Chapter Fourteen
Neville stirred shortly before first light. The contours of Harbury’s spare chamber were only dimly lit from the coal fire’s dying embers. But he didn’t need to see clearly to be aware of Millie by his side, wrapped up in her own body, arm curled beneath her cheek, legs pulled in close.
At least she was facing him.
One of her knees was resting lightly against his thigh, too. That contact, so simple, carried so much weight.
Yesterday, he’d experienced the full spectrum of emotion. Of course, he’d felt anger at Willard. And hope they’d thwarted his plans. But guilt had bedeviled him for so long; the sudden release felt dizzying. Heights of unimaginable bliss filled him with profound gratitude.
What he hadn’t anticipated, however, was the depth of responsibility attached to this burgeoning love. Marriage had not only bound Millie to him but renewed and deepened his sense of purpose. Dozens of considerations raced through his mind.
Of primary concern were the threats Willard represented. But there were other, smaller considerations, too. For instance, before he brought her back to their home—their home—he’d need to find and hire a lady’s maid.
His mother could be of help, there…could she not?
Strange to see help where, before, he’d only understood obligation.
And the change was not in his mother, but in himself, in the nuance he had never understood.
Later today, after her visit with Lady Eltenham, he was to meet with her at the townhouse.
Perhaps he could ask for her advice then.
Ask for her advice and tell her how right he now knew she’d been.
Love was a necessary component of marriage.
If he hadn’t been aware of his love for Millie, he would not have been instinctively trying to understand and interpret everything she said in the best possible light. Her subtle, teasing digs might have invoked hubris over humor, anger over affection.
Thank goodness he was aware.
The light, slowly increasing though drawn curtains, illuminated her features. Though peaceful now, soon she would awaken. His Eve in the garden, suddenly aware she was naked and, at least in Millie’s case, cold, too.
The marvelously novel idea he’d had the night before—sleeping unclothed with his bride—had been, at best, indiscreet.
The bed they’d shared hadn’t any curtains to pull closed against the morning chill.
And, as the fires would first be lit in the duke’s bedchamber, and then, that of his sister, a good deal of time might pass before anyone thought of the guests on the third floor.
He had better seek out coal.
He forced himself out of the cozy nest of fabric, taking care that very little precious heat escaped. Quietly as he could, he moved toward the glowing embers. Then, he held a candlewick against one and waited, unclothed and shivering, for the blasted thing to ignite.
Finally, the string took to flame.
Making his way with faint illumination, he slipped inside the dressing room to retrieve a shirt and banyan. He muffled his movements, ever aware that Gerard was likely still asleep in the trundle in the far corner. When the door to the servants’ stair opened, Neville nearly jumped out of his skin.
At least he wasn’t nearly as aware of the cold, now.
“You gave me a fright,” he whispered.
Gerard set down his lantern and then the bucket of coal he’d been carrying in his other hand. “As you know,” he intoned, “the house is short of staff. Given the room’s state, I presumed you would prefer I tend to the fire.”
“Excellent man!” He blinked in the darkness, more aware than he’d ever been of how often—how well—Gerard anticipated his every need. “Such work is far beneath your dignity.”
Amusement briefly ghosted Gerard’s features. “But not, apparently, yours?”
“I was preparing to go downstairs. I didn’t want Mi—my lady to awake to the cold.”
“Very good. Shall I just…?” Gerard picked up the bucket and attempted to pass.
“Ah—no. I will take in the coals.”
“You?” This time, rare humor fully uplifted Gerard’s lips. “Use a poker to remove the ash, spread a thin layer of coal, wait for a blue flame to appear, and then add another layer for good measure.”
As Neville had only sporadically needed to attend to such things himself, he was grateful for the reminder not to too be too hasty in shoveling out the coal.
“Don’t concern yourself with the ash and the clinkers.
I will collect them in the housemaid’s box later today,” Gerard continued.
“Sally has placed my lady’s things on the shelf closest to the door.
And I have emptied the tin footwarmer of sand and coal and filled it with hot water instead.
I intended to pour some into the bowl on the table for my lady. ”
“Brilliant,” he sighed. “Thank you.”
“And for you?” Gerard queried.
He rubbed his stubbled cheeks. “Might you set up a shave in another room on this floor?”
“The fires are unlit,” Gerard reminded.
Neville shivered. “Lighting them would be a waste.” He paused. “Where did you shave?”
“Below stairs. In a room off the kitchens.”
“Then that’s where I will go as well.”
Gerard’s expression suggested he thought his lordship had lost his mind.
“Or wherever is easiest,” Neville clarified. He didn’t want his needs to dominate the small room they shared on this, the first morning of their married life together. “I would like her ladyship to have some privacy this morning.”
Gerard nodded. “I will make the arrangements. Dressed as you are, might I suggest you descend by the servants’ stair?”
“Probably best.” Even redoubtable Lady Sarah would balk at his current state of undress.
He grabbed a clean shift for Millie from the neat stack of clothes, tucked it beneath his arm, and lifted the bucket. Then, he reentered the bedchamber.
She had not stirred, thank goodness.
He glanced between the washbasin, the stove and the bed. Should he pour out the extra water in the foot warmer first? Or tend to the coals?
He chose her comfort and slipped the footwarmer beneath the sheets before making his way to the grate. There, he followed Gerard’s instructions as quietly as he could.
Poker. Thin layer. Blue flame. More coal.
As heat came pouring out into the room, he’d outsized satisfaction that he’d managed such a simple, but functional, task.
“The maids are much quieter,” Millie spoke from the bed. “Then again, they have more experience, don’t they?”
“I am sorry for waking you.”
She smiled and his heart, too, glowed blue.
“You didn’t,” she answered. “My little toe touched an extraordinarily hot footwarmer.”
“The tin contains water instead of the usual sand and coal.” How inept he felt! “I should have left it above the covers. Are you hurt?”
“Not very.” She raised her brows over lazy eyes. “But I’d be obliged if you came back to bed and made me warmer still.”
He set aside the poker and crossed the room in three long strides. Then, he slid back between the covers and took his wife into his arms. Her skin was soft. Her body warm. A comforting sense of appreciation washed over him. Was she feeling the same?
“Are you sore?” He asked. “From last night, I mean.”
“Not as much as I expected to be. I expected there’d be blood.”
“I don’t think bleeding is as universal as believed, especially in ladies who have ridden astride.”
“Astride?” Her hair slid along his arm as she turned. “How do you know I’ve ridden astride?”
“Asquith told us.”
“Ah. Yes.” She chuckled. “You should know I only stole his clothes because Lenora wanted him stuck in that pond so that—”
“Please don’t tell me more,” he interrupted with a groan. “I’d a devil of a time getting the image of you out of my head—and that image was pleasant.”
She chuckled. “Well, I decided I might as well make use of his clothes while I had them. And I’d ridden astride before. Mr. Winter was of the belief I should learn in case…” Her voice faded.
“In case you needed to escape from your father,” he finished darkly.
She nodded. “I’m much more comfortable in a sidesaddle.”
He brushed her hair from her face. “I’m relieved.”
“I have done some outrageous things, I know. Eliza calls me the Clandestine Escape Scholar.” Pensive, she ran her gaze over his face. “All that is in the past. I won’t be an embarrassment to you, I promise.”
He kissed her head. “I am sorry I ever suggested you could be. And I promise I will not be the tyrant you feared.”
“No,” she said with a satisfied sigh. Then she laughed low and deepened her voice. “You’ll be the lover I never knew I needed.”
Lover sent a rush of blood toward his already plumped manhood. She turned in his arms. With a kiss and a shy smile, she initiated tender, sweet intimacies.
After, he lay quietly by her side, listening as she described a riding habit she was designing in her mind. He pictured something wine red, billowy, and with plenty of martial flair.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I think you’d turn every head on Rotton Row.”
She frowned. “But what do you think?”
“I think you stunning in and out of your clothes.”
“Neville!”
Quizzically, he studied his wife. “I’ve answered your question, haven’t I?”
She shook her head no. “I want to know if you’d like me to wear such a dress.”
“I want you to wear whatever you would like to wear.”
“I will, of course,” she said. But her lips turned down even further, suggesting this, too, had been the wrong answer.
He tried again. “Make sure the sleeves are fitted, add a touch of black to the collar and the waist for contrast, and you’ll have the most striking habit I’ve ever seen.”
A smile broke over her face, bright as sunshine. Then, he understood. The purple dress yesterday. The habit today. Both were an unspoken question wrapped in sartorial disguise—do you accept me as I am?
“That’s what I wished to know,” she added, confirming his suspicions. “I don’t care a whit for anyone’s opinion but yours.”
She might have knocked him upside his head for the ringing in his ears.
“Good to know,” he managed.
She’d invited him to bed, and she’d initiated lovemaking. Now, she’d solicited his opinion.
Progress.