Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
He returned to her bedchamber the next night, a book of verse in hand. He knocked and came in. The fire was lit, and Harry was in her chair. As he entered, she jumped to her feet and went to pour their usual glasses of cordial.
He sat in his own wing chair, took the glass from her, and held his breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
She sat in his lap as if nothing had changed.
He exhaled in relief.
She turned, startled. “You sighed. Have I become too heavy? I have such an enormous appetite. I could have eaten a whole chicken myself tonight.”
He held her firmly to keep her from leaping up. “Harry, I have something for you.”
“Is it sweets?”
“No. It’s a surprise. I’ll have it brought to your bedchamber tomorrow.”
The surprise was something he had found today in one of the many rooms of this house after a long search. But he thought it should belong to Harry and be in her bedchamber. She would appreciate it.
She clapped her hands. “Is it the new translation of the Lacroix? Did you order it from London? Has it arrived?”
He had forgotten she wanted some book or other and he had promised to see if he could find it.
“No, it’s something else. Probably something not nearly as exciting as the Lacroix.”
“Oh, well.” She shrugged and sighed. “As if anything could be.”
Thomas laughed.
“Read me sonnet seventeen,” she said and put her head on his shoulder. “The one that starts Who will believe my verse in time to come.”
“I’m glad you’re willing to hear it again. I thought you didn’t like it when I repeated myself.”
“Yes, it’s odd, isn’t it? But there’s something about that one.”
“Maybe it’s because Shakespeare goes on to say If I could write the beauty of your eyes, And in fresh numbers number all your graces. You like numbers.”
“Maybe.” She sounded doubtful. “But then he doesn’t go on to number them, does he?”
When he had finished reading the sonnet, he closed the book. “I think I am done with poetry for the night.”
“So soon?” Her tone was one of disappointment.
He ran his hand over her back and down towards her buttocks, imagining the skin and the dimples underneath her dress.
Those dimples he had seen last night and only touched briefly.
All day he had looked forward to Harry disrobing again.
As he had ridden Octavius this evening, he had thought of laying her facedown on the bed and placing his tongue in each of those dimples as he caressed her buttocks.
But Harry jumped up.
“Oh, you needn’t bother with that.”
He was shocked. She had never pulled away from his touch. True, she had not always shown the normal reactions he had come to expect from other women, but that was a deep part of her charm.
He looked at her. Was that glee he saw on her face?
“You are an excellent teacher, Lord Drake,” she said and dipped into a little curtsy.
“That makes compliment number six, mark it well. I had a wonderful morning in bed. Ellen came in with the breakfast tray, and I told her I had been up far too late and sent her and Smythe away. I then used my own hand,” she held up her right hand, “and had success four times in three quarters of an hour. I did rest for a bit between number three and four, but I noted no other evidence of the law of diminishing returns.”
“Well,” he said, “you’re young.”
“I fell asleep last night before I could thank you for showing me how. I didn’t think I should thank you in front of the servants at dinner tonight.”
“No,” Thomas said shortly.
“So I thank you now. And I made some excellent progress today in my work. I can only think your lesson has allowed me to concentrate my mind wonderfully on the conjecture. I won’t have to bother you again for help.”
Thomas did not know what to say. He stood slowly. “Well, perhaps since I am done reading and you are done with your lessons, I should leave you.” He tried to speak lightly, but he knew some bitterness had leaked through. He hoped Harry wouldn’t notice.
She didn’t seem to. “You won’t stay and sit by the fire?”
“No.”
“Goodnight, my lord.”
He was Tommy no more. He nodded and left.
The next morning, one of the footmen handed a flat, cloth-wrapped package to Smythe, who brought it to Harry, who was in bed, drinking coffee, and reading Gauss.
It must be the surprise Thomas had mentioned last night.
The one that was not the Lacroix translation.
The label on the outside said, Lady Drake. Unwrap carefully when alone.
She dismissed Smythe from the room and unfolded the cloth, which appeared to be one of Thomas’ large handkerchiefs.
The handkerchief covered a small mirror, perhaps six inches by six inches in a frame and with a cunning little leg attached to the back so it could stand up by itself on a table. Or on a bed.
There was a piece of paper stuck in the frame. She unfolded it.
In Thomas’ flowing hand: For Harry, so nothing is hidden despite the angle.
She put her coffee down carefully and began to arrange the mirror and herself into the most suitable position.