligation, now that his betrothed was here and obviously better suited for whatever he had in mind?
There was no denying that Lady Isobel was a breathtaking creature.
She was a match for Elmwood’s beauty and aristocracy…
in short, she was everything that Hilde was not.
Standing, she smoothed her ridiculous skirts.
“I’ll leave you ladies to enjoy the fire while I seek out Lord Elmwood and ask him what the arrangements will be for your chambers.
I imagine you will want your beds as soon as possible.
” What she truly imagined was that he would have not the faintest idea what to do with them, but it was as good an excuse as any to extract herself from this conversation.
To her surprise, Lady Isobel leapt to her feet and threw her arms about Hilde. Hilde went stiff, then made herself relax into the embrace, patting the young woman on the back. None of this was her fault.
“Thank you ever so much, Lady Croft,” she said, sniffling again. “I cannot tell you the relief it is to encounter a kind new friend upon arriving here after such a long and anxious journey.”
Hilde struggled to determine how she ought to respond to this unsought and frankly unmerited gratitude.
“No thanks are needed. It is truly the least I can do.”
Hilde went in search of Elmwood but instead found Mr. Winthrop sitting in the study where she had brazenly shoved Elmwood against a desk not an hour ago; she could still feel the press of his hands on her as if somehow their impression had been permanently imprinted on her flesh.
“Lady Croft?” said Winthrop.
She did her best to focus on the task at hand. It would undoubtedly be prudent to secure Mr. Winthrop’s help now, before Elmwood had the opportunity to back out of their agreement.
“Excuse me, Mr. Winthrop, I was looking for Lord Elmwood, but I am happy to find you here. There is a matter I should like to discuss with a lawyer—with you specifically, in fact.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Well, Lady Croft, I am always most delighted to discuss matters of the law.”
“Excellent. I will attempt to be brief.” She paused.
It was difficult to know how much to say and how much to strongly imply.
It seemed odd to discuss the matter at all with anyone other than Elmwood, but if he trusted Winthrop, then she must as well.
“I suppose I had best begin by telling you that my husband, Lord Thorgoode Croft, is most unfortunately deceased. It was sudden.” The words caught in her throat, surprising her.
Thorgoode’s death was a month behind her, and she had thought she would be reconciled to it by now.
It certainly should not cause emotion to rise up in her chest like bile.
Though, she supposed, it was the first time she had said the words aloud to anyone save Elmwood.
Thorgoode was deceased. She swallowed hard.
“I had not heard. I am very sorry for your loss, Lady Croft,” said Mr. Winthrop.