Ridiculous

by D. L. Carter

  “You have had a London season?” asked Millicent in her softest voice.

  The answer was the barest nod.

  “And it did not go well?”

  An even smaller shake was her answer.

  “Whatever is wrong with London?” demanded Millicent.

  Lady Beth gave a tiny giggle, but did not answer. Millicent was about to question further, but a touch on her sleeve stopped her. She glanced over to the man beside her and saw him shake his head. Millicent nodded and sat back trying to ignore the discomfort of her soaked and chilled clothing. Obviously, the London season was a forbidden subject.

  So be it, for now.

  Chapter Three

  Their arrival at Mr. Prichart's home was exactly as that worthy man had warned. No sooner did Millicent, Shoffer, Lady Beth, and Mrs. Fleming cross the threshold than Mrs. Prichart collapsed on the staircase leading to the upper house weeping and wailing that the whole world would know about her failed housekeeping. She was not prepared for the arrival of four guests instead of one; therefore, she had failed as a wife, a mother, and a hostess.

  Millicent was shocked by the clamor the woman produced and wished she could take herself far from this embarrassing scene. Mr. Prichart, his hat caught in both hands, knelt at his wife's side begging her to calm herself and tend to their guests. For a moment, remembering how Felicity disliked surprises and how distressed her poor mother became when there was a disturbance to her housekeeping, Millicent felt some pity for Mrs. Prichart. But then she saw the woman's eyes scanning her audience, gauging their reactions to her performance. Those were not the eyes of a distressed woman, but a manipulative old fox. Millicent, with chill water making her clothing cling to her skin and her woolen trews chaffing her thighs found no patience with this production.

  “Mrs. Prichart,” began Millicent. “Surely you are not saying that you should have foreseen unexpected guests being blown in by a storm.”

  “Oh! Oh! Oh!” cried the lady, mighty bosom heaving as maids ran around for handkerchiefs and hartshorn, the housekeeper stood wringing her apron and the cook stood watching from the servant’s staircase. “What is to be done?”

  It was clear to Millicent in a moment that Mrs. Prichart's moods, high or low, ruled this household and nothing would or could be done except at her will.

  Pushing past the frozen servants, Millicent took Mrs. Prichart by the hand, hauled her to feet, and hustled the woman into the front parlor. When Mr. Prichart moved to follow Millicent seized the door and pulled it half shut.

  “Please, Mr. Prichart. I feel it is my duty as the person who has brought this chaos to your door to attempt to calm your wife. Please see to the comfort of my friends.”

  And with that Millicent shut the door and crossed to where Mrs. Prichart lay slumped on the sofa, her cries increasing in volume when she saw the door was shut.

  Millicent sat on the footstool and took one of the large woman's hands in hers, patting it gently to gain her attention.

  “Mrs. Prichart,” said Millicent, “I know your type. I have seen it before. You learned early in your marriage that if you wept your husband would do anything to calm you.”

  Millicent frowned. The woman's eyes narrowed showing she was attending to every word despite her noise.

  “Now,” continued Millicent, “I am not your husband. I am, however, his landlord. Mr. Prichart has summoned me to show me the reasons he should not have his proper rents levied. Under these circumstances, if I do not like his excuses I am fully entitled to turn him and all his family out to make way for someone who will pay the rent.”

  Mrs. Prichart’s cries ceased in an instant. Millicent continued in an even softer voice.

  “I do not like loud noises, Mrs. Prichart. I do not like them at all. If you make a sound louder than a mouse’s whisper in all the time I'm here, then I will turn your family out. Do we understand each other?”

  The woman opened her mouth, but thought better of it and nodded instead.

  “Excellent. Now, you are going to go out there and escort Lady Elizabeth and her chaperone up to the room you set aside for me. Mr. Shoffer and I will use this parlor and you will permit the housekeeper and cook to use their best judgment to take care of our servants. Now, get up and do your duty for your household, family, and husband. And Mrs. Prichart? No word of this to your husband. That would not be wise.”

  Mrs. Prichart leapt to her feet and fled the room. Millicent remained where she was. She did not hear the orders given so soft a voice did Mrs. Prichart use, but within a few minutes she heard many footfalls hurrying through the house.

  Mr. Prichart, hat still in hand and with Mr. Shoffer on his heels, wandered into the parlor looking back over his shoulder appearing slightly awed.

  “You are a miracle worker, that you are, Mr. North. I have never seen anyone calm m’wife so fast. I hope you will teach me your secret.”

  “It's a gift I regret I cannot share with you,” murmured Millicent with a wry grin. “I wonder if you might have some towels or blankets fetched as I have no wish to drip mud over your carpets. And my green valise from the carriage. It has my shaving kit and a set of dry clothing. Everything else can wait until the weather is better.”

  “Oh, yes. And for you, Mr. Shoffer?”

  Shoffer described his own small trunk.

  “I will have it brought in right away,” Mr. Prichart assured them. “And you will be wanting some brandy, too, I will be bound.”

  “Tea for me,” said Millicent.

  “Myself as well,” said Shoffer.

  Mr. Prichart bowed himself out of the room.

  Millicent sat back on the footstool and started working to remove her soaked boots. The parlor was narrow and wide, with furniture of different styles, ages, and conditions crowding it. Despite the variety of furniture, it contained nothing big enough for her to hide behind. She had just put herself into the strangest of situations. She had been pretending to be a gentleman long enough that deferring to a lady's need was now automatic. But that left her having to share a sleeping chamber with a man, to have to remove her clothing in the presence of a real man! Now that she could think Millicent cursed herself for not suggesting she should have one parlor while Shoffer the other – although that might have increased the inconvenience to the family; it was better that she had not.

  Felicity was right. She was risking being revealed as a fraud – worse, a thief – at any moment with her bold behavior. While she sat, one ruined boot in her hands, a boy who looked so like Mr. Prichart with his broad, weathered face, and gap-toothed grin that he could only be a son, ran in with blankets and towels in both arms followed by a taller son with the requested valise and trunk.

  “Ma says as how she will send in some hot water for washing as soon as the ladies are settled upstairs,” cried the younger boy before fleeing the room.

  Millicent stood in the middle of the room, her hand on her soaking cravat and wondering what to do next even as her face warmed with a blush. Did gentlemen ask each other to turn their backs when they undressed? Or could she ask for a dressing screen to be brought in?

  She remembered a tale her father used to tell about a time when he was tutor to a rather well-to-do family where the boys of the family had gone swimming in a river together, naked. She considered turning her back and hoping Shoffer would not notice or comment on the cravats around her chest when she heard Shoffer go to the door to call the young boys back into the room.

  “Tell me, lad,” he said. “Does this house have a withdrawing room, or do you have commodes about the place?”

  “No commodes,” was the reply. “We have an outhouse just out past the kitchen garden. Just follow the stone path.”

  Shoffer groaned and the boys giggled. When Shoffer left the room, Millicent let out the breath she had been holding and rushed to wedge a chair under the doorknob. Once done she stripped naked faster than she had done in all her life, and had fresh clothing on and a new cravat hiding her throat before the n
ext knock on the door.

  By the time Shoffer returned from the outhouse, the chair was back in its place, Millicent was dry, her hair combed and she was settled on a couch sipping tea and flipping through a book on farming she had discovered on a shelf.

  “Tea, for the love of God,” cried Shoffer, ripping the cravat from his throat and dropping it in a sloppy pile at his feet. “I am frozen half to death.”

  He loosened the top few buttons before pulling his shirt over his head and adding it to the pile on the floor. He bent over to pick up a dry blanket which pulled his breeches tight across his buttocks. Millicent stood and turned her back to the sight, a blush flooding her face and busied herself at the tea tray.

  “Cream, no sugar,” added Shoffer.

  “To drink or to wear?” shot back Millicent, glad her tongue had finally separated from the roof of her mouth where it had lodged at the sight of a man's solid, hair-sprinkled chest.

  When she had undressed the dead Mr. North she had kept her eyes closed most of the time. What glimpses she had taken of his form had been disappointing since Mr. North was a narrow-chested, wasted individual who had taken no exercise, not even horseriding, due to his poor eyes. It occurred to her as she concentrated on stirring her tea that this was a good opportunity to discover what a healthy male’s body looked like. There might be some part of her disguise that could improve with that knowledge. Drawing a deep breath she flashed a glance toward the half-dressed gentleman.

  Mr. Shoffer's body was appropriately impressive to carry around his brilliant smile and fine eyes. His shoulders were wide and well muscled, as were his arms. A testament, she supposed, to years of riding and curricle driving. His abdomen was hard and rippled with muscle and the vee of dark hair that marked his chest narrowed to a line that descended down to his trousers. For a moment her fingers itched to follow that line and explore his body. To discover the mysteries the falls of his trousers concealed. Shocked at the path her thoughts followed, she forced her gaze away and concentrated on the tea pot.

  “Dear God, you are a silly rattle,” said Shoffer, rubbing his hair briskly. “But, you have a point. At this moment I'd pay a hundred pounds to sink into a tub of warm tea to my chin.”

  “I expect the house does contain a bathtub,” said Millicent.

  “It does. I have just seen it being carried up to my sister's room.”

  “Ah, well,” sighed Millicent, wishing for that long ago time when she had quarreled with her sisters as to who would be first to take a bath – and won. “A gentleman waits upon the comforts of a lady.”

  “Exactly so,” said Shoffer coming bare-chested to sit beside the fireplace – full square in front of her – to towel his hair dry. “Speaking of my sister…”

  “You need not fear, sir,” interrupted Millicent, turning her gaze away from his nakedness. On the other side of the room he had been much easier to take. This close, her insides turned to melted wax and her brain insisted removing her own clothing was the only appropriate response. “I only teased her to distract her from the accident. I know my place and will maintain the proper distance in future. I am not so ignorant that I cannot tell that Mister Shoffer could not be your only title.”

  “You are correct,” said Shoffer, with a smile that showed the damned man possessed a dimple in his cheek! How was she to maintain her composure? “Shoffer is the name used by my intimates. I am, in fact, Timothy Shoffer, the Duke of Trolenfield.”

  “I beg you, Your Grace,” cried Millicent. “Do not tell Mrs. Prichart.”

  Shoffer laughed. “I do understand you, but then, perhaps you should not call me ‘Your Grace.’”

  “My lord, perhaps. I'm certain you have some minor title that would be less intimidating. Sir? Vicar? Indian Chief?”

  “You are the least encroaching gentleman I have ever met,” Shoffer dropped his towel on his lap and turned to face Millicent.

  She kept her eyes firmly locked on his and refused to glance downward at the carved torso or the broad column of his throat.

  “Indeed,” continued Shoffer. “I am amazed at your calm. There is no bowing or scraping in your manner at all. Were I the King indeed, I believe you would be little changed, oh, Master Cat. You have managed a disaster on the road, my servants, your tenants, and my sister with such alacrity and humor I cannot be less than impressed.”

  And if he had known I was a woman, thought Millicent, he would have dismissed my orders, ignored my aid, and banished me to the corner to get on with fainting and weeping as is appropriate to my gender.

  “Perhaps I should hire myself out?” Millicent wondered aloud. “I would, if I could but think of a name for the service.”

  “Court Jester?”

  They both laughed.

  Shoffer resumed drying his hair and chest. For a moment Millicent wondered what it would be like to be the one moving the towel across that skin, or better yet, having him dry her. She blinked realizing she had missed some comment by the duke.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said, I would like you to give Elizabeth, or Beth, rather, since she seems to approve of the diminutive, conversation lessons.”

  Millicent stared at him for a long moment, then realized her jaw was dropped open and shut her mouth with a snap.

  “I'm sorry; I do not have the pleasure of understanding you. I cannot think of anything a duke's sister could learn from me.”

  Shoffer crossed the room to drag a fresh shirt out of his case. He grimaced at the creases, but pulled the thing on to Millicent's mixed grief and relief and buttoned it up.

  “My sister told you that she had an unhappy season this last winter in London. Indeed, that conversation in your carriage is the most words I have heard from her in all my life.”

  “She seemed chatty. Well, not chatty, but she responded quite well to my conversational gambits.”

  “She did with you. But last winter she stood so quietly beside my grandmother, so unresponsive, that it began to be bruited about that she possessed no wits at all! My sister, an idiot! It is not to be borne!”

  “I cannot believe it. She is a little shy, I admit, but with a little encouragement I am certain she was charming.”

  “No, North, you do not understand. She said nothing! Made no movement unless ordered. Did not meet the eye of any of her suitors. Stared at the floor from arrival to departure. A stiff wooden doll has more life than she. I admit I became quite frightened for her. My grandmother, when I asked her, could not give a reason for the odd behavior. When I called upon them for morning visits Beth gave me quite the same treatment. Her reticence gave me concern and I would know the reason for it and have it corrected before next season.”

  “Is she still grieving for her parents?”

  “I hardly know, since she does not answer my questions. Besides, they have been dead for many years. That can hardly be the explanation.”

  “How very odd,” said Millicent, running her hand through her hair and pulling the strands forward. It was getting long and shaggy again. She should have cut it before she left Bath. Long hair might give her away to an observant person. She must exercise more care!

  “That is a dreadful haircut, by the way,” said Shoffer. “When we catch up with my valet, I shall have him do a better job.”

  “I thank you, no; I permit only one person to cut it,” said Millicent frowning. “Your sister seems everything charming and quite bright. Only think of that story she told about the horse and the cat.”

  “You are the only one to think so. And I must admit, despite my many efforts I have never been able to draw her out as effectively as you. That is why I ask, since we will be here a few days at least waiting for the roads to dry, that you would talk with her. Teach her conversation. For a woman to be a chatterbox is more acceptable than one who is completely silent. Men like a woman to listen once in a while, but this is ridiculous.”

  With that comment the duke rose and pulled down his mud splattered trousers. Millicent averted her e
yes lest the sight of his thighs clad only in damp smallclothes strike her blind or witless. Then she realized that he had discarded his smallclothes as well and was as naked as the day he was born!

  She winced and bit her lip lest a moan escape.

  By the gods – thank goodness men could swear; nothing less than profanity could relieve her agitation – he was perfect. Not for him withered buttocks and hocks. Smooth firm globes of flesh, a perfect peach paraded before her. Millicent set down her cup with a rattle and clutched at her constricting neckcloth as Shoffer walked across the room and bent over his valise.

  When he lifted fresh clothing out and turned toward her, his masculine parts came into view directly at a level she could not ignore. Her years of study of ancient Greek and Roman statues were not enough to prepare her for the sight. God had not seen fit to provide the Duke of Trolenfield with a natural fig leaf. Indeed, such a leaf would not have been enough.

  His member fortunately was at rest, nestling in a small mass of dark curls. She gulped and looked away. At least now she had an idea of why gentlemen occasionally seemed to have some mass behind the falls of their trousers. She wondered briefly if having such a thing made walking uncomfortable. Shoffer turned and bent again as he put one foot then another into buff inexpressables. When his private places were covered Millicent could finally draw air into her lungs and reach for her tea cup with trembling hands. Keeping her face turned from Shoffer, she could only pray that the disorder of her thoughts was not visible on her face.

  Standing up and moving away, she decided, would be too obvious. Gentlemen of Shoffer’s rank were accustomed to undressing before their valets. Instead she concentrated on sipping tea until the man was clothed again. When the torture was over she shot to her feet.

  “I must see those boys about the withdrawing room,” she said and ran from the room.

  The withdrawing room, she was reminded by the housekeeper, was a privy, which turned out to be a chilly hut standing alone and proud, buffeted by wind and rain at the end of a stone path. Millicent shivered at the thought of using such a thing in midwinter. Indeed, it was moderately horrible to use it during a cold spring rainstorm, but the chill air and odiferous hut was enough to calm her agitation. By the time she was back in the warm house, she was calm and under control – but determined not to go back to the parlor until she could not avoid it. As she walked back through the corridors she saw two maids descending the steps carrying covered chamber pots. Yet another example, Millicent thought, of the advantages of being female.