Chapter Fourteen
Fourteen
On the following night, Henry was sitting on the sofa, reading about how stars were formed from vapor and cosmic dust and the force of gravity, when the sound of a door opening made him look up.
Rose had taken a quick bath before her friends arrived, and he now had a clear sight of her in the hallway, with nothing but a pale blue-green towel wrapped around her.
Her damp sandy curls stuck to her naked shoulders.
Her whole body was flushed bright pink. He could imagine that if he laid his hands on her curvaceous thighs, which had made such an indelible impression on him on their first meeting, or her derriere, which he had not yet seen and could well imagine, they would be hot to the touch.
It only lasted a moment. She went straight to her bedroom and shut the door, not even knowing that he’d witnessed such an arresting vision.
He wished he and Rose could spend the evening alone. But perhaps it was just as well that her friends were coming over. How many nights could he bear being alone with her, without letting his feelings take over?
Rose emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, fully clothed now in a red paisley dress.
“Red, in honor of Mars,” he commented.
She beamed at him. “That’s right! Both of my red things were in the washer this morning, so I wore that blue dress to work.” She shuddered. “I felt off all day.”
“You look very—presentable,” he said, not wanting to overstep the bounds of politeness.
“You look very presentable yourself,” she said wryly.
He was wearing one of the two suits Rose had ordered for him, with one of the white shirts that buttoned down the front.
He had found the process of ascertaining his measurements and supplying them to her awkward in the extreme, but he’d been astounded by how quickly the clothing had arrived by post and how well it fit.
Andy War-Howl launched into a barrage of bellows and barks.
“That must be Emily and Griffin!” she said, smiling brightly, and she fairly bounced over to the door.
He groaned inwardly. Based on an earlier conversation with Rose, he’d already reached the conclusion that her friends would be useless when it came to time travel.
So what was the purpose of his meeting them?
His hunger no doubt increased his irritability.
He had not eaten lunch, but Rose had told him that they would all order a dinner, which would be delivered to them.
As he reluctantly closed his book, she opened the front door. “Hi! Come on in!” He supposed he had no choice but to get to his feet and walk over to greet them.
Emily, brunette and bespectacled, was perhaps Rose’s age. Her husband, Griffin, was a solidly built man with a mustache and beard and blond hair that reached past his shoulders. He looked as uncivilized as anyone might expect of a man from his era.
“Hi!” Emily said and then let out a soft oof as Andy barreled into her. She crouched down to scratch behind both his ears and talk to him in a high voice. “Hey, buddy! Oh, I know, I missed you so much! Did you miss me?”
The hound let out an alarming, baleful howl, as though his heart had been broken, even though he’d seemed cheerful enough minutes before.
“Ohh, my good boy,” Emily crooned. Griffin hunkered down next to her. Andy jumped on him, rubbing his head into the man’s torso with more pitiful whines.
Rose’s brow knotted. No doubt, she was feeling guilty about the incident on the roof. Henry tried to think of some lighthearted jest to set her conscience at ease.
Griffin beat him to it, telling the dog, “I am glad to see you, too, sir, but I have no doubt that you have been much loved and cosseted here.” He looked up at Rose with a huge smile. Rose returned it at once, her blue eyes sparkling.
Henry had been gratified, once or twice, to see Rose’s eyes sparkle when she talked to him, but clearly, that had not been such a rare occurrence.
Emily and Griffin got to their feet, both casting curious glances in Henry’s direction. Was he supposed to introduce himself? Or was Rose supposed to do it?
“Thank you for looking after him!” Griffin said to Rose. He spoke in a booming voice, much louder than was necessary in such modest quarters. Some might’ve called it boorish. Then he stepped forward and threw his arms around Rose.
“You’re welcome,” Rose said with a laugh, hugging him back in a way Henry found improper. Griffin’s new bride was unperturbed; indeed, she was beaming at them as though this were perfectly normal.
Griffin released Rose and turned to Henry. “And you are the Duke of Beresford! I am Griffin de Beauford, son of William de Beauford, at your service.” He gave a slight bow. “Welcome to Chicago, Your Grace.”
Maybe Henry should’ve felt relieved that Griffin had taken the lead with introductions, and had actually addressed him correctly. But the man’s jolly tone was improper. Henry was not, after all, here on holiday.
“Thank you,” Henry said stiffly, with a slight bow to both him and Emily. The latter made no move to curtsy, and no one introduced her, so Henry added, “This is Mrs. de Beauford, I presume.”
“Actually, I’m still Emily Porter,” she said cheerfully.
“I…” Henry stammered. Had he made a grave faux pas? But hadn’t Rose said…? “Forgive me, Miss Porter. I had been under the misapprehension that, well—”
“Oh, we’re married!” Emily reassured him. “I just didn’t take his name.”
“Not everyone who gets married changes their name now,” Rose added.
Henry stopped himself from asking how anyone could tell who belonged to whom.
But perhaps he should not have been surprised.
Rose had told him earlier that now, a man might marry another man, or a woman another woman.
In his time, despite the existence of molly houses where gentlemen who were thus inclined could meet, and the occasional pair of confirmed bachelors or devoted lady friends who chose to live together, a bold statement of marriage would’ve been out of the question.
With a loud laugh, Griffin clapped his large hand on Henry’s shoulder, startling him. “It will take you some time to learn the ways of women and men in this world!”
Henry’s blood simmered. They were not friends, and Griffin was the son of an earl; Henry outranked him. Griffin had no business touching him in such a familiar manner. Moreover, Griffin was mocking Henry, pointing out his ignorance in front of Rose.
“Well, come on in and sit down!” Rose urged with a shooing motion. “I’ll order dinner. Do you want pizza, Mexican, or Thai?”
“Oh!” Emily said as they moved to the living room. “We actually grabbed something right after work. I’m sorry. I didn’t remember we were getting dinner.” She looked apologetic as she and Griffin sat down. Andy War-Howl hopped into her lap, and Henry took a seat on the sofa opposite them.
Rose waved off the worry. “It’s okay.”
“You guys should go ahead and order something if you want,” Emily urged Rose.
“No, that’s fine. We can eat later,” Rose said, though Henry and his growling stomach did not feel so indifferent. “What would you like to drink, though? Griffin, I got you that ale you like.”
Griffin smiled broadly. “I cannot say no, then. That was very kind.”
Emily asked for a Diet Coke, and Rose said she was having the same. Henry had tried the drink earlier. It tasted like a mixture of sugar, iron filings, and bad champagne.
“What would you like, Henry?” Rose asked.
He wanted a cup of tea, but that would mean that she would have to go to the inconvenience of making it. It was not as though she had a maid to help her entertain.
In order to make things simple for her, he said, “A glass of brandy, if you please.”
Rose exchanged an amused glance with Emily before saying, “Sorry. Best I can do is Malort.”
Why were Emily and Griffin chuckling? How was he to know that Rose would not have on hand what he believed to be the most common of spirits?
Rose added, “Seriously, I have wine, beer, coffee, or tea?”
“What is Malort?”
“It’s a liquor made here in Chicago.” She added to Emily, “I got it at a gag gift exchange at work a few years ago.”
Griffin shook his head. “Your Grace, you will not enjoy Malort. I recommend the ale.”
Henry was not inclined to take the recommendation of a warrior from the Dark Ages. He said to Rose, “I will have a Malort, thank you.”
Rose shrugged, smiling. “I guess everyone should try it at least once. I’ll be right back.”
As she headed to the kitchen, Griffin leaned forward. “Your Grace, where is the ducal seat of Beresford? It was not a dukedom in my time.”
Was that a veiled insult? Henry sat up a little straighter. “No, it is not the oldest dukedom, but it is no lesser in dignity for that. The title was conferred on my great-grandfather for his exemplary service in the War of the Spanish Succession.”
Rose came back into the room with a bottle in one hand and a can in the other. “Henry’s estate is incredible,” she said, setting the drinks in front of Griffin and Emily. “And it’s gigantic.” She retreated to the kitchen again.
Griffin leaned forward and asked Henry, “Tell me, did they have hot showers in your time?”
“No,” Henry said.
The other man grinned. “Are they not wonderful?”
If Griffin thought his rustic bonhomie was charming, he was mistaken…
although Emily and Rose apparently felt otherwise.
They were both grinning in the knight’s direction.
What a vulgar and vexing era this was. One’s bathing, surely, was a private matter.
Although Henry could imagine inviting Rose to shower with him, and lavishing the lather onto her beautiful breasts—
“He loves them,” Rose called out from the kitchen.
Showers, she meant. “Yes,” Henry said, striving mightily now not to think of her tempting bosom. “They are most pleasurable.”
“You know so little about this modern era,” Griffin said. “I remember what it is like to be so confused about so many things!”