Chapter Five
Tha?s awoke to the sound of birdsong. She removed her silk eye mask and squinted against the harsh, midday light that assaulted her eyes even through the filmy curtains. The small clock on the wall read half past noon. She groaned.
“Damn country sunshine,” she grumbled to herself.
She pulled the curtains aside and slid the window open. Fresh, meadowy air hit her like she’d inhaled smelling salts. She was so used to the close, humid, smoky smell of London that the absence of stench made her homesick.
Eden was in the garden fussing with a rosebush. It looked like he was—yes, he was—cutting off flowers. Was the man making a bouquet?
“Are you a florist now in addition to a maid?” she called.
He turned around and his eyes bulged at the sight of her.
“Tha?s!” he cried, squeezing his eyes so tightly closed his nose wrinkled. “You must dress.”
She looked down at her uncovered breasts and shrugged. “I sleep as God made me.”
“Yes, well, you’re awake now, and anyone could see you.”
“No one’s here but you, and you paid good money for the sight.”
“Close the curtains and get dressed,” he gritted out.
She sighed and stepped away from the window.
“Get dressed in bloody what?” she muttered, eyeing yesterday’s gown lying crumpled on the floor. She’d worn it for two days traveling, and the idea of putting it back on made her skin crawl.
Which was ridiculous. Plenty of people wore the same clothes for a week without complaint. She’d spent many years as one of them.
“Ain’t you the fine-kept lamb,” she said to her reflection. Her beautiful reflection. She made a kiss at herself in the mirror. A woman as fine as this deserved a clean gown, and that was that.
She pulled one of the gauzy dressing gowns she’d been allowed to keep out of the wardrobe and shrugged it on, sashing it tightly at the waist so that she resembled a figure eight. She fluffed her curls and pinched her cheeks. “There she is,” she said to herself, amused. “Eden’s nightmare come to life.” If the man wasn’t going to put her properly to work at anything more fun than peeling carrots, she’d entertain herself by attempting to shock the prude right out of him.
She sallied down the stairs. “Milord?” she called. He didn’t answer. A quick look around the house confirmed it was empty. She threw open the front door. He had migrated to a different corner of the garden, where he appeared to be pulling weeds out from around a bush with fluffy white flowers she didn’t know the name of. A basket of roses sat beside the door.
“Now he’s the gardener, is he?”
He looked behind his shoulder at her and let out a sigh.
“You’re trying to shock me, aren’t you?” he said.
She shook her head innocently. “Just came to say good morning.”
“Good afternoon,” he said, turning back to his weeds. “I’m amazed you slept through the roosters. They’re quite loud.”
“I’m frightful good at sleeping.”
“So it would seem. Now, please go inside and put something on. You’ve made your point. The seamstress is coming at four o’clock to measure you for a few new gowns.”
“Not going in until you’ve given me a nice, long look,” she said. He sighed and turned back around. His eyes dutifully scanned up and down her figure.
“Lovely,” he said. “Truly. Now, please cover up. Or at least go inside. Anyone could walk by.”
“No shame in a woman’s form,” she said. “And no one can see through those hedges.”
“Someone could amble up the drive. If I’m seen with a barely dressed woman and anyone discovers who I am, it will hurt my potential as an advantageous match. So please, honor our agreement and get dressed.”
“Very well, you old prune.”
She went back upstairs, put on a fresh shift, and donned her tired gown. Her stomach growled. She poked her head out of the window and called down to Eden, “I’m hungry.”
He looked up, and his face relaxed when he saw she was dressed. It was the wrong reaction. She would not leave this place until his face relaxed when he saw her in the nude.
“Hattie left fresh bread and cold ham in the kitchen.”
“Am I a plowman?”
“There’s also cheese and apples.”
She sighed loudly. In truth she didn’t mind munching on picnic fare, but nagging at him was fruitful: his frustration made him loosen up.
“I’ll make you something nice for supper,” he promised.
“You better, Your Lordship. When are you coming in? We need to get on with your lessons.”
“Eat. I’ll be in soon.”
She went down to the kitchen and found the promised luncheon on the table, arranged prettily on a tray. She cut herself a slice of bread and slathered it with butter. It went nicely with the salty ham.
Eden walked inside carrying the roses.
“Enjoying your luncheon?” he asked. He put the flowers down beside a basin of water and began to trim them with a knife.
“Are those for me?” she asked.
He smiled at her. “If you’ll accept them.”
“Right courtly of you.”
“I’m glad I can do something correctly when it comes to courtship.”
“You’re going to do much more than bring ladies bouquets of roses when I’m through with you,” she said. “Today, we’ll dance.”
He shook his head. “No need. I already know how to dance.”
“You may know the steps. But do you know how to make a promise with your body?”
He squinted. “What does that mean?”
“Dancing done right is like pledging to a lady that there’s more pleasure to come.”
He looked distinctly ill at ease about making such a pledge.
“We don’t have any music,” he pointed out.
“I’ll sing you a nice tune. Come. We’ll practice in the parlor, where there’s more room.”