by Edith Layton
“Whatever have you got there?” the baron asked quickly, snatching up his cape from out of his wardrobe and tossing it over his arm.
“It is, though it is horrible to contemplate, my lord, none other than Monsieur LeMay’s exquisite jacket. Though you would not know it now. I have washed it, I have ironed it, I have scented it with herbs, I have done all but beat it upon the rocks,” Makepiece said on a rising note of distress, “but it is unsalvageable. It is ruined, my lord. It reeks of the sea and less seemly things. Its fabric is dulled, its shape is forgotten. It is worth nothing now,” the valet said with something very much like a muted sob, as he dropped the parcel into the trash.
“Ah no,” the baron said quickly as he bent to retrieve the limp bundle. “It is worth a great deal to me, at least. Don’t toss it out, Makepiece. Rather, parcel it up well so it doesn’t make the place redolent of fish, and label it and store it in the attic somewhere.”
A blast against the windows that set the shutters to shuddering made the baron start and reminded him of the oncoming storm again. Suddenly he was all haste to be gone to rejoin his waiting wife. For they had decided to ride out to greet the storm, and race their horses with the winds until the rains came. But still he delayed a moment more. He stood holding the ruined jacket and thought of the festivities they would have after their wild ride, the warming, the comforting, and then the lying easily snug within their bed while the wind raged without. This stormy October night, he vowed, with a smile playing about his lips, would be the one she would remember long after details of the other had been forgotten.
Makepiece’s incredulous stare recalled him to the present and the baron tossed the bundle to his man.
“Yes. Wrap it and tag it,” he said merrily, “so that I can always have it as a reminder of a debt paid. With interest.” He laughed before he turned and left his wondering servant to do his bidding.
Then he made his way quickly downstairs, for the wind was rising and he had been absent from his bride for a full five minutes, and he could not let her feel neglected. Or even half so lonely as he did now, without her at his side.
