by Lora Thomas
“Who is this Mr. Heath?” Elena asked, turning her gaze to the ceiling.
“We met him this morning, Elena,” Catrina reminded. “He was one of the gentlemen with Lord Huntsley.”
Elena pulled her attention away from the artwork and cocked her head to the right, drawing her brow together. “Was he the short one? Or the tall?”
“Tall, I think.” Catrina tapped her chin in thought. “Well, he was taller than Lord Huntsley but shorter than Lord Hawke.”
Elena lifted her shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “He does not ring a bell.”
“Of course, he wouldn’t. You were too infatuated with Lord Hawke,” Catrina mumbled.
“The caves are lovely,” Elena said, with little interest. “But I did not come here to spend my time in a dark, damp cavern. I came for the sea.”
“Then might I suggest the bathing machines,” James said.
“We do plan on partaking in that event,” Catrina answered with excitement.
“They begin taking the first ladies out early and stop by midafternoon. I suggest you make a reservation with one so that you can enjoy the water during the warmth of the day.”
“Why would anyone want to go sea bathing early?”
James shook his head. “I don’t rightly know, Miss Wilcox. The air is cold early. Perhaps it helps wake them up.”
“Sounds miserable,” Elena said. “If you are coming to the sea, why not enjoy it during the warmth of the day. Thank you for the suggestion, Mr. Thompson. Catrina and I will head back to the hotel and make our reservations immediately. I, for one, do not want to be cold.”
“Then let us be off,” Catrina said, looping her arm through Elena’s. “And reserve our place before someone else gets the ideal time. I think two would be splendid!”
Thomas righted his posture and left the five women upon the steps, Hawke and Artie right behind him. Thomas’s strides were long as he departed the hotel.
“Slow down, Huntsley,” Artie protested. “I like a bit of exercise myself, but this is ridiculous.”
Thomas stopped and turned to face his friends. He did not answer. Instead, he placed the black topper he held upon his head and adjusted it until it sat comfortably. Taking the walking stick, he tapped the ground.
“What has gotten into you, Huntsley?” Hawke asked.
Thomas scowled. “Nothing.”
“Something,” Arthur retorted.
A maddening grin came to Hawke. “It was Miss Wilcox, wasn’t it?”
“Wilcox?” Artie asked. “Any relation to Branson Wilcox?”
“His sister,” Thomas ground out.
Arthur tossed his head back and laughed. “How grand! Which one was she?”
“The brunette in the back who turned a lovely shade of crimson,” Hawke answered.
“She was a handsome woman. As was her companion.”
“I noticed that, as well.” A wicked grin came to Hawke.
“You have set your sights on that one, have you? I do say, I would have thought debs were not on your repertoire of women, Hawke,” Arthur said.
“They are not. But that one was intriguing.”
“You mean a conquest,” Thomas supplied.
“What?”
“You think since everyone here is on holiday that a tête-à-tête with an innocent deb will go unnoticed. But I will warn you her father is not a man to trifle with.”
“What do you know of Miss Paxsley’s father?” Hawke asked.
“His name is Douglas Paxsley. He is a banker and very protective of his daughters.”
“Have we had dealings with him before?”
Thomas shook his head. “I don’t think you have, but my father and I have. Father had an account for Miriam at one of Paxsley’s banks. I have an account there myself.”
“Interesting,” Artie said. “Wonder if he knows that your father set up that account for his mistress?”
“Why would he not? All of London knew of their relationship.”
“And yet, it did not tarnish her reputation enough to stop people from inviting her to every soiree and ball,” Artie said, rubbing his chin. “The ton are a fickle, vicious breed.”
“What does this have to do with Paxsley?” Hawke asked, looking between his two companions.
“Nothing,” Thomas said. “It is just Artie's way of trying to annoy both of us.”
“Paxsley?” Hawke asked again.
“He owns banks. Have you not been listening, man?” Arthur said, an irritating smile on his face.
“Shite, where is this fisticuff place you have?”
“Why?”
“I want to challenge you for a bout or two,” Hawke growled.
Artie shook his head and held up his hand. “No, no. I am not that foolish. But from the way Huntsley describes the man, Paxsley will challenge you if you cause his daughter to fall from grace. But if the two of you wish to pound on another human being, who am I to stand in the way? Follow me.”
The trio made their way to the gym. It resembled those in London with an unassuming outside; however, the wood was still new and not grayed from time. The inside consisted of bags of grain for practice and a ring in the back with chairs scattered around.”
Arthur pointed to the ring. “That is for practice. If you go through the doors in the back, that is where waged fights are held. It is a larger area and easier to clean up the blood.”
Thomas and Joshua removed their coats and hats, placing them on the outside of the ring. After the first bout, several spectators gathered to watch. They sparred for two more rounds before stopping. After the fight, the group made their way to a small restaurant and then left Eden for the community founded by Mr. Drysdale—Eros. The name suited the town. Eros was the Greek word for sexual love, and that was what was found in Eros. Taverns and brothels, each ranging in price. Drysdale wanted to make certain all people in Eden could afford to enjoy themselves. The section of town near the sea was for the wealthy with high-end brothels and gentlemen’s establishments. In contrast, the farther inland was for the poorer residents. Arthur selected their establishment, and it was well suited to all of their needs. After appeasing their sexual appetites, they returned to the hotel.
The three men made their way up the stairs. Thomas stopped at the landing and began patting his pockets.
“What is the matter?” Hawke asked.
“I have lost my gloves.”
“I’ll help you locate them,” Artie volunteered.
Thomas shook his head. “They must have fallen out of my pocket when I entered the hotel.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. I was wearing them up on the walk back. I took them off when we entered.”
“Well, if you need help, don’t ask me,” Hawke said, stifling a yawn. “I am rather fatigued and do not want to waste my time looking for a missing glove that the hotel staff will find in the morning.”
“You are a true friend.”
“I know.” With that, Hawke left.
“Are you certain you do not need help?” Artie asked.
“I can manage.”
“Well, good night.”
Thomas was at the bottom step and stopped suddenly as a warm, wet beverage ran down the front of his shirt and breeches.
“Watch yourself,” Thomas snapped, removing his handkerchief and began wiping down the front of his shirt.
Catrina exited the kitchen and proceeded towards the stairs. She hated it when she could not sleep. Elena had fallen asleep hours ago, and her mumbling in her sleep was contributing to Catrina’s insomnia. However, the main cause of Catrina’s insomnia was…Thomas. As she lay in bed, his image kept appearing to her. The memory of the sound of his voice echoed in her mind. As she stared at the ceiling, it occurred to her, she needed sleep for tomorrow would be a busy day, and she knew just what would help…warm milk. She had debated about asking Elena to come. She loved Elena and enjoyed her company, but sometimes Catrina wanted to be by herself. She found her discarded
gown and slipped it on. Without a maid to aid her, the back was left unbuttoned. After she found a shawl, she quietly exited the room and made her way downstairs. Now, she found the choice of clothing ill-suited. The shoulder of her dress kept sliding down, and she had to keep stopping to readjust the bodice.
Taking a sip of the milk, she rounded the corner to the steps and suddenly crashed into something….or should she say, somebody.
“Watch yourself,” an angry voice growled.
“Lord Huntsley!” she squeaked, her eyes growing wide.
Thomas stopped his movements and glanced down. The angry scowl upon his face made Catrina want to cower away.
“Miss. Wilcox.” Each syllable in her name was punctuated sharply.
“I beg your pardon. I did not see you there. Allow me to help you.” She removed her shawl and began cleaning the front of his shirt. Her movements were rapid as she roughly scrubbed downward.
Thomas captured her wrist. “Stop!”
His testy words caused her to jerk her arm away. She looked up at him and was surprised at the hardened lines upon his face.
“I was only trying to help.” Suddenly, heat flooded her cheeks as she realized the foolishness of her actions. He was a grown man, not a child! Closing her eyes, she tried to swallow down her humiliation, yet his curt words only added to her shame.
“I assure you, Miss Wilcox, I can manage without your assistance.”
She lowered her head. It was hard to contain her groan as she noticed the shoulder of her gown was down again, nearly exposing her breast. She pulled it back up and placed the shawl back over her shoulders.
“I hope the hotel’s laundry can get this out before it curdles and ruins my suit.”
She kept her gaze focused upon the floor as tears stung her eyes. Stepping over the cup of spilled milk, Catrina darted past Thomas and raced up the steps. The instant she was at the landing, out of Thomas’s sight, she covered her face with her hands and placed her back against the wall. She fought the tears coming to her eyes. Why had he been so ill-tempered with her?
Thomas watched her leave and closed his eyes. Why had he been so short with her? It was an accident. But what was she doing out at this hour? Proper young ladies are abed at midnight. And none should be dressed as she was. The image of the mounds of her breast was burned into his memory. A frustrated growl left him. She was the sister of that sod Wilcox, and he would not allow himself to think of her in such a manner. He should think of her like a plague upon the earth and not the tempting beauty he saw.
Noticing a maid, he pointed to the floor and ordered. “Clean this up.”
Turning, he headed up the stairs, forgetting about his glove.
He could hear footsteps race up the stairs in front of him. The sound continued on his climb to the third floor. Once at the landing, he glanced around but did not see anyone. Turning to the right, he headed to his room, three hundred. Entering the room, he removed his clothing and tossed them in the corner. Approaching the table, he used the pitcher of water to clean the milk from his flesh and then climbed into bed.
What a day? Having to deal with Artie’s incisive banter about how grand Eden is, Hawke’s infatuation with Miss Paxsley, and two encounters with Miss Wilcox—the last most pleasantly unpleasant. Perhaps tomorrow would be a better day.
Chapter Seven
“I cannot believe you slipped out of this room without me,” Elena said as she viewed her reflection in the looking glass and fastened a stray brown curl with a hairpin.
“You were sleeping,” Catrina defended, adjusting the straw bonnet upon her head. “What would you have me do? Wake you?”
“Yes.”
“What good would that have done? Then we both would have been wide-awake. Besides, all I did was go to the kitchen for a glass of milk.”
“And did that milk help you sleep?”
Catrina continued toying with the ribbon on her bonnet. She hadn’t told Elena about the encounter with Lord Huntsley. She couldn’t. Even she wasn’t that open.
“Someone could have seen you out, by yourself, without a chaperone, in your nightgown.”
“I wasn’t in my nightgown. I told you that. I had a dress on.”
“A soiled dress.” Elena turned to face Catrina. “The bottom was covered in sand. And how did you find your way back to the room? You couldn’t find it last night after we returned from our evening walk. Or since we arrived here, for that matter.”
“I left the door cracked and the lantern burning on the table by the door. I simply wandered down the corridor until I spotted the light.”
Elena’s eyes widened in horror as she exclaimed, “You left our door open! Someone could have entered our chambers and harmed you or me.”
“It was perfectly safe, Elena. No one was about, and no one saw my sandy gown. So ease your worries. It will not affect your presence here.”
“My presence? What does your gown have to do with my presence?”
“You are afraid that if some of the gentlemen guests here saw me and realized we were friends, it would reflect poorly upon you. I mean, what sensible lady would associate with a daft woman wandering a hotel at midnight with a soiled dress and a cup of milk?”
“Catrina, you know I do not give a fiddle about any of that. Something else is on your mind.” Elena’s eyes grew wide. “Did you run into someone? Lord Hawke, perhaps.”
“What? No! Absolutely not! I never saw a soul.”
Catrina’s quick defense and rapid babbling caused Elena to grin.
“You did! Who did you see? Mr. Heath? Or perhaps Mr. Thompson.”
“I never saw them.”
“Then, who?” Elena tapped her chin as she thought. A mischievous twinkle lit up her brown eyes. “Was it Lord Huntsley?”
“Who? I mean, no. Why would I run into that beast? I mean, how? I…I…oooo, I don’t know what I mean.”
“It was him!” Elena said, clapping her hands with delight. “What happened? What did you speak of?”
A frown pulled down Catrina’s mouth as her brows came together in anger. “Nothing. Not one thing did I or would I ever discuss with that wretched, ill-tempered man.”
“What did he do?” Concern showed on Elena’s face at her friend’s distress. “Do I need to tell Poppa?”
Catrina shook her head. “No. He did nothing.” She swallowed hard. “I did.”
“What?”
“I rounded a corner and spilled milk all over the front of him.”
Elena snorted in disbelief. “Come now. What truly happened?”
“I told you. I accidentally poured my milk down the entire front of his form. I apologized, and he was very rude and insulting.”
“He is a lord. Most are.”
“That is not helping matters any, Elle. The least he could have said was that he accepted my apology, not ‘I hope the hotel’s laundry can get this out before it curdles and ruins my suit’.”
Elena burst out in laughter. “That would suit him well for being so rude. Let his old stinky suit sit in his room all day to the point that he cannot stay in it.”
That caused a smile to come to Catrina. “It would, wouldn’t it.”
Elena approached her bed and picked up her bonnet. “Now. No more talk of boorish Huntsley. Today we are going sea bathing.”
“What time again?”
“Eleven.”
“I wish it were later in the day.”
“I do, too. But that was the only time available today. We will see it as a blessing in disguise, for it will give us time to find me a suitable ballgown for tomorrow night.”
“What is wrong with the ballgown you brought?”
Elena returned to the looking glass and placed her bonnet upon her head, tying the ribbon under her chin. “Nothing. But you see, your ballgown belonged to Beatrice, and she is terribly out of fashion. So, you can borrow mine, and I will have Poppa buy me a new one.”
“Truly, Elle. You have more dresses than you can wear in a life
time. Do you not think that your father will protest your purchasing another?”
“He will. But when I tell him of your plight of a cruel brother and an arranged loveless marriage, he will agree.”
“Thanks,” Catrina replied with sarcasm, casting a sideways glance at her friend, twisting her mouth with frustration.
Elena just grinned and crinkled her nose.
There was a knock upon the adjoining door, and then it opened.
“Are you ready?” Victoria asked.
“Yes,” Catrina and Elena both answered. They grabbed their parasols and followed Victoria through the adjoining room and out the door. Turning left, they proceeded down a long corridor and then turned left again before taking a right to the steps.
“I swear I will never remember how to find my way back to our room,” Catrina said.
Elena looked at her friend and whispered. “Just don’t do what you did last night. I do not like the idea of sleeping with my door open. And if Momma or Poppa had noticed it open, we would both be sleeping in the room with them for the remainder of this trip.”
Victoria stopped at a landing and turned, looking up the steps. “Where is your father?”
Elena looked over her shoulder. “I thought he was following us.”
Victoria sighed. “I will go see what is keeping him. You girls wait on me in the parlor.”
Victoria proceeded back up the steps as Catrina, Elena, Mary, and Constance went down.
On the ground floor, the four made their way to the parlor. No one was in the room. Constance went straight to the pianoforte and began playing. Mary joined her sister. Catrina began wandering the room, twirling her parasol. As she meandered, something knocked her parasol. She turned to find Elena with her umbrella out like a sword.
“En garde,” Elena said, taking a swing at Catrina’s parasol.
Catrina laughed and countered Elena’s strike.
The pair laughed as they engaged in their “sword fight” in the sitting room. They ran around the room, pretending to be fighting each other. When Catrina knocked Elena’s parasol out of her hand, Catrina let out a triumphant “haha” and threw her arms out wide, only to feel her umbrella strike something.
