by Lora Thomas
“Son of a—” The male voice stopped the profanity.
Catrina gasped, lowering her parasol and pivoted so quickly, she became momentarily dizzy. Her hands came to her mouth as she spotted Lord Huntsley in the doorway, his hand now on his bleeding nose.
“Lord Huntsley! I am sorry. I am not purposely trying to harm you. Or soil your clothing,” she added when she spotted the blood upon his crisp white shirt.
Thomas removed his handkerchief from his breast pocket and brought it to his bleeding nose.
“Miss Wilcox, I find a swarm of wasps more pleasing than our encounters here of late.”
Thomas was not certain why he was being so rude to Miss Wilcox. It was not his nose, for he’d had it injured worse in the ring. No, the reason was that her image kept him awake most of the night. The image of her eyes so wide and innocent looking up at him. The frustration he had felt at causing her shame and the demeaning tone he’d used to address her last night. The shape of her breast as it peaked from the bodice of her gown—all of those kept running through his mind all night.
“There’s no call to be rude, Lord Huntsley,” Elena chastised, coming to her friend’s defense.
“Miss Paxsley, I am far from being rude,” Thomas growled, dabbing his nose.
“Huntsley! There you are,” a voice called from the hallway. Lord Hawke appeared and looked between Thomas and the two standing women. “What happened? Did you speak to one of these lovely ladies, and they took offense?”
“Far from it,” Thomas groaned. “It seems they are buccaneers and this”—he nodded to Catrina—“pirate attacked me instead of her foe.”
Catrina lowered her head and stared at her hands.
“You most likely deserved it,” Hawke replied, grinning unrepentantly.
Elena gave a smug grin at the insult. Catrina’s head came back up at the jest.
“You should not tease him so, Lord Hawke,” Catrina said. “I think I might have broken his nose.”
“Truly? It would be an improvement if you did,” Hawke said, turning to Thomas. “Is it? Broken?”
Thomas dabbed his nose. “Far from it. Just bloodied, as is my blouse.”
“Buck up, old man. Nothing that a good soak won’t take out,” Hawke said. He turned to Elena. “Are you ladies going to the sea this morning?”
“We are,” Elena quickly answered. “We are scheduled to go sea bathing. At eleven.”
Hawke gave her the same wicked grin he had from yesterday. “I hope to see you at the beach.”
“Of course,” Elena said, fluttering her lashes.
“Come along, Huntsley.”
Thomas dabbed his nose one more time and then politely nodded his head to the women. He turned and followed Hawke.
Elena looked at Catrina. “I can see why you called him a beast of a man. All the women in London simply swoon at his name, but he is a boar. Then again, I would be far from pleasant if I had my nose broken by a parasol.”
“Whose nose is broken?” Victoria asked.
Elena whirled to face her mother and was surprised at the look of anger upon her father’s handsome features. “Lord Huntsley’s.”
“Who broke it?” Douglas inquired.
“Catrina did,” Constance said, bouncing from the pianoforte. “She and Elena were using their parasols like swords, and Catrina hit Lord Huntsley with hers.”
Victoria shot a disapproving look at Elena and Catrina. “Did either of you learn anything at Miss Eddy’s?”
“I told you we should have sent Elena to your sister’s house in Switzerland for training,” Douglas said.
Victoria whirled to face her husband. “And have my baby a thousand miles away? No. That is why she went to Miss Eddy’s. And if I had known how poorly she would behave afterward, I would have arranged for a governess to come to our home. But, no, you didn’t want her to receive training in London. You said it would help her mature being away from home. Now, look at what good it has done! She attacked Lord Huntsley!”
“She didn’t, my dear. Her friend did,” Douglas reminded her.
“That is not the point, Douglas. The point is this is your fault!”
“What has gotten into you, Victoria?”
“I tell you what has gotten into me. We have three single daughters, and it is all your fault.”
“How is that my fault?”
“It just is. Now come on. We have an appointment to go sea bathing.” Victoria turned and left in a swirl of brown silk.
“That was odd,” Catrina said.
Douglas looked at her. “You have no idea how odd she can be.”
Thomas continued to dab his nose as he followed Joshua.
“How’s your nose?” Joshua asked.
“Fine,” Thomas snapped.
“How’s your pride?”
“What?”
“Your pride? You just had your nose bloodied by that little snip Catrina Wilcox.”
“She can hit harder than you.”
Joshua laughed. “I’m certain she can.”
“What happened to him?” Arthur asked, approaching.
“Little Catrina Wilcox took offense at his face and decided to see if she could make it look more appealing,” Hawke jested.
“Shut it, Hawke,” Huntsley mumbled.
“Catrina Wilcox? The chit from yesterday?”
“The one and the same.”
A smirk came to Artie. “So, what did you do?”
“Nothing. Not a damned thing,” Thomas said, lowering his hand.
“Well, you had to do something to make a lady strike you in the nose.”
Hawke laughed. “She hit him with her parasol.”
“Good choice of weapon,” Artie said, nodding his head in approval.
“She swung it wide,” Hawke said, demonstrating, “And at just the right momentum to cause our dear, dear friend a significant amount of embarrassment…I mean pain.”
“Go to hell,” Thomas said, pushing his way through his friends.
“Where are you going?” Artie called to Thomas’s departing back.
“The ocean. Perhaps, I will drown and not have to put up with either of you!”
“I think we have peeved him.”
“It is either that or we have struck a nerve,” Hawke said.
“With what?”
Hawke patted Artie on the back. “I think he finds Miss Wilcox intriguing.”
“How? I thought they had just met.”
Hawke began following Thomas. “Let me tell you a tale.”
“Come on, Catrina,” Elena said, climbing into the bathing machine.
“I’m coming!” Catrina called from the beach. She handed Victoria her bonnet and ran to the wheeled contraption.
“Do be careful!” Victoria called to Elena and Catrina. “You do not know how to swim!”
Turning from the top step of the bathing machine, Elena turned to her mother and replied, “We will!”
“Why does your mother think you cannot swim?” Catrina asked as she climbed into the machine.
A mischievous grin came to Elena. “Because she does not know.”
“What?”
“Poppa taught me and swore me to secrecy. If Momma discovered that he had taught me, she would be furious at him.”
As the door closed, Catrina asked, “What do we do now?”
“We undress, you ninny,” Elena said, handing Catrina a thick, red robe-like garment. “Then, we don these along with the matching cap.”
Catrina looked around the wooden box. The roof was covered; however, just at the roofline were segments where the wood was missing. The openings allowed enough light to filter into the machine for Catrina to see but were high enough to aid with privacy. The windows did not go around the entire roofline, only midway—this way, the driver upon the seat could not see inside.
The bathing machine lurched forward. Catrina untied the ribbon of her blue dress. Tossing the garment to the ground, she looked at Elena. Her companion was in the proces
s of removing her shift. Heat flooded Catrina. She was never comfortable changing in front of Elena. Elena had a figure that Catrina only could dream about. A narrow waist with wide hips and plump breasts. Catrina was not overweight, but she was not as small-waisted as Elena, either. Nor did she have the ample bosom like her friend.
Holding the red bathing gown to her chest, Elena turned to face Catrina. “You cannot swim in your shift.”
Catrina shook her head.
“Come now. We are both women. You do not have anything that I do not.” With that, Elena began pulling the gown over her head.
Catrina pushed aside her embarrassment and grabbed the hem of her shift. She quickly removed it and pulled on the bathing robe. Once dressed, she removed the cap from the hook and tucked her hair inside as she placed it upon her head. Sitting down upon the bench, she clutched the seat with her fingers as the machine rocked. A few moments later, they stopped, and the door opened.
“Now what?” Catrina asked.
“The dipper will assist us.”
“The what?”
“The dipper. I told you about her. She is hired by the owner of the bathing machine to assist us in and out of the water. I just hope Father hasn’t bribed her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some people bribe the dippers to push bathers into the water and then yank them out again.”
“That is atrocious!”
“Some claim it is part of the bathing experience.”
“You are willing to risk that?” Catrina asked with alarm.
“It is part of the experience. Now come on.”
Elena stood, and Catrina followed suit. A woman wearing a black gown was standing in chest-deep water, holding her hand upward. Elena placed her hand in the other woman’s. A squeal left Elena as she was assisted into the water.
“It’s cold!” Elena said.
Catrina swallowed down her apprehension and took the woman’s hand. The woman pulled, and Catrina fell into the water. Catrina’s eyes widened at the thought of her head going under the cold water. But just as quickly as the fear entered her, it left as she felt the woman beside her pull upward, keeping her from dunking her head.
Catrina sputtered and sucked her breath in at the feel of the cold water upon her flesh. Once she realized that she was not going to freeze, she turned to the woman.
“My, you are strong,” Catrina told the woman.
The dipper smiled. “Thank you, miss. I have to be. Wet dresses make it hard to float.”
Catrina felt her dress move with the water. It was a gentle sway, and she found her body following the movement, causing a smile to pull her lips. Turning, she thought she would look towards the beach but was surprised by what she saw. Jutting out from the top of each side of the bathing machine were white canvases being suspended by long arms, almost like sails upon a ship. The white material draped downward, touching the water.
“What are those?” Catrina asked.
“I told you yesterday, you ninny,” Elena said, lowering her upper body into the water.
“Canvases, miss,” the dipper said. “We cannot have those from the beach seeing you…especially the menfolk. It wouldn’t be proper.”
Catrina looked left and then right. Two other bathing machines were in the water; however, the participants were visible to her.
“But I can see the other bathers. If the purpose of the canvas is to keep prying eyes from viewing the participants, why can I still see them? And if it is for propriety, what about the men who wish to enjoy the effects of the sea? Do they go at separate times?”
The dipper shook her head. “No, miss. You see, only women use the bathing machines. They are spaced a good distance apart, so you cannot entirely view the others. The men go down the beach a bit, just past the caves. This way, they will not see you, and you will not see them.”
“Clever.”
“You aren’t going to dunk me, are you?” Elena asked as she lowered to her chin in the water. “I do not want to get my hair wet.”
The dipper shook her head. “No, miss.”
“Truly? My father is not past paying someone to lie in order to pull a prank.”
“Truly. I do not dunk people, miss. I find it cruel. Some dippers find levity in the feat. They think it is funny to watch rich folks, like yourselves, get repeatedly dunked under the water, but I do not.”
“Thank you,” Elena said. “For if you had been paid by my father to dunk me, I would have found revenge against the both of you.”
“Oh, Elle!” Catrina said. “She is only doing her job.” A twinkle came to Catrina’s eyes. Cupping a handful of water, she tossed the liquid into Elena’s face.
“Catrina!” Elena squealed and then repeated the action.
The women frolicked and played in the water for a short time before climbing back into the bathing machine.
Catrina took off the wet bathing gown and placed it in the bucket. Grabbing a towel, she dried her flesh.
“Wonder what the men bathe in,” Elena asked.
“I beg your pardon?” Catrina pulled her shift on and turned her attention to her hair.
“The men? What do they wear? We must don these atrociously thick red gowns. What do men wear? Breeches?” A twinkle of mischief came to her brown eyes. “Nothing?”
Catrina laughed. “Elle!”
Elena shrugged as she pulled on her shift. “What? A girl can fantasize. I wonder what Lord Hawke wears?”
“I would assume he would be clothed. He is a gentleman, after all.”
“Gentleman or not, I still know how London men behave. And they are not the dignified heroes from storybooks. They are dashing, flirtatious rogues searching for a woman with a significant dowry.”
“And yet you are the one questioning what they wear in the sea.”
Elena pulled on her dress. “I know. Does that make me a bad person? I mean, I find men grand to behold. And Lord Hawke is the most appealing.”
“You like the title.” Catrina sat down and pulled on her boots.
“I am not interested in a title.”
“Really, Elle? How many times at Miss Eddy’s did I hear you say that you were going to marry a wealthy, titled man and not worry about a thing?”
“That was then. This is now.”
“And you feel differently?”
“I do.” Elle defiantly tilted her chin as a playful smile pulled her lips. “I am not interested in a wealthy, titled man. I am interested in a handsome, wealthy, titled man.”
The pair looked at each other and laughed.
“You are not one to talk, Cat. I saw how you looked at Lord Huntsley.”
Heat climbed up Catrina’s cheeks. “I did not.”
“You did, too.”
“I am not interested in that boorish man.”
“Then, if you are not interested, why are you blushing?”
“I am not.”
“You are, too. You find the man handsome. Not that I can blame you. He is a sight to behold. Not nearly as handsome as Lord Hawke, but handsome nonetheless.”
“What has gotten into you, Elena? You were never this…this…well, I do not know what to call it other than bold.”
“I have to be bold, Catrina. My dearest friend is being forced to marry a man she never met. I will not have that be my fate. And if given the opportunity, I will not allow that to be her fate either.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You, you ninny! I cannot stomach the notion that you must marry a stranger. I will not have it. I will not. We will find our own husbands.”
“But your parents do not give me the impression that they would force you to marry.”
“I will not give them the option. We will find ourselves husbands. But the priority is to find you a husband first. My parents are not as demanding as your brother. I will have a choice in who I wed. You will not. Before you leave London, you will marry a man you love.”
Chapter Eight
“Are you
coming, Elle?” Catrina asked as she sauntered down the path to the beach.
“Yes,” Elena snapped, shaking the sand from her parasol. “I cannot believe Mother made me bring this stupid thing.”
“She is concerned for your pale flesh,” Catrina said, laughing. “Never mind the fact that we went without a parasol the majority of time at Miss Eddy’s.”
“Sometimes I miss those days.” Elena stopped upon reaching the beach. “Where are we going again?”
“To the caves. I overheard someone say that Mr. Heath was placing the mirrors up today. I want to see if his theory is sound.”
The pair began walking down the beach.
“Are you certain it is the mirrors you are interested in seeing?” Elena inquired with a catlike grin.
Catrina did not miss Elena’s implied meaning.
“Absolutely. Why?”
“I thought, perhaps, you might hope to run into a certain viscount.”
“Are you referring to Lord Huntsley?” Catrina asked, her voice trying to convey her disgust.
“Do not pretend you do not find the man intriguing. He is the most sought-after bachelor in all of London.”
“How do you have such knowledge of the London gossip when you have spent the last three years with me in Reading? Besides, I thought you said his family has basically been ostracized by genteel society.”
“Simply because I have not been in London does not mean I do not know the happenings. I do have an older sister who writes to me. And, no, they have not been shunned by society. His title as Viscount of Huntsley is enough to have most turn the other cheek to his family’s sordid past.”
“And what past is that, again?”
“I did not tell you?”
“Only that his father had a mistress.”
Elena nodded. “He did. But that mistress lived with them. Openly.”
Catrina gasped in appalled interest. “No.”
“Yes. The Dowager Duchess of Whitmore. Miriam James is her name. She lived openly with Lord Huntsley and his father.”
“And Lord Huntsley’s mother did not protest?”
“I am certain she did. But she lived elsewhere. It was quite a scandal. After Lord Huntsley’s father died, he left Lady Whitmore a hefty sum and a grand townhome. At least that is what Beatrice wrote to me.”
