Chapter 11 #2
Soon, dinner was served, but instead of taking themselves to the overly long table in the dining room, they found stools to sit on in the kitchen.
The food was well-seasoned and well-cooked and went down easily into their growling stomachs.
Still hungry, Helena inveigled the cook into making her a second omelet—although, truth be told, he did not need much inveigling.
Sated, Helena felt her eyelids sinking of their own accord. It took a herculean effort to keep them open.
“Come,” said Ralph, reaching out a hand to help her off the kitchen stool. “It’s been a long day, and it’s time you were upstairs.”
Helena opened her mouth to argue but shut it again as she realized that she was in absolute agreement with Ralph’s pronouncement.
“Good night, Helena,” said her husband, watching at the bottom of the stairs to ensure that she reached the top safely.
“Good night,” she echoed with a yawn, trailing a hand on the wall of the dark corridor as she felt her way to her room.
The air inside, cold as an underground cave, seeped through her dress as soon as she entered the unlit bedroom. All at once, Helena was filled with a disheartening revelation. She was going to have to wait for Polly’s return if she did not wish to sleep in her dress and stays once again.
A crisp knock on the door broke up the steady drumming of the endless rain. Helena jumped. “Y-yes? Come in."
Ralph entered, nudging open the door with one candle-bearing hand while his other hugged a bundle of wood to his side. “I thought your fire might be out, and it occurred to me that there’s no Polly to make up a new one.”
As the circle of candlelight came closer, Helena’s mouth formed a surprised O, but no sound came out. How did he anticipate what she needed so easily and move to provide it with such alacrity?
Ralph lit the candle by the side of the bed with his own taper and then knelt beside the hearth. Banked hours ago, the coals were almost past saving, but with the application of new flame and some puffs of air, Ralph soon coaxed a moderately large fire to life.
Helena’s shivering began to abate. “Thank you,” she said shyly.
“You’re welcome.” Ralph made a neat pile of the extra wood in the basket by the hearth. “If Polly does not return before you wake, I can lay more logs in the morning.”
He pushed himself to his feet and dusted off his hands.
Helena sensed that he was about to move for the door. “Ralph?”
“Yes?"
“Do you think that you might...that you could...undo my laces?”
Cheeks flaming as brightly as the newly laid fire, Helena turned around and put her back to him. The extreme discomfort of her stays digging into her sides was the only thing that kept her from sinking into the floor in embarrassment.
The floorboards creaked as Ralph approached. Helena felt his fingers on her shoulders, exploring, probing, searching for the closure of her gown. A gasp fled involuntarily from her mouth, and she clapped a hand to her lips to stifle any further sound.
Catching hold of her blond tresses, he slid them forward over her shoulder to leave the back of her dress clear.
The first knotted string took a few seconds for his fingers to negotiate, but once he had the knack of it, he was able to untie the rest in short order.
Helena felt the tight gown loosen around her.
It was a start, but like an onion, she had several more layers to shed.
Taking a deep breath, Helena pulled the gown’s sleeves off her arms and let the dress slip down her waist and pool about her ankles. She reminded herself that her bare shoulders were no more exposed than they would be at a ball in front of hundreds of her acquaintance.
"What next, my lady?” Ralph’s voice was strangely low and far too close to her ear.
"The laces on my petticoat."
He hesitated, and Helena realized he had no idea where to look. Reaching a hand behind her, Helena gestured toward the fastenings on either side. Obediently, Ralph pulled at the ribbons to release the long underskirt.
“Now my stays,” whispered Helena.
Ralph’s hands traveled over her back to the tight strings that bound her stays over her chemise.
Patiently, he loosened each crisscross until the corded corset was lax enough to be lifted over her head should she wish it.
She did not, at least not while Ralph was still present.
Keenly aware that the only layer separating her from Ralph was the thin chemise, Helena clutched the front of the loose stays to her chest and refused to turn around.
“Th-thank you, Mr. Aldine,” she said, trying to imbue her voice with a sense of dismissal.
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Aldine.” There was a note of amusement in his voice, and a note of something else which she could not entirely place but which sent a frisson of anticipation through her spine.
Surely, he would leave the room now?
“Good night, my dear.”
“G-good night.”
Before she had time to say another word, she heard the handle turn and the thick door open and then shut again. She was alone in her room.
Ralph’s pulse raced as he stripped off his own jacket and waistcoat, without the help of a valet, and sat down for the more difficult task of removing his boots.
How close he had been to pulling Helena into his arms and covering her face with kisses!
Had he exercised self-restraint or succumbed to cowardice by refraining?
His fingertips still tingled with the pull of those laces.
If the night at the inn in Coldstream had been filled with frustration, how much more this moment?
He pulled his white shirt over his head and, instead of hanging it neatly in the wardrobe as was his wont, threw it against the wall and let it sink to the floor.
Then, stretching out on the bed, he put his arm behind his head and attempted to let the cold air of the room calm his feverish body.
It would be a long while before he could sleep, and Helena would figure prominently in not just his thoughts but also his dreams.