Midnight Bride (40 page)

"Mrs. Finch, before I give any kind of order, I need to know more about the Hall, your routine, the things the earl likes or does not like. From what I have seen so far, I admire your efficiency."

"Thank you, my lady." The older woman beamed with pride, savoring the words to share them with the other servants. "I try. Where would you like to begin?"

"Where would we be least disruptive of your morning routine?" The question earned her another mark of approval.

"Since everyone has been served, I believe the kitchens. I suggested that the chef prepare something light for luncheon. His plans for the dinner party are quite elaborate. Would you care to inspect the menus?"

"I am certain, Mrs. Finch, that they are satisfactory. But perhaps we can discuss them with the chef." Elizabeth said the housekeeper's name to herself again as she followed her down the stairs. By the time they had completed their tour of the Hall, Elizabeth knew the housekeeper's name, but she had no idea of anyone else's but the chef's. Like her stepmother's chef, he was called Jacques. Mrs. Finch had told her after their interview with him had concluded, "I am certain his name was originally Jack, but with all the rage for French chefs today, what is a poor Englishman to do? That war with Napoleon has disturbed people's minds."

Elizabeth had nodded solemnly, holding back a laugh. She was not laughing as she picked at the meal on her luncheon tray. The gentlemen had decided to inspect one of the farther farms, choosing to stop for lunch at the local inn. As soon as her mistress had finished, Miller took the tray away. She watched Elizabeth rub her neck for a moment and then stood behind her, her hands massaging the tight muscles of her mistress's neck. "Rest for a while. The maid assigned to our room said that the dinner party was being planned for forty. You will need to be fresh."

"Yes." Elizabeth sighed. "Forty new names," she moaned.

"Rest.
And when you are ready to get up, I will have a bath waiting for you."

Elizabeth nodded. She climbed up into her bed, sinking into the cool white sheets redolent with lavender. "Miller, are they treating you well?" she asked drowsily.

"Very well."

Elizabeth drifted off into a sound sleep, waking hours later. She stretched and rolled on her side, taking in the preparations Miller had made. A large copper tub rested on the hearth. Heaps of towels stood nearby. "A bath," Elizabeth said smiling. She stretched lazily and was trying to decide if it was time to rise when Miller walked in, a gold silk gown on her arm. Quickly placing the freshly pressed dress where it would be safe, Miller rang for the hot water.

Before long, Elizabeth was ensconced in a tub filled with water exactly the right temperature and scented with her favorite sandalwood and roses. She lay back and let the tensions ease away from her. She was
lying
there, her eyes closed when Dunstan entered from his rooms. Waving Miller away, he picked up the sponge she had been using and ran it lightly down Elizabeth's shoulders. "You have already washed my back, Miller. I will do the rest myself," she said quietly, her eyes still closed.

"Does that mean you won't let me help?" her husband asked, running the sponge over her breasts.

"Dunstan, when did you return?" As though she were accustomed to receiving men as she bathed, Elizabeth smiled. She reached out and caressed his cheek.

"Not soon enough. To think that I missed any of this sight," he said as he bent and kissed her.

"You are going to get wet," she said breathlessly when he raised his head.

"A problem with an easy solution."
His boots and jacket already off, Dunstan stripped his shirt off in one easy motion. His buckskins quickly
fol-
lowed. "Have you any other objections, my lady?" he asked as he stood beside the tub.

"Not one," Elizabeth said, holding up her arms. In a moment he was holding her wet body close to his, his mouth plundering hers.

That interlude was all that kept Elizabeth going that evening. As she had known it would be, the evening was an ordeal. She smiled and greeted people, the whole neighborhood it seemed, realizing that the next time she met them she would not be able to call them by name. Only one new person remained vividly in her mind, angelic, blonde, laughing,
Cecile
Westin.

"Cecile!"
her
husband had said, delighted. "When did they start letting you come to adult parties?"

"When I convinced them that I needed to be presented next Season.
Thanks to your marriage, Robert, I will be going to London."

"My marriage?"
Just then the next person arrived.
Cecile
Westin moved on, her large blue eyes twinkling mischievously.

"I thought you did not like her," Elizabeth whispered to Dunstan as she waited for the next person to reach her.

"Nonsense.
I just did not want her for a wife. Can you imagine what kind of marriage we would have had? I would have had to dandle her on my knee. But she is a sweet thing. The Westins are our closest neighbors. You will enjoy getting to know
Cecile."

Elizabeth smiled, gritting her teeth. Her imagination was only too vivid. And while Dunstan might think of
Cecile
as too young for marriage,
Cecile
did not. Elizabeth had seen those looks in other girls' eyes before.

Finally the evening was over. As the guests departed, promising invitations to a variety of events,

Elizabeth and Dunstan
smiled and accepted their best wishes, promising their attendance. Right before they went up to bed, the earl said, "Went well. Think you impressed them, Elizabeth."

"They may not be so impressed next time," she mumbled under her breath.

"What do you mean?" The words meant only for
herself
had caught the earl's attention.

"Elizabeth has trouble remembering people's names, Grandfather. She is worried that she will embarrass you," Dunstan said, smiling down at his wife.

"Should think it might.
Have to put my mind to the problem. Is it only the gentry, Elizabeth, or everyone?"

"Everyone," she said with a sigh. "I called Lady Jersey Lady
Arundson
once. It was at a luncheon. My mama, Lady
Ramsburg
, almost fainted. Fortunately, Lady Jersey laughed. My secret was no problem in Brighton. People thought it amusing."

"Hmmm.
Then mustn't be a secret here.
Will spread the word.
Wouldn't want anyone embarrassed." Thoughtfully, the earl walked up the stairs.

For a few days no one mentioned anything about her failure at remembering people's names. In fact, Elizabeth thought the earl had forgotten. Then one morning she walked into the breakfast room. The footman bowed. She nodded. Sinking into her chair, she waited until he brought her
her
tea. Then she noticed. There on the pocket of his jacket a name was embroidered. "Harris?" she asked. "Is that your name?"

"Yes, my lady." He poured her tea and stepped back. "Is there anything else?"

"No. Yes. Where did you get that?" She pointed to the new jacket he wore proudly.

"The earl had new jackets made for us, my lady. All of us have one. We are to keep them, too, even after you have learned our names," he said proudly.

"Thank you, Harris," she said, dismissing him. For the rest of the morning she walked through the Hall, stopping servants and reading the names they wore on jackets or aprons. Only the chef and his assistants had something different.

"The earl, my lady, presented us with these instead," the chef explained, settling his toque
blanche
more firmly on his head. Then Elizabeth noticed that each hat had a name neatly stitched on it. "He ordered a full dozen each for us," the chef added.

"You are as thoughtful as your grandson, my lord," Elizabeth said to the earl when they met before luncheon. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

"Humph! Anyone would have done it," he said gruffly, but Elizabeth noted his cheeks redden and knew he was pleased.
"Never thought about the problem before.
Have you had it from childhood?" He held out his arm to her and led her into luncheon.

Summer gave way to autumn. The first round of dinner parties over, entertainment stopped for a time as the harvest began. Elizabeth found she was happier than she had ever been in her life. Few things marred her life, and one was
Cecile
Westin. The young seventeen-year-old rode about the countryside freely. And often when Dunstan returned from the fields, he would have her on his arm, laughing up at him. "Look what I have found, Elizabeth.
Cecile
was riding over to see you when she saw me instead. Is there enough for another person?" he would ask, knowing the chef was always prepared.

The earl smiled indulgently. Elizabeth too smiled and gritted her teeth. Those afternoons when
Cecile
appeared for luncheon, she stayed usually until right before teatime. "Tell me about London, Elizabeth," she would say pleadingly. "
Grandmama
has not taken part in the Season in so long, I am afraid I will do something wrong. Tell me about the patronesses and which
modiste
to use." Reluctantly Elizabeth would comply. After a time, however, she had to admit that she agreed because she hoped that
Cecile
would be a success. If she were, then surely she would not spend so much time with Dunstan. She also admitted to herself that the girl was charming.

In spite of the time he spent on the land with his grandfather or
Cecile,
Dunstan also found time to be with Elizabeth. One day the two of them explored the house, making notes for improvements they wanted to make. When they entered a large, open room filled with a large rocker, a small table and chairs, and a box of forgotten playthings, they looked at each other and smiled. They wandered through the suite, running hands over the hobby horse that waited there. When they reached the low bed draped in
holland
covers, they paused and pulled them off, looking at the polished wood and crisp sheets beneath.

Their eyes met. Dunstan closed the door and turned the key. They were in each other's arms, pulling at clothing frantically. They sank down to the low bed, not willing to let the other go for even a moment. As they lay there quietly sometime later, their clothes in disarray, Dunstan whispered, "Someday our children will sleep here." He ran his hand through her curls. "I hope they look like you."