Elizabeth Mansfield (23 page)

“But if she takes
Thomas
in dislike—”

“She won’t,” Miss Townley insisted. “I’m willin’ to wager on it.”

“Very well, Thomas, I’ll take your advice. But that solves only one of our problems. I can’t begin to enumerate all the others. There’s your incompleted training, for one thing. For another, we haven’t even
begun
to discuss how you and I are to behave toward each other—”

“Yes, and there’s also the problem of where he’s to sleep,” Miss Townley added bluntly. “We can’t have him sleepin’ in the attic while Lady Ethelyn’s here. She’ll be bound to discover it.”

“And there’s something more,” Hicks said worriedly. “His second coat hasn’t yet arrived, nor his boots from Hoby’s. He can’t come down to breakfast tomorrow in his evening shoes.”

“I can wear the shoes I’ve used with my livery. They’ll do for a while. And the blue coat will do for tomorrow, won’t it?”

“Yes, of course it will,” Miss Townley said, nodding vigorously. “A little calm thinking is all we need to brush through.”

“Right,” the butler agreed, brightening. “I’ll send Daniel out first thing in the morning to prod Hoby about the boots. Now what about his sleeping quarters?”

Camilla, pacing about the room thoughtfully, was so concerned about the possibility of forgetting some important detail (as she’d done about the moustache) that the butler’s question failed to embarrass her. “With Ethelyn and Oswald occupying the two spare bedrooms, there isn’t even a place for him upstairs.”

“He ought to have a room adjoinin’ yours,” Miss Townley pointed out. “How about mine? I can have a bed set up in Miss Pippa’s room.”

It was an obvious and simple solution. “Of
course
,” Camilla said with a relieved smile, pleased that a knotty problem had been so easily solved. But immediately after the words had left her tongue, a wave of mortification flooded over her. Miss Townley’s room connected with hers through a door in her dressing room. Although it was inconceivable that Thomas would ever attempt to enter her bedroom that way (and besides, she could keep the door locked), the very thought of the
possibility
brought the color rushing up to her face. “That will do … er … nicely,” she added lamely, turning her blushing face to the fire.

Miss Townley scurried off to arrange for a bed, and Hicks, declaring his intention to move all Thomas’s things into his new quarters at once, followed the governess out. Camilla knew that it was up to her to deal with the largest remaining problem—how she and Thomas were to treat each other to give the appearance of a newlywed couple. She sank upon the sofa and looked up at him. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever been married, have you, Thomas?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

She twisted her fingers together uneasily. “It would be helpful if
one
of us was familiar with the disposition and bearing of newlyweds …”

He studied her curiously. “But
you’ve
been married—”

“Yes, of course.” Her eyes fell. “But it was a … a very long time ago.”

So
, he thought with a start, aware of a completely reprehensible feeling of satisfaction,
she wasn’t happy in her marriage
. No wonder she didn’t wish to be pushed into a second one. In wedlock, he suspected, even more than in other matters, once burned was twice shy. He looked down at her with a strong surge of sympathy. What suffering had her husband inflicted on her? he wondered. Sitting in the dim firelight, her eyes lowered shyly and her hands clenched in her lap like a frightened child’s, she looked more vulnerable to the storms of life than the lowliest housemaid on the staff. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt an urge to protect her from those storms, but tonight he felt it painfully.
He
could be a better husband to her than any nobleman he’d seen in her company (and evidently better than the one she’d had), but the conventions of society would never give him the chance to prove it. This game of pretense in which they were engaged was the closest approximation that life would ever offer him.

He sat down beside her, fighting the impulse to take one of her hands in his, “As to the disposition and bearing of newlyweds …” he began.

“Yes?” Her eyes flickered up to his face with a look of such hopefulness that it knotted his stomach.

“Their behavior shouldn’t be very difficult to simulate. They’d behave like lovers, wouldn’t they? Casting each other affectionate glances every now and again—”

“Yes,” Camilla nodded, “and secret little smiles—”

“And slight touches of the hands as they pass each other on the stairs—”

She gave a flustered laugh. “Yes, that sort of thing. I suppose it will be quite awkward for us to have to engage in such goings-on—”

“Not for me,” he grinned. “I shall not experience the least difficulty. And if it is difficult for you, an observer will only conclude that you are endowed with a most becoming modesty.”

“Thank you for saying that,” she murmured, getting to her feet and smiling down at him with greater warmth and relaxation than she’d been able to summon up since her sister-in-law had arrived. “You’ve been most helpful in this appalling muddle, Thomas—more than anyone could have had a right to expect. I am very grateful—”

He made a face at her as he rose. “Gratitude again! I wish to remind you, ma’am, that it’s an offering which I don’t prize.”

“Very well, I’ll try to leave it unsaid in the future. And now, I suppose, we may as well go up to bed. There isn’t much else to be accomplished tonight.”

They walked up the stairs in an uneasy silence. At the door to her room, they paused. “I suppose you know that the door to Miss Townley’s room is the one just beyond,” she whispered.

“Yes, I know.”

“Goodnight, then, Thomas. I hope you sleep well.”

But he didn’t respond. He was staring at her with an unnerving intensity—a speculative look which, in the dim light of the corridor, she couldn’t even begin to interpret. She blinked up at him questioningly, but before she could phrase an inquiry, she was pulled abruptly into his arms.

It had suddenly occurred to him that he’d almost kissed her twice before, yet each time he’d let the opportunity pass. Each time he’d hated himself for his vacillation. But now fate had provided him with an unprecedented third chance, and he was not going to miss it again. No vacillation nor hesitation this time. He tightened his arm about her waist, held her close and tilted her face up to his.

She stiffened in an involuntary, conditioned, immediate revulsion. “Desmond,
don’t
!” she whispered, her eyes terrified.

He looked down at her, his eyes and voice gentle. “I’m not Desmond,” he said and kissed her.

Slowly, firmly, with the mounting excitement caused by months of frustrated desire, he tightened his hold on her, his pulse racing. Not since the first time he’d thrilled to the effect of a wild wind on a schooner with fully expanded sails had he felt like this. Camilla, at first stiff and resistant in his arms, seemed slowly to melt in a sweet, heart-stopping submission, like a ship bending to the wind.
God, how I love her
, he thought exultantly.

At last he lifted his head, but he couldn’t bring himself to let her go completely. She swayed in his arms, her eyes closed. After a moment the lids flickered open, her expression startled, as if she didn’t know quite where she was. But almost immediately, she focused on his face and gasped. “Thomas! How
dare
you!”

He grinned and let her go. “Your Mr. Petersham is a fellow of rather warm affections,” he said, his voice not quite steady. “You may as well get used to him.”

He turned and proceeded down the hall with a step that was decidedly jaunty. She stared after him, openmouthed and breathless. When he reached his door, he looked back at her. “Goodnight,” he sang out in a voice loud enough to be heard the entire length of the corridor. “Goodnight, Camilla, my love.”

He disappeared into the room, leaving Camilla in a whirl of confusion. Was he being insolent or merely playing his role? Or was there, in his vexatious, troubling, utterly disturbing behavior, some other motive entirely?

It was immediately evident to Betsy, waiting for her mistress in the dressing room, that Miss Camilla was in a state. The lady’s lips were pressed together in agitation, her nerves seemed overwrought, and she answered all Betsy’s inquiries about the success of the evening with abstracted monosyllables. “Is anything wrong, my lady?” Betsy asked, bending clumsily to help Camilla take off her shoes.

Camilla, with an effort, forced herself to attend. “No, of course not,” she muttered, blinking herself into concentration. “What are you doing, bending down like that? Betsy, you mustn’t do such things! Your time is too close—”

Betsy smiled and pulled herself erect. “It’s nothin’, ma’am. I feel perfectly well.”

“Nevertheless, I don’t wish you to over-exert yourself. Besides, you should be in bed at this hour. I told you not to wait up for me past ten—ever!”

“But ma’am, who’d be here t’ undo yer buttons?”

“I can undo my own buttons, thank you. Go to bed at once, woman. I shall manage without you.”

The maid went reluctantly to the door. “I laid out yer night-dress, ma’am, and—”

“Good
night
, Betsy,” Camilla said pointedly.

“Well, if ye’re sure there’s nothin’—”

“I’m sure.”

Betsy, opening the door, threw Camilla a last, worried look. “G’night, then, Miss Camilla. I hope ye sleep well.” With a troubled shake of her head, she closed the door behind her.

Camilla stripped off her gown and slipped into her nightdress without being aware of what she was doing. The scene in the corridor had shattered the last of her self-possession, and she felt frightened and confused. She crept into bed and drew up the covers to her neck, but she found herself shivering all the same. Thomas had shaken her to the core.

The truth was that she’d never, in all her life, been kissed in such a way. The kiss had profoundly disturbed her. Her husband’s kisses had been cold, astringent things, calculatedly indulged in and hastily dispensed with, like small hurdles he’d had to step over on his way to his goal. She had never been stirred by them. But Thomas’s kiss had been fraught with emotion. She’d felt the tremors in his arms, the pounding of his heart, the stoppage of his breathing. The kiss had been no small thing to him. Despite his taunting insolence after he’d let her go, he’d been deeply moved. That understanding moved her deeply, too.

But what did it mean? That he loved her? Perhaps he did, but such a love could only bring him pain. She was sorry for him. But even more disturbing to contemplate was her
own
reaction to the embrace. She should have been horrified, as any lady would be, at such an unthinkable liberty taken by a servant. Yet she’d felt … what? Not horror at all. Oh, at first she’d been seized with a sort of habitual terror, not because her servant was taking liberties but because for a moment she was reminded of Desmond. But after that brief panic, she’d found her fear dissipating into the most astounding and blissful lassitude. Desmond had been threatening, but Thomas had made her feel, somehow,
safe
. She’d
let herself relax against him, her blood tingling with the most delightful sensations. It had been a dizzying, rapturous awakening of feelings she hadn’t known existed inside her. She’d felt positively regretful when he’d let her go.

She lay awake, staring into the glowing embers in the fireplace, trying to understand what had happened to her. She couldn’t be in love with her footman—that was unthinkable! Besides, she’d surmised when she lived with Desmond that she was probably incapable of loving a man. Then how was she to explain to herself this strange stirring of the blood? She was either a too-easily-unbalanced fool or an amoral sensualist, she supposed, and neither one of these designations was particularly pleasant to contemplate.

But if she
were
capable of that sort of love—if she were ever to consider remarriage—she had the disturbing perception that Thomas, her footman, would be nearer an embodiment of her ideal of a lover than any of the gentlemen she was likely to meet. That perception was both thrilling and depressing—thrilling because she was, perhaps, capable of love after all; and depressing because, if true, she would be as subject to pain as he was likely to be. After all, what future could there be for them?

***

With all these upsetting questions still swirling about in her head, she entered the breakfast room the next morning tired, heavy-eyed and cross. Her mood was not abated by finding that everyone had come down before her; Ada had evidently finished earlier, but Pippa, Ethelyn, Oswald and Thomas were all smiling up at her from their places at the table. She gave them a feeble greeting, took her place and lowered her eyes to her plate. Like an ostrich, she hoped that by avoiding the eyes of the others in the room she would make herself invisible.

She was in no condition to face up to the nerve-wracking challenges which the day would surely bring. It had been a terrible night and had left her with a number of unanswered questions, dismaying possibilities and a headache. She tried to ignore the sound of the voices eddying around her by concentrating on sipping her tea. But Thomas and Ethelyn seemed to be engaged in some sort of debate, and she surreptitiously lifted her eyes and looked over her cup to discover what was going on.

The faces were all quite cheerful. Ethelyn had apparently slept well, for she was smiling pleasantly at Thomas even though disagreeing with him. “But you must admit,” she was saying, “that the draperies in this room, being made of that diaphanous material, are much too frivolous to be considered in good taste.”

“I am no arbiter of taste, ma’am,” Thomas responded, “but I find them most pleasing to the eye, besides permitting the light to filter in quite cheerfully. If you’re saying that the choice of fabric is unconventional, I shall take your word for it, of course. But I’m not put off by unconventionality. Are you?”

“Well, I … I …” Ethelyn was at a sudden loss. She was, in reality, very uncomfortable with unconventionality, but she didn’t like to admit it.