Chapter Seven
Lisle lay on her belly, stretched in the length and width of a bed that she couldn’t tell the size of even if she flapped her arms and legs, and wondered why she felt so grand.
There wasn’t any reason for it, save the obvious.
She’d been wed to a man known to consort with the devil, gotten a bit tipsy, actually kissed him without compunction, been denied access to his bed, and not one thing else had happened, other than the bidding of a good night.
She felt like she’d been given a reprieve, at the last possible moment, and knew how prisoners must feel who’d been granted the same.
A long, low-pitched tone, coming from a horn of some kind, filtered through the maroon-colored, drape-lined window, or maybe it came from one of the smaller windows that were all along the top of her two-story-high room.
She rolled over, wincing at the bruising pressure from the row of pearl buttons up her back, and looked at those windows with her forehead wrinkled.
Placing windows so high up made no sense, unless it was to catch a ray of sunshine and send it through the light-tone wood that latticed across the ceiling of her room.
She looked at it through the sheer white canopy that topped her bed.
Everything in her new suite was either white, or a shade of maroon.
There wasn’t any other color. Even the wood bureaus were painted white, with little knobs painted with maroon flowers on them.
The note ended, leaving a haunting feeling behind.
She’d heard that same tone more than four times already, and had thought it part of her dreams. She didn’t know what she was supposed to be doing, but that melodic note demanded investigation, and she was never one for sitting abed, waiting for what the day brought, anyway.
Lisle slid from beneath bleached, white, muslin sheets, woven so tightly they made the ones she’d called her own look amateurish and cheaply made.
They’d felt luxurious against what skin felt it through her wedding gown, and they hadn’t even been snagged by the hundreds of seed pearls.
Her abilities as a seamstress had been tested by sleeping in such a gown, but she didn’t have anything else to wear and there hadn’t been a soul around to help her with the unfastening of it, save her new husband.
She wasn’t letting him touch any part of her, ever again.
That’s how much she wanted to be in his bed! she told herself.
There wasn’t anything hanging in the room off to the left of her bedroom.
She knew it was supposed to be a dressing room; only that sort of room would have rows of empty rails, and pegs along the walls for holding the heels of her shoes, if she had any with heels.
She found out the same thing about the room off to the right, for it held rows of railing and pegs awaiting the same thing.
No woman could possibly have enough clothing to fill one of those dressing rooms, let alone both of them. She sincerely hoped Monteith didn’t expect her to. She’d have to wear a different outfit every day of the year, and probably twice every day, too. What a waste that would be.
The door that must connect to his chamber was on the other end of her right dressing room. She didn’t test the handle. She told herself she didn’t care enough to. She returned to her bed chamber. Neither dressing room had any windows, save those high up on the outer walls.
Lisle approached the window, pushed the drapery aside, and then she was grimacing at diamond-paned, cut glass that had been polished until each facet shone.
The amount of gold that could buy such craftsmanship had to be staggering.
She ran a finger along one of the edges, feeling how it had been rounded after the cut of it, by a master at his art.
Unfortunately, it was also difficult to see anything through it, muting and distorting anything she might have been able to see outside.
That wasn’t helpful to her investigation.
Her belly growled, reminding her of its emptiness. Aside from the two dollops of wine—that was all he’d let her have—she’d not eaten or drunk a thing since…she couldn’t remember the last meal, but thought it was the watered-down ham broth sup from the MacHugh Castle.
“Good morn, my lady. It’s time to be up and about.
We dinna’ know what time to expect you to awake, or what you favored, so Cook Higgins, Letty, and Dame Margaret-Lily sent up everything they thought might tempt you.
Oh. There you are. I dinna’ know you were such an early riser.
Here. Let me assist you into a chair, and fetch you a bed jacket.
We doona’ want those shoulders catching cold. ”
The door had opened, letting in a loud voice that was attached to a very large woman, followed by a train of servant women bearing smells that turned her belly into a roar of emptiness.
As the entourage bore down on her, Lisle had the insane desire to run for the safety of one of the dressing rooms. It wouldn’t have helped.
The woman was holding up a waist-length, sky-blue jacket, knitted of large, looped, thickly spun wool, and finished off with a dark blue velvet collar.
She could just as well have been using it to cut off any such escape route, as anything else she was doing with it.
Lisle’s eyes were wide as the woman helped her into it, although the high-necked wedding gown wouldn’t have allowed a hint of cold to get to her shoulders, anyway.
“Set them down there, and there. And over here. Now serve. And send Mistress Beamans in. There’s sheets to air and such.
There’s no time for her staff to laze about.
There’s a lady of the house to impress. You could have knocked us over with a whiff of air over that news, my lady.
Just let me say it and get it over with.
We dinna’ even know the master was inclining himself toward courtship of that nature.
We’re ever so proud to be able to serve you. Move smart, now.”
Courtship? Lisle wondered. Sheets to air?
They already smelled of sunshine and dew and everything else that was fresh and vibrant, and they hadn’t had but one person sleeping on them—her—and that was for one night.
Then her attention was moved to where they were placing trays, taking off covers, and setting out food; sending the smell and sight of scones, and cooked oats, and breads, and honey melons, and grapes, and every kind of meat, prepared in various different ways; some with sauces, some heated, and some cold and thinly sliced, while everywhere was the gleam of silver plate.
Her mouth hadn’t shut yet, and she was afraid it was about to drool, too, so she put her own hand on her jaw and forced it closed.
There was enough food there to serve the MacHughs for a fortnight.
Lisle was appalled enough at the waste that she didn’t think she could take a bite without it sticking to the roof of her mouth and making it impossible to swallow.
“What do you feel like having for your breakfast, my lady?” Each one of the servant women hovered above one of the trays, a large spoon in one hand and a plate in the other, as it looked like they were actually preparing to fetch anything she wanted for her.
“I—”
Spittle choked the word, and she couldn’t say what she wanted before the door opened again and more than six chambermaids entered, making the enclosure spin with womenfolk and talk, and perfectly ironed black outfits, with crisp, starched white aprons, and cleaning rags and such.
Three of them attacked the bed, while the others were intent on wiping cleaning rags all about the base of furnishings that hadn’t time to think of catching dust. Lisle watched it and could actually hear the women humming to themselves.
Then, the sheets were pulled from the bed, and someone exclaimed at how there wasn’t any blood speckling them before being hushed with words over how the new wife was a widow, and hadn’t they heard.
That’s when she put her hands to her ears, and told them all, in no uncertain terms, that they were to leave, and leave immediately.
For a lady who was supposed to be the chatelaine of her own home, her order was instantly and complete ignored, although they all stopped what they were doing and stared at her.
“You want us to leave? But we haven’t finished. We’ve just started, and His Lordship—”
“Am I the lady of the house, or na’?” Lisle asked through clenched teeth.
The woman who had been standing, directing the work crew, and who must be the main housekeeper, nodded.
“Good. Then I expect to be obeyed. Instantly and perfectly. Leave. Now. Please.”
“I’ll have Her Ladyship up and about when she’s breakfasted, Mabel Beamans. You can come back then.”
The large, jovial one who had first attacked her chamber was the one whispering it and escorting all of them out, although they took the bedding with them, and once they left, Lisle noted that they even had the maroon drapery and sheer white canopy with them. They were airing out such things?
She was going to put a halt to this senseless waste of time, effort, and coin, and she was going to do it before she got much older, too.
“Them, too,” she said, when the kitchen serving women just stood there, hovering over their trays, with their utensils and plates.
“You heard my lady,” the fat one said.
The women didn’t look pleased, but they each put down their weapons of interruption, making a clang against the silverplate, and then they, too, went out the door.
“I dinna’ say you could stay,” Lisle said as the fat one shut the door, locking everyone else out and returning to her.