Chapter 43
Graham laughed. “Gird your loins, Nutworthy. You and Miss Quick are now a part of our family. It is what we wish. Oh, and Nutworthy, I believe I can promise you there will be laughter in your future. Her ladyship is a right proper wit. You will never be bored as I’m certain Miss Quick will tell you.
Now, dinner will arrive shortly, so please finish folding your shirts and join us. ”
Nutworthy blinked rapidly, bowed himself out of the drawing room, mumbling to himself, followed by a grinning Cilly, who gave Cam a little wave.
Cam said, “I’m a right proper wit, am I?”
“Among other things. Poor Nutworthy doesn’t have a chance. He will have to unbend, he will have no choice.”
Cam chewed that over a moment, then, “How did you know Cilly’s last name?”
He cocked his head at her. “She is a part of our household. Of course I would know her full name. Cillette is her full first name, but you call her Cilly.”
“Well, yes, I changed her name when I was very young to Cilly. Ah, you met Finch, my aunt Deveraux’s butler and companion?” She leaned up, whispered, “I believe he and Cilly might be interested in each other. We will see.”
Graham could but smile.
And thus it was, closer to twenty minutes later, the master and mistress sat with her lady’s maid and his new valet to dine on salmon pudding, boiled bacon-cheek, French beans and potatoes, and Cam’s favorite, lobster salad, followed by a rich plum tart, all served by The Royal’s head waiter, Monsieur Andre, who was quick to replenish their champagne, opened a second bottle, and removed dishes.
If he was surprised servants were dining with the newly minted Lord and Lady Whitestone, he gave no sign.
Both Cam and Graham knew this social breach would likely be the topic of conversation among The Royal’s staff, and what would their verdict be?
Nutworthy did not unbend but remained disapproving at this laxity in his new master until he’d drunk a third glass of champagne, given a small burp, and giggled.
As for Cilly, she couldn’t help her smiles, thinking of what she would write to Mr. Finch.
What was he doing? Perhaps he was thinking about her as well?
When, an hour later, Cam and Graham were alone in their lovely bedchamber, the rich gold draperies drawn closed for the night and a brightly burning fire in the Carrera marble fireplace, Cam stood looking at the large bed, turned down for the night, showing white linen sheets exquisitely embroidered along the edge and she thought, I’m married.
Married. To Graham, and he’s my husband—but he’s still a man. Oh dear.
She was being an idiot. But still, a man was a foreign being, no getting around that.
But then again, she was certain Graham was at least as magnificent as the Statue of David she’d never seen in person, but had studied a drawing of it in her father’s library when she was twelve.
Did Graham have big flat feet like David?
She knew he had to have other things south of his middle, things just like David’s?
The drawing hadn’t impressed her much, but she’d heard whispers that men changed that part of themselves upon seeing a female without clothes—they changed alarmingly.
She had to get ahold of herself, had to remind herself she could simply look at him for an hour—well, his face, and not move and be perfectly content. Maybe longer, maybe a week. As for the rest of him, he was always clothed in her imaginings.
His hands were on her arms, gently and slowly sliding up and down. “Where have you been? You haven’t said a word since—”
He paused, understood. “Cam, would you like me to call Cilly to help you undress? Or shall I help you myself?”
He wanted to undress her? Oh dear. Words tumbled out of her mouth, “I hope there will be nutty buns for breakfast, but how will we order them? Send Nutworthy to the kitchens? They are Cilly’s favorites.
We can share with her and Nutworthy. I wonder how old Nutworthy is, not above forty, do you think?
And why don’t you call him by his first name.
I mean—Nutworthy—it’s a rather unusual, well, really rather silly—oh dear, my tongue is running off the rails again.
” She leaned up, kissed him, stopped, jumped back.
“Do you know, Graham, kissing you is even better than a nutty bun, but if it’s all right with you, I would prefer Cilly help me. ”
He took her arms in his hands, leaned down and kissed her.
“What I would prefer, dearest one, is that you had no gown on at all.” She went stiff as a chair leg, looked as appalled as Nutworthy.
He straightened. “Ah, let me say that in another way. I will call Cilly.” He kissed her again, fast and hard, and took himself off.
He paused at the doorway to his dressing room.
“Cam, please don’t be afraid of me. I want you to think only of the fun we will have.
And, you know, perhaps you and I together can even develop a proper marital theorem with enough observation and experimentation. ”
She gulped, stared at him. “Wh-what? A theorem? You mean marital sorts of things can be the basis of theorems? Oh, I see, you are making fun of me because I’m—well, best not to go into any more detail.
I forgive you, Graham, but you know”—she gulped—“the fact is you are very different from me, that is, we are not at all alike and you do not wear a gown. I do not have whiskers. You have big feet and I have a lady’s princess feet, well, not really, but still, not as big as yours. You see what I mean?”
“Yes, I see.” And he did. Graham walked back to her, took her arms in his hands again, waited for her to look at him.
“Cam, you are God’s finest creation. Unlike you, I am a sturdy creature, meant to protect you and worship you.
No man could possibly be luckier than I am.
” He tweaked the end of her nose. “You will see we are two halves of a whole, meant to come together.” He gave her a hug, kissed her again and left their bedchamber.
When Nutworthy was assisting Graham to undress, he said, now sober as a judge, “It was unexpected you would ask Miss Quick and myself to dine with you and her new ladyship. Ah, thank you.”
“It was our pleasure, Nutworthy.”
Nutworthy looked agonized but determined. “I also pray you will forgive my immoderate consumption of the extraordinarily fine champagne, my lord.”
What? Graham’s thoughts, every single one of them, were on his bride not twenty feet away. Nutworthy, champagne. “Ah, I am pleased you enjoyed the champagne.”
“I also consumed more of the amazing plum pudding than I should have. I daresay my consumption of that remarkable dish reached an excessive degree. My only defense is the pudding was nearly as excellent as my dear now-departed mother’s whose plums were from her own small orchard. So purple they were.”
Graham didn’t remember the plum pudding.
Had he eaten any? He was trying to form a consummation plan when Nutworthy said, “Mr. French is correct in his weather prognostications, my lord. It appears a violent spring storm is very nearly upon us. I am informed we are to be bombarded by heavy rain, possibly high winds. I believe I should fasten all the windows here and in your bedchamber.”
“Thank you, Nutworthy. Do not concern yourself with the windows in our bedchamber. I shall see they’re tightly closed.”
Nutworthy assisted Graham into his new bathrobe, soft wool and warm, given to him by his newly discovered brother-in-law, Donner.
Under it he wore nothing at all. He’d considered a nightshirt, rejected it.
Begin as you mean to go on. He couldn’t remember where he’d heard that sage advice, but it seemed to apply here.
He’d never worn a nightshirt since he’d been a boy of fifteen and realized his idol, Mr. Sherbrooke, slept naked with his wife, in bed, all night, every night.
It was a heady bit of knowledge to stir a young boy’s blood.
Nutworthy was clearly distressed. “But, my lord, surely a nightshirt is appropriate on this of all nights since—ah, forgive me, but I cannot continue.” It was a good thing he realized where his sentence was proceeding and shut his mouth.
Graham fought back a grin. “Gird your loins, Nutworthy. Now, you may go to bed. Thank you for your assistance.”
Nutworthy gave him a sharp bow, said nothing more and surely that was remarkable in itself.
Graham stood quietly for a moment listening, but he could only hear low female murmurs from the bedchamber.
What were Cam and Cilly talking about? He thought of Cilly speaking to her as Nutworthy had to him.
No, surely not. His new wife was innocent and nervous and he was naked beneath his bathrobe.
He had to keep control. He’d told Nutworthy to gird his loins.
Now he knew he had to keep his own loins well girded.
Please don’t let me muck this up.