Part 6 (2/2)
She did, nervously smoothing her black skirts.
He let air through his teeth. ”That's more like it. At last your beautiful hair is visible.”
She swallowed. He approved. She wished she didn't care. ”I bought four different outfits with the money you gave me. And a pair of shoes.”
”With five pounds? Ah, no doubt your cooking will be a credit to my budget, too. While the stove is going, I'll put on the bath water. Are you interested?”
”In taking another bath? Yes, of course. I'd never thought to have one daily. Is that what you do?”
”When the stove is hot, that's what I do. Now, what have you been cooking?” He lifted the lid off the carrots, beans, and peas. ”Will I carve the meat for you?”
She nodded, removed the roast from the oven, and sat down to a normal family meal, the first she'd had since her mother had died. His legs didn't fit under the small table as well as hers, and when he sat, the flatware b.u.mped.
She rearranged her skewed fork. ”What should I do with the laundry? You don't appear to have a washhouse outside.”
”I leave the items I want washed in the foyer, and the woman who does my was.h.i.+ng collects it from there, weekly.” He moved a little to the side, and his foot cracked against the table leg. ”Add yours.”
She put her feet beneath her chair, knowing she ought to do the was.h.i.+ng to save him money and occupy her time, but the thought of someone else performing the mindless task was too good to withstand.
”And meals,” she said, noting that he'd stretched one leg out from under the table. ”Morning and midday. Should I make those for you?”
He finished his mouthful and moved his chair back a little. ”I would be satisfied to start each day with breakfast, but I'm not often around during the day. I'll leave money for you to buy whatever you want. And, you really don't need to cook the evening meal.”
She nodded, catching her bottom lip with her teeth. Despite his polite enjoyment of her cooking, she couldn't expect a man his size to sit at a table that trembled with fear whenever he moved. ”And I've been thinking about the men in the office. I could make them a cup of tea while the stove is hot in the morning, around ten. And another in the afternoon when I might want one myself.”
”That's a very good plan. They'll be delighted to have two cups of tea a day, and it will keep them out of here.” He smiled.
Unable to prevent herself, she smiled back, wondering. In Seymour's Emporium, the hat shapes had given her a yen to work further on her sketches. If Devon didn't marry her, she would either have to find work as a maid or support herself another way. While she was idle, she could work on her idea. If she didn't try, she didn't deserve to succeed.
Chapter 6.
After a spa.r.s.e, hurried breakfast with Devon, Wenna made pastry, which she filled with the leftovers from last night's roast. While the pies baked in the oven, she meandered upstairs, knowing Devon kept pencils and paper in his desk. She sat on his scuffed leather chair and pulled open a side drawer, finding not only lead pencils but also a ruler. In the next drawer down, she found notepaper and a finer page likely meant for letters. Beneath both, she saw foolscap, which was her preferred size. Since he owned a full package, she decided not to worry about the cost. Apparently, he didn't.
Hesitantly, she began to draw the back and side view of a hairstyle she had designed in her mind last night. Gaining confidence, she filled the next page with another, both with and without the hat she decided would be the perfect foil for the shape.
The little filigreed carriage clock on Devon's desk said she had taken half an hour. Barely in time to save her pastries, she scooted down the stairs and put the kettle on to boil. The staff in the shop-front office would expect a cup of tea now, if Devon had informed them of her plan. After making two mugs of tea, she pasted a polite smile on her face and opened the green connecting door to the room, a s.p.a.ce that dwarfed the study above due to the position of the stairwell.
Ernie sat at a desk strewn with paper, tapping a pencil on his lips. His head turned toward her and he gave a sound of surprise. His scrubbed young face creased with a smile. ”Morning, Mrs. Courtney.”
”Good morning,” she said, glancing around the area. The view of Rundle Street was partially blocked by a pair of green brocade curtains, fringed and tied back to let in the early morning light. An older man in a dark suit, seated at a large map-covered desk on the other side of the room, stood when he saw her. Shelves stacked with folders and papers ranged behind him.
”Where are your manners, lad?” he asked Ernie.
Ernie's chair sc.r.a.ped back and he said, ”This here is Mrs. Courtney.”
”So I surmised. How do you do, ma'am? I'm Tom Finn, surveyor.” Mr. Finn inclined his balding head courteously. To compensate for the lack on his pate, he grew a magnificent set of side-whiskers down his cheeks.
”Wenna Courtney,” she said without a quaver, stepping over to him to shake his hand. ”So, you do the surveying?”
He nodded. ”A never-ending job in a new colony.”
”Are you the only two working here?”
”How much more staff did you expect?” His eyes narrowed with amus.e.m.e.nt.
”I had no expectations, Mr. Finn,” she said, smiling back. ”Enjoy your tea. I'll bring another at about three in the afternoon.”
Ernie gallantly opened the door for her as she left. She took a deep breath. Without being married, she was now Devon's wife. With the rest of the day to herself, she sat down again to alter her cream bodice and add the black braid, military-style, around the collar and cuffs. Pleased with her efforts, she ate a pie for her midday meal and plotted her next hat and hairdo designs.
She had barely finished her first drawing when the lobby door swung open, and Devon appeared.
”Nick's done it.” His smooth-skinned face lit with one of his devastating smiles, and he waved a sheet of stiff paper at her. ”We can be married this afternoon. I knew he would come through.”
”Who is Nick?”
”A friend from long ago,” he said, evading her gaze.
She didn't note his answer. ”Married.” Her thoughts sped too fast to catch, and she stared in horror at her black gown. ”What time this afternoon?”
”Five o'clock. Not only did Nick organize a special license, but he organized the venue, too.” He grabbed Wenna into his arms and whirled her about.
When her head began to spin, she spiked both elbows into his chest to force him to put her back on her own two feet. He let her slide down his hard body, but he didn't let her go. He stood with his hands lightly on her hips, his blue eyes triumphant.
”Finally married,” he said in a satisfied voice. His mouth curved into a smile she saw as deliberately lascivious. ”Now we'll be able to share a bed.”
Knowing what he meant, she tightened her face. She hadn't even kissed the man. She certainly didn't want him grunting over her. Perhaps he didn't know that a woman needed courting before she wanted to open her legs for him. A small amount of courting. Or, perhaps more companionability than a quick breakfast together and a glance or two over a rustle of newspapers in his study at night.
She'd been able to put the thought of him poking her to the back of her mind while she'd had everything her way. His way wouldn't be so comfortable. Now she had to be what he wanted: a convenient wife who knew her role as a breeder. Naturally, a woman with her background and looks expected no better; in fact, not half as much, if truth be told. She'd had no expectation of marrying a tall, handsome tradesman, and even less of marrying a gentleman.
Somehow, she'd landed on her feet in more ways than one. Devon, a gentleman with impeccable social contacts, would be a great catch for a woman with funds of her own. For a woman who had no foreseeable way to earn an income, an irresponsible, entirely-too-careless wastrel was an impediment. However, he was also even-tempered, good-natured, and-she breathed out-unbearably attractive. Whenever he touched her, her skin tingled. Possibly, she could make something of him.
In fact, he might even be the perfect man for her, one who could be molded and pushed by the right wife, and end up successful with her prodding.
If she added a little more money to her savings, she could contribute to his coffers. Although he would return to Cornwall as a son hoping for a handout, if his wife looked confident and prosperous, his father would be more inclined to be generous. In Cornwall, she could bring up healthy, happy children, though she didn't intend to breed until Devon could show himself well able to support a family. She couldn't place much importance in his story about her having as much money as she wanted when she lived abroad. He'd seen that as a lure, but the lure was going home to the place she was meant to be.
Married! Something inside her opened up and warmed. He honestly meant to marry her. No female could not be impressed by his manly body or his chiseled face, or the way his eyes gleamed bright blue when he smiled.
She kept her expression nonchalant. ”I will share your bed if you wed me,” she said, using her gracious tone.
”If?” He glanced away. ”I've been planning to wed you for days. I've been hoping to bed you for even longer, as you know.” He nuzzled his nose into her hair, and his breath blew a whisper on her skin. ”You're so fresh and clean, and thoughts of you naked drive me wild with l.u.s.t.”
She swallowed. ”Now you're being fanciful.” Her face and neck suffused with heat, and she pushed him away, her heart tumbling around in her chest. While trying to breathe, she had thoughts of him naked, too, and wondered about the size of his oldjohn. He was a large man. Her hands shook.
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