Chapter Fifteen
She woke expecting Jasper’s head on the pillow. A pink camellia stared at her instead. When she lifted it, a note slid to the mattress. Jasper’s bold handwriting left grooves in the paper.
Too early for peonies. Please don’t scorn the substitute. Duty demands I leave you. There is a hot bath waiting in the other room, assuming you haven’t slept the day away. – J
PS You have delightfully warm feet.
Annabel read the note again as she lifted the flower to her nose. The petals were strong, but surprisingly soft, and they smelled of peaches and violets.
It smelled like Jasper. So did the pillow next to her, and the sheets tangled around her bare legs.
So did she.
A smile split her face as she wriggled against the mattress. He’d been right about sleeping naked. The sheets caressed her skin, reminding her of his hands on her body. The pillow curved against her like he had in the night. Annabel had always thought it would be awkward to sleep with another person, but it had felt natural to drift off in Jasper’s arms and feel his breath on her shoulder.
The floor squeaked a moment before a knock sounded at the door. “Er, my lady?” Travis cleared his throat. “Should, er, the maid—”
Everyone in the house had responsibilities. So did she. “No, Travis.” The words squeaked out in a most un-marchioness-like way. She drew a deep breath. “I’ll step to my room. Just a moment, please.”
Annabel threw back the covers and scrambled across Jasper’s side of the bed, the sheets cold against her knees and palms. She swept up her nightdress before hurrying to the door, the rug muffling her flight.
You don’t need to run. You didn’t break in this time.
“Thank you, Travis.” She closed the door behind her.
Her room was too bright, but it was warm. A copper tub sat in front of a fire stoked high enough to keep the water warm. There was a lot of water, clouded with milk. Rose petals floated on the surface. She trailed her fingers through the water, which was almost hot, and watched the pink petals bob across the ripples.
It was a decadent bath that had taken the staff a great deal of time. If she dawdled until it was cold, it would be a waste of that effort. She slipped into the water one leg at a time before sitting slowly enough not to make puddles on the floor. She soaped a sponge and stroked her skin with the spruce and floral soap that reminded her of home.
Afterward, her spine curved to the back of the tub without effort, and her arms floated in the sweet, cloudy water.
“My lady?” Barnes called as she knocked on the door.
“Yes?” Even Annabel’s voice was softer.
The maid entered, bringing cooler air with her. “What would you—” She put her hand over her mouth, but not quick enough to hide her smile, and not hard enough to mask her laughter. “Your hair.”
Annabel put her wet hands to her head. Her normally straight, boring hair was a mass of tangles. Heat curled through her insides that had nothing to do with embarrassment. “Drat.”
“It will be easy to repair.” Barnes strode across the room. The nearer she came, the easier it was to see the crinkles at the corners of her eyes. She gathered Annabel’s hair in her hands and lifted it over the edge of the tub. “I’ll brush while you soak.”
Annabel closed her eyes and let the heat seep through her. Though her joints were loose already, she ached in unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, places. Barnes worked carefully on her hair, but every gentle tug was a reminder of how they got there in the first place. A knot formed low in her stomach, making her squirm until her feet stirred the water.
“My lady?” Barnes pulled the brush through the now-smooth strands, roots to ends, section by section. “If you don’t mind my saying, it’s about bloody time.”
“Barnes!” Annabel covered her face with her damp hands to muffle her laughter. Barnes’s giggle was muffled as well.
After a moment, she closed one hand on Annabel’s shoulder and retrieved the sponge with the other. “The water will cool soon. Let’s get you into dry clothes.”
Barnes helped her from the tub and into a dry towel, and then into a velvet dressing gown the color of butter. It was so lovely that Annabel had never felt worthy of wearing it. “Could we do something different with my hair?”
“Of course. Why not a chignon?”
The maid was so excited. Annabel felt guilty for making her do braids every morning for the last few weeks. “Whatever you’d like, Barnes. Thank you.”
The result, a low bun with wisps of curls at her ears, was soft and simple. Annabel loved it. “Perfect. I think the red dress today. I’ll be going out for a bit after I resolve some household business.”
“Lovely choice, my lady.”
Annabel left her room feeling like a marchioness for the first time. The maids scurried from Jasper’s room under Stapleton’s watchful gaze, hiding their smiles.
“Breakfast, Lady Ramsbury?”
Given the reactions of the staff, Annabel wasn’t certain she could face Jasper’s mother and sisters over eggs and toast. After all, she wasn’t sure how much noise had escaped their room, and the house wasn’t that large.
“Lady Lambourn hasn’t come down yet, and the young ladies are with their French tutor.”
“In that case, please have a tray sent to his lordship’s study. I would like to start work.”
The butler dipped his head. “As you wish. Tea or coffee?”
“Coffee, please.” Today, of all days, she was glad for the man’s unswerving, stoic nature. “Thank you, Stapleton.”
She entered the office and took the chair behind the desk, steadfastly ignoring the spot on the floor where last night had begun. There had been enough relishing the events of the night, and now she needed to get on with the tasks ahead of her.
Breakfast arrived as she was making a list of the household receipts, and she sipped her coffee as she checked her math. Her evidence had to be perfect when Jasper confronted Mr. Jones. Otherwise, the careless man of business would explain it away as Jasper putting too much faith in his wife, whose sex made her incapable of rational thinking.
