by Cari Hislop
A string of coarse adjectives were whispered away into the darkness. Lily wiped her eyes as her spoon still weighted with one of her favorite desserts dropped to her tray. Sharing the awful truth made her feel sick with worry. Exposing the truth could only cause countless unseen problems that would all be her fault. Why hadn’t she died? She’d bring Mr Bowen only misery and as his nephew had pointed out, a higher food bill. “Lily…” The way he’d said her name was like hearing a familiar song sung for the first time by someone who could sing. He reached out again and caressed her cheek causing pleasurable shivers. “…I insist you tell me if they so much as pinch you.”
“But I’m your wife; they wouldn’t hurt me now.”
“Wouldn’t they? I don’t trust any of them. Apparently the Philips household is in an uproar without you; they miss you now you’re gone. Isn’t that touching? No please don’t cry…”
“I can’t help it Mr Bowen; I feel so happy. You’re so good and kind. Even if you only married me to irritate Rosamund; I’ll be a good wife. I won’t be a burden. I’ll only eat one meal a day. I only need three new dresses a year and I’m good with a needle so I can make them myself. I don’t need a fire in my room and I won’t complain if you see your mistress every day…”
“Lily…” The way he said her name made her sound beautiful. “…eat as much of whatever you want. Don’t you dare go hungry and think I’d be pleased. Order three hundred and sixty-four dresses every year if you wish. And if you dare go to bed in a cold room I shall come in the night and make a fire so large you’ll dream it’s mid-summer. As for Lady Gillingham, I rarely visit her more than twice a week though I must admit after this afternoon I wouldn’t care if I ever saw her again. A woman who hopes her adoring husband dies of fever so she can marry one of her lovers for a more prestigious title makes a man uncomfortable. You on the other hand are extremely comfortable.”
“Am I?”
“Yes and I’ve always liked your smile.” Lily’s mouth fell open, her eyes wide with disbelief as his hand came to rest on the bedclothes covering her knee. “It’s rather distorted at the moment…” Lily’s brain was incapable of digesting his words. What was distorted? Her thoughts were certainly distorted. How could thoughts be organized when there were only a few layers of cloth between his hand and her leg? “…but I remember how it looked when you used to greet me with such enthusiasm. You’re not going to cry again…?”
“No…”
“Good. After Rosamund jilted me I should have asked you to marry me.” The words were matter of fact. “At least I would have found a smiling bride at the altar, though I dare say your parents would have made me wait years for the privilege. Would you have accepted your sister’s discarded fiancé?”
“Lily’s heart felt like it was being flattened by rocks as she stared at her tray with bitter disappointment. “Please don’t tease me Mr Bowen, not about that.”
She felt him touch her face, but didn’t look up. “I wasn’t teasing Mrs Bowen. Eat your pudding; I’ll prepare your medicine.” Humming a cheerful tune, his hand reluctantly slid off her leg and picked up the candlestick. He seemed to hesitate before rising. As soon as she counted three moaning steps she allowed herself to look up. The light threw his back into darkness revealing only faint slashes of deep red as he walked over to a dressing table and carefully measured the opium drops into a glass of water. What did he mean when he said he wasn’t teasing? The question swirled around her brain making her feel dizzy. She looked up after he placed the glass on the tray still resting on her lap.
“Thank you…”
“You’re welcome…I bought you a bride gift.” She hadn’t noticed the odd lump in his pocket until he pulled out a rectangular box the length of a man’s hand and set it on the tray.
“I…”
“Don’t cry, just open it.” Lily carefully lifted the lid and stared in shock at the matching pair of bracelets. Emeralds shimmered like green fire captured in-between a repeating gold Greek key symbol. “Hold out your arms; I want you to wear them.”
“Are they real?”
“I wouldn’t buy my wife paste jewelry.” He picked up one of the bracelets and secured it around her nearest wrist. “When you wake up they’ll remind you that you’re chained to a wicked Welshman. No don’t start…crying…” After securing each clasp he twirled the heavy bracelets around her arms allowing the stones to skim over her flesh like a caress. She sniffed back her tears as she stared at the large jewels winking endless possibilities. “Do you like them?” She looked up, her mouth open in shock. “I can see by those pesky tears running down your cheeks that you’re suitably enthralled.”
I’ve never seen anything so beautiful…are they really mine?”
“Until you die and they’re inherited by some rascal who’ll wager them on a throw of the dice.”
“I didn’t think William was a gambler.”
“Not usually, he’s prefers to spend his money, but one can never guess who’ll inherit one’s treasures.”
Lily flushed as she sniffed away her tears as she tried to smile until she remembered her swollen lips looked ghastly. “Perhaps…perhaps I might…perhaps we may…” Did the man’s knowing smile mean he knew what she was trying to say or was she imagining things again?
“Drink your medicine and perhaps when you’re feeling better we’ll discuss the matter.”
She obediently drained her glass and tried to hold back her tears. “You must be the kindest man in the world.”
“If I’m kind Mrs Bowen it’s because you make it such a pleasure…” He’d leaned over and kissed the unbruised corner of her mouth. His light caress was over before she could savor the pleasurable tingles. “…pleasant dreams.” She watched him leave and then admired her bracelets in the firelight through another shower of tears. Had Mr Bowen really hinted that he might share her bed? Feeling warm inside and out, she slid under her blanket and succumbed to pain relieving opiate. She was unaware of her husband returning to put more coal on the fire nor did she hear the floor boards moaning as he stood by her bed watching her sleep until his own heavy eyelids forced him to leave.
Chapter 7
An odd thump vibrated through the floor and jerked Lily out of a pleasant dream of Mr Bowen covering her face with kisses. Opening her eyes she found her dream husband two inches away smiling at her. “Good morning Mrs Bowen. How are you feeling?” She managed a non-committal moan as she stared at his lips hoping they’d reenact her dream. “Good. I’m going to wash your hair.” She couldn’t be awake. Mr Bowen wouldn’t ever say that. She closed her eyes and hoped to claim a few more dream kisses, but her eyes jerked open in shock as a hand came to rest on her hip. Even through the quilted eiderdown bedcover she could feel it slide down her leg and then return to where it began. The man’s hand then slid over the edge of her hip as he looked behind him, “Make sure the water’s hot. I don’t want Mrs Bowen catching a chill.” His hand was on her backside and there was a servant in the room? She moaned in horror dragging the man’s attention back to her face. “Am I hurting you?” His hand was removed giving her reason to moan in disappointment. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you. I went out early this morning and bought you three silk nightgowns. You can put one on after your sponge bath…”
She stared into brown smiling eyes with horror. “Sponge bath?”
“You smell like Rosamund’s house; you’ll feel better when you smell of soap. I’ll wash your hair and then leave you to sponge yourself, though I’d be happy to stay and help…”
“I can wash myself.”
“Pity…sit up and I’ll untie your hair.”
“I’d rather sleep.”
“I’ll have to give you smaller doses of laudanum; you’ve slept nearly a day and a half.”
“I feel better.”
“Good.” He lightly touched her hip again. “Up, up, up…Mrs Jones will have luncheon on the table in half an hour. Unless you want invalid food you’ll have to come to the t
able.” He stood up and waited for her to swing her legs out of the bed.
“You’ll have to turn around.”
“Why?” There was an impish gleam in his eyes that suggested he knew her nightgown was coiled around her waist.
“Please?”
“I hope it’s not because I look better from behind.” The man winked at her before turning away. Lily blushed as she sat up watching the handsome back and quickly pulled down her nightgown. “Are you decent?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He sat down facing her profile, his legs resting against her as if they’d been married for years. “You’ll feel better after a wash…” He was so close she could smell his sweet tobacco and citrus cologne. She sat with her arms folded over her chest staring straight ahead as she enjoyed the sensation of his legs half embracing her.”
“He has the most beautiful legs.”
“Who has beautiful legs?”
Lily gulped in horror as the man leaned around so she’d have to see the teasing gleam in his eyes. “Who is this beautiful legged creature inhabiting your thoughts?” His legs nestled closer. “My nephew’s legs aren’t bad, though I would have said mine were better, but that could be a latent vanity appearing in my old age.” She opened her mouth to tell him he wasn’t old. “No, don’t tell me his name; I’d rather believe I’m the man with the most beautiful legs.” She closed her eyes as gentle fingers massaged her scalp around the bump on her head. The fact the sensations were caused by Mr Bowen’s fingers made them more pleasurable. “What are these new tears for? Have I hurt you?”
“Why are you so kind to me? I’m fat, ugly and I don’t even know where Wales is.”
“I can forgive you for being overweight and bruised like a prizefighter, but not knowing the location of Wales? Well, that is unforgivable.”
“You know I’m fat and ugly.”
“I know you’re a little plump, but I don’t think you ugly.”
“Yes you do.” The gentle fingers withdrew from her hair to rest on his beautiful legs making her cry harder. Now he was going to think her rude and ungrateful as well as fat and ugly. “Forgive me…it doesn’t matter. I’m ready to have my hair washed.” The man didn’t move. “Luncheon must be almost ready…”
“You call me a liar; why?”
Lily cringed in horror at the cold tone he’d used to reprimand his nephew. He’d never smile or touch her again. She’d spend the rest of her life living alone knowing he was laughing and kissing a beautiful mistress who didn’t question his honour. The awful vision of the future made her cry harder. “I overheard…”
“What did you overhear?”
“Through the fire…William said I was fat and ugly and you didn’t disagree.”
She could feel the tension abruptly leave the room like dirty water thrown out the window. “That explains the shroud.” Her tears abruptly stopped as one of his hands slid onto her thigh affectively focusing her attention on her leg. “William may think you fat and ugly, but my silence doesn’t validate his opinion. You were a pretty girl and you’re a pretty woman.” He caressed her cheek. “Don’t tell me I think you’re ugly because I don’t. Come here. Cry on my shoulder, it’ll make me feel useful.” Lily ignored her aches and pains and turned into the offered embrace and cried till the soothing hand caressing her back drained away the tears and refilled her with a blissful warmth that gave her courage to put an arm around his middle.
“You must be the kindest man in the whole world.”
“Most people would disagree, but that’s because there’s no point being kind to them. So many take it as their due; they lap up any offered kindness and then demand more without wondering why it was given in the first place…” A polite tap on the door announced the maids. “Enter! It’s your water…” His lips whispered into her hair, “I woke up from a dream where I was washing your hair. I’ve been waiting hours for you to wake up so I could reenact it, though I won’t insist you sit naked.” She gurgled her embarrassment into his shoulder as he shook with silent laughter. “I love your frizzy orange hair; it brings back the only good memories of those months I was enslaved by Rosamund’s beautiful mask. I swear you must be the most comfortable person in the world.” Lily was still digesting the first compliment when he abruptly changed the subject. “Lunch is probably on the table…up, up, up…” She reluctantly let him pull her up off the bed and lead her to the fire. In the middle of a large flat tin bath with five inch sides sat a three legged stool and ten copper cans of water. She sat down on the stool and watched him gracefully remove his coat. The wet patch caused by her tears reassured her that she wasn’t dreaming; Mr Bowen was her husband and he cared. He turned a polite face to the maid as she asked him he needed anything. “Bring me three towels and fetch a pair of my slippers. Has her dressing gown dried? Good. Bring it up and tell Mrs Jones lunch will need to be held back twenty minutes.” The maid was dismissed without another word as he turned to smile down at her causing her chest to inflate with that warm peaceful feeling. Any minute she’d float away like one of those French hot air balloons. Her floating thoughts were brought back down to earth as he rolled up his white shirtsleeves and took off his waist coat. She could almost see the enchanted swan enfolded into the generous shirtsleeves. He picked up a can of water and poured it over his wrist before tipping it over her head. She clutched her breasts as another can flowed over her person and drenched her. He hummed a haunting tune as he carefully soaped her hair around the large bump and massaged her scalp. “I used to do this for one of my mistresses. I think she enjoyed having her hair washed more than…other things. She was a pleasant companion, but she thought I was unreasonable. I refused to pay her bills while she shared her charms with other men. I gave her three chances, do you think that unreasonable?”
“No.”
“I found her three times entertaining other men, none of whom were poor, in my rented house eating my food and she had the affront to blame her indiscretions on the fact I refused to marry her. Keep your eyes and mouth closed I’m going to rinse.”
“Why did you give her three…” Water swooshed down over head.
“It takes a vast amount of time, effort and money to find and set up a kept mistress. Wives are much cheaper. I’d have saved myself a fortune if I’d married you years ago. Keep your eyes closed, I’m going to mix my secret rinsing formula.”
“I smell roses, lavender and vinegar.”
“Keep your eyes closed. I don’t want you to damage your eye; how would you admire my beautiful legs?” Lily stifled a giggle as she peered through strands of wet hair at her husband. “Eyes closed. This will sting.” The sound of water being stirred near her ear stopped and her head was doused in a hot bouquet of floral oils. The various wounds on her face throbbed in pain as her hair was squeezed, combed and wrapped in a towel.
She wiped her face on her wet sleeve and tipped back her head. “Thank you…” Lily opened her mouth to explain that it would have been very painful to lift the cans full of water over her head, but the thought evaporated when he leaned over and claimed her lips with a light kiss that left her heart pounding in disappointment when it ended. She would never have guessed the tip of a man’s tongue could make her giddy. He stared into her eyes with a dazed expression as his chest rose and fell faster than normal. Had kissing her affected him? The thought made her feel almost beautiful until an unhelpful part of her brain suggested he was probably affected by every woman he kissed.
He licked his lips and said, “I’ll be in the dining room waiting for you.” He looked her over as if admiring her and then hummed a waltz out of the room forgetting his clothing on the bed. She sat there for several minutes staring into space. Did this mean he’d happily claim his conjugal rights when she was feeling better? The unanswerable question repeated itself away as she gently washed and dried her bruised body. The nightgowns he’d bought her were soft, almost translucent with low necklines. Shivering she pulled on her clean dressing gown and the mascul
ine leather slippers and paused to pick up his jacket. She scrunched it in her arms and pressed her face into the most intoxicating smell; him. Mr Bowen might not love her, but he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. She was safe.
