“Frogs eat worms,” Addy volunteered with relish.
“No, they don’t. They eat the water weeds,” said the boy.
“Yes, they do so eat worms; I’ve seen them. Don’t they, Papa?”
This court of last appeal shook his head. “I don’t know what frogs eat, Addy. Maybe Miss Cole knows.” Thorpe looked up at her and the children followed his example.
Until that moment, Lillian had been hanging back, observing the others from the grassy bank above. “I believe they do eat weeds,” she said. The boy turned a glance of triumph on Addy. “Also, insects that float on top of the water, as well as any worms that happen to enjoy a bathe.” It sounded logical, anyway. Lillian had never imagined that the dietary habits of frogs would be the key issue of any conversation she took part in.
“A varied diet indeed,” Thorpe said. “What’s in the sack?”
“More frogs,” said the gamekeeper’s boy.
Her attention on the slightly pulsing bag, Lillian did not notice how slick the grass was at the edge of the bank until she stepped on it. Her foot slipped and the next she knew, she was looking up at Thorpe’s knees from the ground. Only the ground was mud. Thick mud, about the consistency of a good syllabub. A rich smell of ancient decay rose about her as she flopped about trying to get up. The children were laughing immoderately.
“You might offer me a hand,” she said to Thorpe.
Laughter strangled in his throat even as he tried to look shocked and sorry. Hastily, he held out his arm. Lillian reached for it, her hand slipping in his grasp, and there was a slow sucking sound as he hauled her upright.
She shook down her now heavy skirt to cover the calves exposed by her slide. The mud was cool, but she knew it would stick to the inside of her petticoat. How she wished she had brought a maid with her to the castle! She greatly feared she’d have to clean her dress herself.
The children now were silent. Lillian caught their eyes. “They do say a lady should dress to match her hostess. And then, I do believe mud is prodigiously good for the complexion.”
They were perhaps feeble jokes, and yet the children seemed to find them exquisitely funny. At least two of them did. The gamekeeper’s children threw themselves about in an excess of laughter. Addy, however, only continued to look at Lillian through narrowed eyes.
Lillian said to Thorpe, “I’m glad I haven’t eyes in the back of my head. Is the view very bad?” She turned her back to him and heard him choke. “As bad as that?”
“Miss Cole, I have not seen so fine a piece of bottom land in years.”
“What a pity we have no seed.” And then she recalled that in the Bible, seed had a double meaning. But her back was still to him, so he could not see how she blushed. Not, she imagined, that it would have been possible to see her face, anyway. Her hair hung down, and when she wiped back the strings, her hands left smears of brown glop all over her cheeks. “Well, a bath is in order, I think. I hate to track mud all the way to my room. Perhaps the gardeners could swill me down with buckets first.”
“Never mind,” Thorpe said. “The servants haven’t enough to do as it is.” He leapt lightly up the bank, balanced for a moment with windmilling arms, and fell down into the mire which received him with a cheerful gurgle.
“They do now,” Lillian said, for she could not help it. Laughter burst from her lips like champagne from a shaken bottle.
Thorpe propped himself up on one elbow. “You might offer me a hand.”
With Lillian pulling and the children pushing, they managed to get the master of Mottisbury Castle upright. He wriggled to look over his shoulder at the ruin of a favorite coat and breeches.
“What the well-dressed gentleman should be wearing. After all, if women wear jewels that were once common rocks, shouldn’t a man wear his most precious object next to the skin? And what is more important to an Englishman than his land?”
‘Thank you for giving me such a generous gift, then, Mr. Everard.” For a moment, their eyes met and Lillian had to struggle to keep their banter light. Perhaps it was safest to bring the children into it. With a wave that included them, she said, “And it’s a style the entire family can carry off.”
“Yes, love, aren’t you glad to know you are in the current mode?”
Lillian did not think Addy understood, although it was obvious that Thorpe was teasing. The child, therefore, grinned back at her father, increasing her similarity to him, and it came to Lillian than Addy adored him. She wondered whether Lady Genevieve exercised as much influence over the little girl as everyone seemed to think.
“I suppose,” she said, “that we should all go to the house and get clean.”
“Oh, no,” Addy cried gleefully. Without an instant’s hesitation, the little girl turned and plunged into the lake. A brown smoke of dissolving mud dissipated about her.
“What an excellent notion!” Thorpe said, and splashed in after her. “Come on, Frank, Gina. You, too, Miss Cole.”
With a cheer, the gamekeeper’s children followed. The water was not deep, coming scarcely to the tops of Thorpe’s thighs. He’d already caught Addy and was skimming her through the water, her waist securely in his hands.
Lillian looked at them enviously. She could not be so forgetful of her dignity to cavort in a lake with all her clothes on. The sun was hot on her shoulders and, as she moved them, she felt that the mud had stiffened into a solid clump. Looking up at the sculpted bank, she knew she could not climb up alone, not in skirts encumbered by mud, mud, and more mud. “Ah, the devil take it,” she murmured, certain no one could hear her.
She waded into the water, with a sigh for her shoes, ruined already by the mud. As she walked farther in, the pressure of the water formed the fabric to her thighs. At least, she was not wearing muslin which tended to become transparent when wet.
“Come along,” Thorpe said again, holding out his hand to her. She reached out and took it, but just then, the cavorting gamekeeper’s son careened into her. She dimly heard him apologize as she fell forward. Thorpe let go her hand, only to support her in his arms. “Do you trust me?” he said, his eyes laughing.
“Trust you?” His hands were strong around her body. The shifting lake bottom gave beneath her feet, so she must cling to him. His wet shirt beneath the open coat was fine lawn. She could see through it to the dark curls on his chest. He’d smoothed back his wet hair, and rivulets ran from the springy locks. She dared not let her eyes fall to his Inexpressibles, now molded to his firm thighs even more tightly than intended by the fashion.
“Yes, if you’ll only trust me, I’ll lower you backwards into the water to get clean. It’s not deep.”
“Don’t let go,” Lillian said, not sure if she meant that he shouldn’t let her fall into the water, or that he should not release her at all.
“I promise. Just let me get behind you.” The children watched from the shallows. Lillian was aware of their gaze but thought only of Thorpe. Yet even so, she jumped when he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Now just lean back. Relax. I won’t let you go.”
She fell back, guided by his strength. The water of the lake burbled in her ears, and through a swash of water she could see his smiling face. Then she was upright, incredibly wet and yet lighter. The water about them was brown, but a fresh current whisked the dirt away.
“There you are. Miss Cole, as good as new. Or will be, once you dry off. Am I presentable?”
“Oh, yes, entirely correct. If you were planning to dine with the Regent this evening, however.’..”
“You think I’d do better at Neptune’s Court? Well, if you’ll join me.” Though Lillian laughed with him, she quickly turned her eyes toward shore. It was too early to feel at ease with Thorpe Everard, so much so that standing in a freshening breeze in wet clothes seemed not only proper but even natural.
“You’re cold,” he said. It was not a question and looking down at her chest, Lillian could guess at the reason for his certainty. She crossed her arms, remembering that he�
�d been a married man.
“No, but I’m sure the children are. We’d better go back and get them into dry things.”
The five of them ran back along the winding path to the house, the children racing ahead, shrieking. Everyone stood streaming water onto the marble floor while Becksnaff stared in horror.
After a flurry of orders, Thorpe dismissed the man with, “And a roaring good fire in the library. Yes, man, I know it’s June. You can catch the grippe any time of year.” He turned to Lillian. “Run up and get changed. The maids will see to the children.” Indeed, a troupe of aproned women approached even as he spoke.
She had to walk along the main corridor to reach her new chamber, dribbling lamentably every step of the way. She tried to keep to the marble floor exposed either side of the broad red carpet, but it was difficult as a pedestal with a work of art or a tall porcelain vase interrupted her progress every few feet. The carpet became inundated despite her best efforts.
In the schoolroom, a maid awaited her, though hardly with polite deference. One hand on a generous hip, the other sought within the girl’s mouth, apparently groping for a misplaced scrap of food. Lillian cleared her throat and received such a slow stare that she almost felt in the wrong.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting a hot bath this evening,” the girl said at last, chewing thoughtfully on whatever she found.
“I had thought of it.” Lillian shivered. Something hot!
‘This room’s the hardest to bring water to. Second floor, at the back. Most like, I’ll be mopping up what spilt half the night. Not to mention all that water you brung in. And I get cricks something fierce.” The maid rubbed her arms, which looked both muscular and healthy.
“I appreciate your hard work. But as the children are having their baths, I’m sure two more cans won’t be very much trouble. Now if you’ll excuse me .. .” There was quite a strong draught coming through the open door behind her.
The smile the maid gave was definitely snaggle toothed. “Oh, you’ll never get Miss Addy in a bath. It’s not Saturday. Why, I seen her kick up such a fuss... and it were her ladyship giving it to her, too. Never knew a young one that was such a wriggler. Worser than an eel when she’s soaped.”
“No doubt. Are my clothes in that room through there?” The schoolroom, as was usual, was directly connected with the governess’s private room.
“I dunno,” said the maid. From investigating her teeth, she began to pick at her fingernails.
Lillian dripped her way across the dark wooden floor. Her fingers shook as she unbuttoned the front of her sagging poplin dress. ‘Take these things away, if you please, to be dried.”
The maid gone, Lillian hastened to remove every soaking stitch of clothing, in a very near panic to be warm. She snatched the thin summer coverlet from the bed and snuggled into it. Her hair still trailed water down her neck, but she cared not a whit. Rubbing vigorously, she tried to restore feeling to her goose-flesh mottled arms. Even as she did so, however, she searched the room for a good hiding place for her sapphire necklace, thankfully retrieved from beneath her shift.
As soon as she thought of it, she’d been afraid it had fallen out into the lake, never to be recovered. With the glittering length once more in her hand, Lillian resolved to hide it away for safety’s sake. Looking about her, however, every conceivable place seemed to have some objection attached to it.
The maids must turn the mattress sometimes. In her own home, she had them turned once a week. The same problem existed with the pillows. As appropriate to a governess’s room, imposing volumes of ancient sermons served as light literature. Surely no one in their right minds ever lifted out one of these massive tan and black books for perusal. But, then again, they might. At last, she hid her necklace in a huge spindle of white thread at the very bottom of a deep worktable. Obviously, someone expected the governess to help with the household sewing. White thread was so common, everyone must have their own, or so Lillian hoped.
Lillian now felt more secure, but she was also freezing. She vowed that the water when it came had better be hot, or she’d give that witless maid a dressing down such as the castle had never heard. She took back all her hard thoughts when the maid struggled in with the cans, followed by a burly footman with a bathtub and a third servant with a steaming glass on a tray.
“The master sent you up some negus, hot,” the maid said. “Set that down there and get out, Charles, me lad. Miss Cole ain’t dressed for visitors.”
When the young fellow had gone, the maid emptied the cans into the brass tub, sending up a plume of steam. Naked, Lillian eased into the water. Warm as it was, she was so cold that she could not in comfort plunge right in as she would have liked. But once the piping-hot elixir began to mingle with her interior, an immersion in fresh lava would have felt positively temperate!
“Housekeeper says that your clothes won’t be right for a day or two. You didn’t bring hardly nothing, so what must I lay out for you?”
“I never knew that governessing was so hard on one’s attire,” Lillian muttered as the maid opened the cupboard. Her traveling dress had been sponged but was still far from adequate. She had brought only two others, besides the unwearable poplin.
“I suppose it will have to be the muslin, though it is not right for evening.” It only occurred to her after she was dressed that the reason the traveling gown would not do is that Thorpe had already seen her in it.
The children were so clean Lillian hardly recognized them. They lay before the hearth, playing some game of cards and counters, with much giggling and argument. Plates with the crumbly remains of cakes and glasses with traces of milk spiraling down inside sat at their elbows. Addy’s pale hair had been brushed until it shone like a silver-gilt cloud. The boy, Frank, wore a baggy maroon velvet suit, while his sister had on faded sprigged damask of another age.
“Those were the only children’s clothes of the right size Becksnaff could find,” Thorpe said, taking notice of Lillian and the direction of her gaze. He stood up from the depths of a large-winged armchair and came over to her.
“Was the suit yours?”
“I regret to admit that it was. Only I had to wear it with a blonde lace collar and a pink satin sash, which I used for tying the dog. It seemed the proper use for it.”
“And the collar?” she asked, her heart warmed by the image of the mischievous boy he must have been.
“Oh, I believe I took it off once and lost it.” He looked particularly innocent, so much so that Lillian knew he’d lost the effeminate touch on purpose.
“Does Addy take after you when it comes to caring for her clothing? I wish to be forewarned.”
“Being a girl, she is naturally more careful. Can’t you tell?”
His little girl sat up and it became plain that the cake had not all gone into her mouth. To make all complete, dribbles of milk stained the muslin dress. Lillian turned away to hide a twitch of laughter. She did not wish to alienate the child further by leading her to believe she was being laughed at.
Instead, she looked at Thorpe. This evening, he wore a long quilted coat over his clothes. The fitted waist accentuated his broad shoulders, and she thought what a shame it was that fashion dictated monochrome shades for men’s attire. The shifting gleams of multicolored silk made him seem mysterious and foreign, playing up his dark complexion. There was a single strand of green amidst all the other colors, which brought out the depths of his eyes.
“I’ve another banyan for you,” he said, picking up and holding out a similar coat. Instead of many colors, it was peacock blue, giving off the soft glow of true Indian silk. It was exquisitely beautiful, and Lillian wanted very much to see herself in it, and to have him see her in it. For that dangerous reason, she refused it, saying that she was warm enough.
“Impossible! I still feel chilled to my bones. Come, wear it.” He put his head to one side in so charming a manner that she felt his wheedling was more to be feared than her acceptance.
The sl
eeves hung over her hands, and the skirt, which on him reached only his knees, fell almost to her ankles. No doubt any chill that lingered in her body simply gave up and died the instant she put it on. Yet she knew it was not the quilted coat so much as the look in Thorpe Everard’s eyes that sent heat pulsing through her veins. “It’s lovely,” she said.
“I have a friend who deals in Eastern objects. He sends me amusing things whenever a shipment comes in. Are you hungry?”
“Very. Thank you. And thank you for the negus you had them bring to my room. It was just what I required.”
“Have another glass then. I’ll ring for it.”
“No, thank you, Mr. Everard. One was quite sufficient for the purpose.”
“Then some cake. And you’ll not say no, thank you to a cup of tea, I know. Sit down by the fire. I’ll bring you some.”
“I can—” she began, but he held up a hand.
“Please, Miss Cole. Seat yourself.”
She was aware he studied her, even as he cut the cake on its pedestaled stand and poured her out tea into a cup of marvelous thinness and delicacy. Feeling slightly ridiculous already in the oversized banyan, Lillian began to be nervous. All the more so when he came closer.
After putting the plate and cup on a small table he placed by her knee, Thorpe dragged over a chair and sat beside her. Was this the prelude to possible seduction? Of course not, not with the children in the room. Lillian didn’t know if she were glad or sorry. Certainly, Thorpe had not seemed the sort to attempt such a thing with a servant. Trying to act nonchalant, she tasted the cake. It was flavored with orange and yet somehow a hint of cinnamon came through as well.
“Do you like it?”
Lillian swallowed. “Oh, yes, it’s very good. I can’t think when I’ve tasted anything quite like it.”
“Poor girl,” he murmured.
A Lady in Disguise Page 4
