Chapter Fifteen
Tha?s softly closed the door and walked back across the hallway to her room.
She had the oddest feeling in her chest.
She was... hurt.
Eden had yelled at her. When, very well, she’d invaded his room without knocking and caught him having a go at himself—but still. Eden, shouting.
Eden shouting even as he was coming, which apparently he did without her help, despite the fact that he was paying her for just that service. Was that a slight? Did he find her unattractive? Did he not want her, and was being polite about it?
The thought of it made her sad, and the sadness made her angry, because a patron should not have the power to make her feel so small.
And it didn’t help that the sun was burning her eyes and those damned cocks were still crowing their bloody heads off.
She took the nearest heavy object in hand—a Bible someone had left on top of the dresser—and hurled it out the window toward the henhouse. “Shut your beaks before I smash your heads,” she yelled down.
Not that they paid her words, or the Lord’s, any mind.
She heard Eden’s footsteps outside her door and wondered if he’d stop to scold her once again. She squinted at the door, just in case he opened it, but heard him going down the stairs.
She returned to bed and dug her eye mask from the sheets. She’d go back to sleep, as there was nothing else to do in this godforsaken place.
But the damned benighted birds kept up their squawking, and the light was still too bright despite the mask, and then someone was pounding at the door.
“Who is it?” she asked, even though she knew there was only one person it could be.
“Alastair,” Eden said.
She’d never called him by his given name, and he’d never invited her to. It was odd to hear him say it. So odd, it softened her a little, even if she didn’t feel like being soft on his account just now.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“May I come in?”
“If you must.”
The door cracked open, and he appeared, fully dressed for the day, carrying a tray of tea and milk.
“Hattie hasn’t come yet,” he said, “so there’s no breakfast. But I can make you something if you’re hungry.”
She nodded without smiling. “Leave it on the dressing table.”
He set it down and paused, like he was unsure whether to stay or go.
“Tha?s,” he said, “I’m sorry.”
Sorry? He was apologizing?
That was certainly a first.
She’d expected him to stay angry with her. To treat her like a misbehaving servant.
“I consider that act a very private one,” he said quietly. Gravely. “And I was embarrassed that you witnessed it. I’m still embarrassed.”
How frank. The men she dealt with weren’t usually so honest about how they felt. She could understand, feeling as he did, why he’d yelled at her.
He hadn’t been angry. He’d been ashamed.
“I understand,” she said. “I should have knocked.”
“Yes. I’d appreciate if you did so in the future.”
“But you know,” she said, “there’s nothing shameful about frigging yourself. Most everyone does it.”
“Be that as it may,” he said stiffly, “being caught doing it is an undesirable consequence of satisfying the urge.”
“Some people like being watched.”
He blushed. “I’ll leave them to their preference.”
“Here’s the question in my mind, milord,” she said. If he could be honest, nothing was stopping her from being that way too. “When you have these urges, why not use me for them? Isn’t that why I’m here?”
He clenched his jaw, looking unhappy. “You know that it is.”
They stared at each other for a moment, neither speaking, both frustrated.
“What are you scared of?” she asked.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “To be honest, Tha?s, I’m not quite sure.”
“Don’t you want me?”
His eyes widened. “Of course! It was you I was thinking of when I...”
She grinned at him. “Oh?”
He nodded solemnly. “Oh.”
“Well, how about this. If you don’t want me to touch you yet, let me watch you when you touch yourself. As a start.”
He shook his head so hard it was like to come right off his neck. “No,” he said. “Never.”
“You could watch me,” she offered.
His eyes nearly bulged out of his skull.
“Not possible,” he said. “The sight might drive me mad.”
“Isn’t that the aim?”
“The aim,” he said, “is to be a perfect husband. And making my wife perform such a thing for me would be—”
She knew his implication, and she didn’t like it.
“Treating her like a whore?” she interrupted.
He looked surprised. “I was going to say selfish.”
Oh. She felt a bit bad for snapping at him.
Still, his instincts were based on assumptions about what polite women liked. She needed to teach him not to assume.
“What if she enjoys it? You watching her?”
He cocked his head. “Do women enjoy that?”
“Some women do. Not every woman is the same.”
“Well, if she did, then, of course, I would, er...”
“You would, er, what?”
“Accommodate her,” he said, meeting her eye. “I would accommodate her.”
With that, he bowed his head politely and left the room before she could say more. Leaving her to plot how she might change her strategy for his lessons.
She should try to make him feel he was doing her a favor by learning what she ought to teach him. Let him think he was giving her pleasure, as a means of getting him to take his own.
She was thoroughly awake, despite the wretched early hour, and her tea had gone cold. She dressed in her new yellow sprigged dress—quite fresh and pretty she looked in it, even if it did not expose enough of her bosoms for her taste—and went down to the kitchen to see if Eden could be persuaded to make her a new pot.
But he wasn’t there.
Instead, a broad-faced young woman with pale blond hair and ruddy cheeks was standing over the washing tub, scrubbing something.
The woman turned around at the sound of the door opening and grinned.
“Why, you must be Miss Smith.”
Tha?s nodded, though she had nearly forgotten she was supposed to go by a false name. Bless that she hadn’t introduced herself first.
“And you must be Hattie,” Tha?s said. “I’ve been meaning to come down and meet you. When I’m on holiday I tend to catch up on my rest. No little ones to look after at the crack of dawn.”
Hattie smiled. “Nice, to sleep in. Though, I don’t know how you do it with those cocks a-crowing like they do.”
The roosters had quieted a bit, but they were still screeching at least once a minute.
“They’re terrible this morning,” Tha?s said. “I’m tempted to end their lives early.”
“Won’t have much in the way of eggs if you do,” Hattie said, gesturing at a basket she must have just collected.
“I might like sleep more than eggs.”
“Would you like some for breakfast, since you’ve made such a sacrifice to get them?”
Tha?s snorted. Hattie was a wit, it seemed.
“No, but I might like some of that honey cake with butter,” she said. “And a fresh pot of tea.”
Hattie nodded. “Shall I take it to you in the parlor?”
“No. I’ll wait. Nice to have a woman for company after no one to talk to but my brother all week. And Sophie, of course, the dressmaker. Do you know her?”
“Of course. I know everyone in town. It’s a small place, but it has its charms. Have you gone into the village yet?”
“No. I’m going to Sophie’s shop on Friday. I’m looking forward to it. I haven’t done much while I’ve been here, except resting and reading.”
She had not done any reading, of course. Heaven forfend. But she assumed Hattie would think this was a great treat for a holidaying governess.
“And walking, of course,” she added. “Lots of walking.”
“Beautiful scenery about these parts,” Hattie said. “Have you gone over to the Fellowes’ yet?”
Tha?s had no idea what this meant. “Pardon?”
“The Fellowes,” Hattie said. “Your neighbors just down the road.”
“Ah, of course. No, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting them.”
Nor did she have any intention to if it required tromping down the dusty lane. She did enough sneezing just staying inside the cottage.
“Oh, you should pay a visit,” Hattie said, slicing into the cake and smearing it with a generous helping of butter. “Their barn cat had kittens a few mornings ago. Precious, wee little things.”
“Awww! Perhaps I will.” She did love kittens. She loved baby anythings.
The kettle was boiling, and Hattie retrieved it from the grate and poured the water into a pretty flowered teapot. “Do you take milk?”
“Please.”
“Take your cake and have a seat in the parlor. I’ll bring your tea once it’s brewed.”
“Thank you,” Tha?s said, though she’d rather have stayed in the kitchen. She could see Hattie was busy and would likely want to get on with her work, but she was rather lonely, after days of playing patience and rifling through furniture brochures while Eden did his work in the study. In London she was always occupied and rarely alone. She walked miles a day seeing to her errands and shopping, visiting her friends, looking after her charity. Some days, she looked after Seraphina’s baby, which was always a treat.
More than ever, she wished for a baby of her own. Something about being in this little house made her broody, perfect as it was for a new couple with a baby.
She imagined sitting in the sunshine in the parlor, cooing at an infant. How the sweet baby smell of milk would mix with the scent of roses drifting through the windows.
But who would she be if she had such a life?
She couldn’t expect to be a harlot and a wife. And more to the truth of it, she wouldn’t want such an arrangement. She had a yen to be married to a man who loved her and wanted her for his alone.
But where to find such a man? She wasn’t ashamed of her lot in life, but she had no illusions about the way the world looked at a whore. They saw her as a dirtied thing. Immoral and unclean. You swived her. You didn’t care for her. You didn’t cherish her.
Even men who had no qualms about putting babies in their mistresses didn’t marry them. At most, they patted their bastards on the heads from time to time and paid for schooling.
That wasn’t what she wanted for her child.
She’d never had a family, and she wanted to give one to her baby. To herself.
Odds were it wouldn’t happen.
The whole thing made her sad.
Hattie brought in the tea and wished her a good day, as she was going back to town.
This left a glum stretch of empty hours ahead of her. She drank her tea in silence, staring out the window. The minutes ticked by slowly.
Eden emerged from the study and looked startled to see her.
“Good morning, again,” she said.
“Good morning. I would have thought you’d have gone back to sleep.”
“Not for lack of trying. Damn your cock.”
He blushed. “Cocks,” he corrected.
“Both.”
He walked past her toward the kitchen.
“Care for a game of cards?” she called after him.
“I’m sorry. I need to work.”
“All day?”
“All day.”
He came back in, carrying an apple. “If you’d like, I’ll join you for luncheon in a few hours,” he said.
She wrinkled her nose. A cold lunch was not exactly a treat in the best of circumstances, and especially not while one was still eating breakfast.
“How droll,” she said.
He shrugged. “Entirely your decision. For now, excuse me.”
He retreated to his study and shut the door.
She sighed. Her legs were beginning to vibrate with the effects of the tea. She had too much vim to sit around like this day after day, especially when she was used to being so quick on her feet.
She decided it was time to venture outside, hay fever be damned.
She was going to go look at the kittens.
She put on her boots, found a straw hat in the kitchen, and went off in the direction Hattie had pointed toward the Fellowes’.
It was a beautiful day, and the sun felt nice on her back, even if the road was still muddy from the rain a few days before. Her sneezing was unpleasant, but not as violent as it had been when she and Eden had walked through the field. It was better than sitting alone in the house.
In what she reckoned was about a mile, she came upon a cottage not unlike the one she shared with Eden. It must belong to the Fellowes, as there were no other houses in sight.
She went up the path through the garden and knocked on the door.
An older man answered; she’d guess he was in his sixties. He was Black with a bald head and a trim silver beard. Quite handsome, she thought.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “Are you Mr. Fellowes?”
“I am.”
“I’m Miss Smith. I’m on holiday at the cottage down the way, with my brother.”
He smiled. “Oh, yes. I heard there were visitors. How do you do?”
“Very well. Hattie Hart mentioned to me this morning that you had a litter of kittens. I hope I’m not imposing, but I was wondering if I might take a look.”
“Of course!” he said. “They’re in the barn. Tiny little creatures. I’ll show you.”
He stepped out into the sunshine. “Just this way.”
They walked together toward a barn to the side of the house, making companionable conversation. Mr. Fellowes was a retired tailor who’d moved out to the countryside after passing his shop in the village down to his son.
He led her past a milk cow, two horses, and a cart toward a hay bale in the corner. There, nestled in the straw, was a mama cat and six tiny babies barely bigger than mice. Several of them were nursing. A few were cuddled together, their eyes not even open yet.
Her heart went sweet and sticky as a pool of honey.
“May I touch them?” she asked, dropping to her knees on the dirt floor.
“Of course,” Mr. Fellowes said.
She picked up the largest kitten. He mewled ever so quietly as she pressed him into her neck. So warm and soft. She rubbed her cheek against his fur and murmured nonsense to him. She then put him back and proceeded to do the same to every kitten who wasn’t at its mother’s teat. They were so sweet and limp and lovely. She wanted to take them all back to Eden’s.
“So precious,” she said to Mr. Fellowes, who was watching her with a smile.
“They are. I’d offer you one, once it’s old enough to leave its mama. But you’re not staying long, is that right?”
“No,” she said sadly. “Just until the end of the month.” She resolved to get a kitten of her own as soon as she returned to London.
She bade farewell to Mr. Fellowes, who encouraged her to come back anytime she wanted, and set out down the road.
She was in a good mood, humming as she walked. Perhaps short walks in the country were tolerable, especially if she got to pass the time with nice old men and kittens.
She was just in sight of Eden’s cottage when she slid on a slick patch of muck and went barreling on her arse directly into a hedgerow.