A Basket of Wishes

by Rebecca Paisley

  “And yet she glows.” Jourdian stood, walked around his desk, and stopped before the doctor. “Her skin. Didn’t you notice?”

  “Her skin glows?”

  “Do you mean you didn’t perceive an odd sort of shimmer about her?”

  Dr. Osbourne’s bushy white eyebrows knitted together. “I’m sorry, your lordship, but no, I didn’t.”

  Jourdian couldn’t understand it. The girl did shine, damn it all. He’d seen her twinkle with his own eyes!

  “Perhaps the glow you describe was but the sun sparkling on her pale skin,” Dr. Osbourne suggested. “Or perhaps your fall from your horse caused you to imagine her gleam. Your Grace, are you quite certain that you do not wish for me to examine you as well? I’d be happy to—”

  “No. I told you I’m fine.” Jourdian returned to his desk and sat back down. Maybe the doctor was right, he mused. Perhaps the girl’s odd sparkle had been sunshine. “She’ll recover, will she not?”

  “It’s difficult to be certain. I recommend that you continue to provide her with regular meals and a place to rest. Perhaps when her physical condition strengthens, her memory will improve and she will be able to tell you who she is, where she’s from, and why she wasn’t wearing any clothes.”

  Jourdian decided to have the girl fed ten huge meals a day and to forbid her to get out of bed. Surely such a course of treatment would hasten her recovery.

  “You know, Your Grace,” Dr. Osbourne said, “her attitude does give us somewhat of a hint about her. She’s quite the sweetest person I believe I have ever met, but she… Well, her bearing is almost regal. And she snaps out commands as well as any noble person I have ever…er… Of course, I do not mean to say that the members of the aristocracy are dictatorial—”

  “Never mind that. What about the girl?”

  Dr. Osbourne replaced his spectacles on the end of his nose. “I believe she is accustomed to delivering orders and seeing those orders followed. Her manner of behavior does not strike me as that of a commoner, your lordship.”

  Jourdian knew the physician had a point. But the girl did not seem to be of privileged birth. Her naïveté…her unsophisticated way of expressing herself…

  Her artlessness was in direct contrast to the pretentiousness and insincerity so common among the ladies of the upper classes. And surely if a female member of some wellborn family were lost, he would have heard the news by now.

  “I will take your observation into consideration,” he said. “Good day, Doctor.”

  Dr. Osbourne started to leave the room. But before he passed over the threshold of the door, he turned to face the duke again. “I realize you are a busy man, Your Grace, but I believe it would be in the girl’s best interest for you to keep company with her as often as possible. She asked for you several times during the course of the examination, and your visits with her might very well—”

  “I am not her nursemaid.”

  “No. No, of course not. I only meant—”

  “Moreover, I fail to see how my being with the girl could possibly have any effect on her recuperation.”

  “Perhaps it would have none at all, but—”

  “Send me a bill for your charges. Good day, Doctor.”

  Dr. Osbourne left instantly.

  “Nursemaid, indeed,” Jourdian muttered, then heard something clomping up the hall. His head aching from the aftereffects of his two falls from his horse, he looked up and saw a black and white blob shoot past the doorway. Ulmstead followed, bent over at the waist with his hands outstretched in an effort to catch the black and white blob.

  “Ulmstead!”

  Ulmstead came to an abrupt halt in front of the door. “Your Grace?” he panted.

  “What was that thing that just tore down the corridor?”

  “A hog.”

  “A hog?” Jourdian shouted.

  Ulmstead wiped a few beads of sweat off his shiny head. “The animal entered the house with you and the girl. I tried to force him back outside, but he… Well, he vanished. Into thin air. A quarter of an hour ago, I discovered him asleep atop the billiard table, comfortable as you please as if he had every right to be there.”

  “What? How in God’s name did a hog get on the billiard table?”

  “I have yet to understand how the creature managed such a feat.”

  “Get rid of him.”

  “At once, Your Grace.” Ulmstead turned and dashed down the hallway. “Here, piggy! Here, piggy, piggy, piggy!”

  Jourdian rested his head in his hands, thinking about all the strange things that had happened during the course of the afternoon. Lightning out of nowhere, in a clear blue sky, and with no resulting thunder or rain. His stirrups falling from two thick, unsevered straps of leather. Magnus going straight to the manor rather than the barns. Heathcourte’s calm and levelheaded servants… Ulmstead swiping at thin air and muttering something about a vanishing sausage, and Mrs. Frawley losing her wits over a button. A hog sleeping on the billiard table and now scrambling around the house.

  And everything had started with the girl. The naked girl who shone as if made of naught but minuscule stars. The second he’d set eyes on her, his whole life had turned completely upside down.

  Who the bloody hell was she?

  “Your Grace?”

  He saw a young maid standing in the hallway. “What is it?”

  Tessie jumped; the red birthmarks staining her face turned a deeper red. “Mrs. Fraw—Mrs. Frawley’s in the bed.”

  Jourdian waited for the maid to continue, but she only stared at him with the same sort of fear she’d have exhibited if staring at a man-eating monster. “Unless you have something to tell me that I do not already know, you are dismissed.”

  Tessie wrung her hands in her apron, then lifted them to her face to cover the embarrassing birthmarks she knew were a flaming scarlet. “I do. I have. New information, Your Grace. I—Mrs. Frawley’s in the bed, but before the doctor’s medicine put her to sleep, she told me what to do. I did everything she told me, but the girl who was naked in the meadow with you won’t stay in bed! She won’t put on the gown I brought her, and she won’t eat!”

  His eyes mere slits across his face, Jourdian stalked out of the room, brushed past the maid, stormed down the corridor, and took the steps of the staircase three at a time. In short order he stood before the door of the yellow chambers.

  He started to open it, but stopped himself. She was still naked, he remembered. He couldn’t just burst in on her.

  Unbidden, the memory of her bare beauty floated into his thoughts. He recalled the astonishing softness of her cloud-white skin, the unqualified perfection of her body.

  He stared at the door as if he could see straight through it. It wasn’t his fault she was still naked, he told himself. He’d sent orders for her to dress! She’d disobeyed him. Therefore, he owed her no common courtesy whatsoever. And that included knocking.

  Twisting the knob, he opened the door. As soon as he set foot in the room, his sensual memories of her became reality.

  She stood by the window, sunlight and her fire red hair pouring over her. Her huge violet eyes called to him as if with words, and even from where he stood he could smell her unique and captivating scent of wildflowers.

  Recalling the pretty sparkle of her smile and the honey of her lips, he stepped toward her, powerless to resist her mysterious sweetness. “I’ve come,” he began, his gaze traveling down her slender form, “to inform you… To tell you… That is to say…”

  “My Grace?” Splendor said, scratching her arm and neck. “You’ve come to tell me something?”

  Yes, he had, but he forgot what it was. Damn it all, what was it about the girl that so caused him to lose all train of thought, all sense of purpose?

  Finally, he noticed the full tray of food on the table by the fireplace. “You did not eat, you are not wearing clothes, and you are not in bed.”

  “Aye, that is true.”

  “Why?” Jourdian blasted.

&n
bsp; His shout startled her. Sweet everlasting, the man’s shouting could put a roar of thunder to shame! “You should endeavor to control your shouting, My Grace. ’Tis evidence of your uncivil streak. And as I told you earlier, that rudeness in your makeup distresses me.”

  She was distressed? he thought. What did she think he was, ecstatic over the fact that he’d been forced to take her in? “Why haven’t you eaten, why haven’t you put on any clothes, and why aren’t you in bed?”

  “I asked the girl, Tessie, to bring me a soft bread and some fresh cream, but she brought me something with animal in it!” She pointed to the tray of food, scratched her shoulder, then dug at the side of her leg.

  Jourdian glanced at the meat pie on the tray. “Animal?”

  He didn’t seem at all repulsed, Splendor noted. “Do—do you eat animal?”

  “Well, of course I eat animal—meat.”

  Splendor shuddered. Her wonderful, soon-to-be husband actually ate animal! “I will endeavor to forgive you, but ’twill be difficult.”

  “Forgive me for eating meat?” Dear God, the girl was the strangest person he’d ever met! The sooner he was rid of her, the better.

  “I only eat soft breads, cream, fruit, and a bit of honey.”

  So that was why she was so frail, Jourdian thought. With a diet like that, it was a wonder she wasn’t dead.

  “I do not care for those strange things over there,” Splendor announced, pointing to a gleaming table across the room. “They look like flowers, but they are not.”

  Jourdian glanced at the arrangement of yellow silk daffodils. “I have never encountered anything as horrible as those things,” Splendor continued, scratching her elbow. “Have them removed from this room at once.”

  Jourdian went rigid. “I do not know who you are or who you think you are, but you will not order me about, do you understand? Nor will you reprimand me over my uncivil streak, as you so high-handedly put it. Moreover, you will eat what my staff brings to you, animal and all, you will stay in the bed, and you will wear clothing at all times.”

  “I cannot eat animal.” Reaching around her back, she tried to scratch the area between her shoulder blades. “As for staying in bed and wearing clothing, I attempted both. Alas, I cannot wear the clothing. It irritates me.” She indicated the garment.

  Jourdian looked at the coarse cotton night rail draped over the back of a chair, deciding it belonged to the maid with the red marks on her face. “You are irritated by the gown. Am I to understand that it isn’t good enough for you?”

  “I’m sure ’tis perfectly fine for others, but not for me.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “I see. Then by all means allow me to clothe you in satin, milady. Silk, velvet, and lace.”

  “If you believe satin, silk, velvet, and lace will ease my distress, then I accept your offer to clothe me in such. You see, that gown and the bedding—whatever is on the bed… And your coat as well. Your coat, the gown, and the bedding… They’ve given me prickles that I cannot seem to soothe no matter what I do. And when one suffers from prickles, one can do naught but scratch. And I have ever so much more to do than scratch.”

  His mind still whirling with astonishment over her calm acceptance of his sarcastic offer of expensive clothing, a moment passed before Jourdian realized what she’d said to him. “Prickles?”

  “Of a supremely unbearable sort, My Grace.”

  Jourdian watched as she lifted her hair and presented the whole of her bare body to his view. Alarm rolled through him.

  Red welts marred her soft alabaster flesh, and blood oozed from the places she’d been scratching.

  “The prickles began shortly after that doctor left,” Splendor explained. She crossed to where he stood, turned, and gave him her back. “Would you scratch the middle of my back, please? I cannot reach the mass of prickles there.”

  “No, I won’t scratch your back, and you will cease to scratch, as well. You’ve been digging at yourself so hard that you’ve made yourself bleed!”

  Splendor spun to face him, still holding her thick mane of hair away from her body.

  Renewed desire caught Jourdian fast, flickering through his loins like tongues of fire. He curled his hands into fists. Dammit, he had to get hold of himself! Not only was the girl covered with hives but he would not surrender to the demands of his baser urges. He was the duke of Heathcourte, for God’s sake, not some lip-licking libertine!

  And she was totally outrageous. Just the sort of woman he took great pains to avoid.

  “Let go of your hair," he snarled. “It’s the only thing you've got to cover yourself. Don’t you know it’s highly improper to allow a man to see your bare body?”

  Splendor hadn’t known. She’d thought humans wore clothing simply because they liked it. Immediately, she dropped her hair and felt it course down her frame. “If ’tis so improper for you to see my bare body, why do you stare at it so? You look at me as though I am a juicy mosquito, and you are a famished frog.”

  For a moment, Jourdian remained silent. How dare the chit question him! “I do not stare at your body, and I most assuredly do not appreciate being compared to a frog!”

  Splendor could not find the energy to continue arguing with him. The itchy pain of her hives had taken a toll on her strength, and she knew that within seconds she was going to shrink to her original size.

  She needed an infusion of vigor, and she needed it immediately. Reaching out, she grabbed Jourdian’s hand, but the moment she took hold of his fingers she realized his touch was not enough.

  There was only one thing to do.

  Jourdian was taken completely off guard when she threw herself at him. Her breasts flattened against his chest and her hips pushed sweetly into his as she pulled his head down for a deep absorbing kiss that seemed to suck him dry.

  Rigid, years-old domination over his own emotions evaporated like a drop of water on a scalding skillet. Breathing harshly, unevenly, and feeling his blood heat and pound through his veins, Jourdian took her into his arms and returned the kiss with a passion that nearly dropped him to his knees.

  But his passion strengthened Splendor. Energy rushed through her, making her feel as vibrant as the colors of a sun-washed rainbow. In truth, she wanted the kiss to continue forever; wanted to be close to him, enveloped by his arms and his clean, woodsy scent. But since she was unsure of Jourdian’s mood she knew she must end the encounter.

  “I have had enough,” she whispered.

  His arms still around her, Jourdian lifted his head and stared down at her. “You’ve had enough?”

  “For now,” she replied softly. “But I’ll need more soon. When that time comes, I shall either come to you or summon you.”

  He stepped away from her, his fury so great that he could not speak. She’d thrown herself at him, and he had responded to her like some randy adolescent about to receive his first taste of passion. That not bad enough, then she’d taunted him, gleefully informing him that she’d had enough!

  Well, so had he.

  “I want you out of my house as soon as possible,” he said in clipped tones, seething on the inside. “Until that time comes you will stay in this room, following to the letter each and every instruction given to you. And I assure you, miss, that if I learn of even one circumstance of noncompliance on your part, you will sorely regret your disregard for my authority.”

  “I—”

  “And you will never—I repeat—never—summon me!”

  He turned then, and without a backward glance, he left, locking the door behind him.

  Even after Jourdian had gone, his words lingered, hissing around Splendor’s ears like angry wasps.

  I want you out of my house as soon as possible.

  Instantly, she sought the security of her mist. The glistening haze appeared around her, but before she had completely dissolved she saw a bright silver light glowing on the mantel above the fireplace. Crossing the room, she saw that the gleaming object was a candelabra.<
br />
  But Splendor knew better. The beautiful candle holder was actually a fairy utilizing the powers of shape-shifting. She lifted it from the mantel and held it level with her chest. “All right, who are you?”

  The candelabra became a diminutive Harmony. Sitting in the cup of her sister’s hand, she lit a fire on the end of her own finger and pressed the hot spark into Splendor’s palm.

  “Oh!” Splendor cried. “Harmony, why must you be so exasperating?”

  “I like exasperation. I thrive on it. If I could, I’d eat it for breakfast.”

  Despite her annoyance, Splendor smiled. “What are you doing here?”

  “Spying on you.” Rising to her feet, Harmony held her arms out from her sides and walked the length of Splendor’s thumb before jumping off and hovering in the air. “Why did you smash your mouth against the Trinity’s the way you did?”

  “His name is Jourdian Amberville, and he’s the duke of Heathcourte. What I did to him is called kissing.”

  “What’s a duke?”

  Splendor thought for a moment. “I’m not quite certain, but when he told me who he was he spoke much the way Father does, which leads me to believe that a duke is of high and important social standing in the human world.”

  "Why did you do the kissing with him?”

  “It gives me great strength.” Splendor scratched at two long welts on her stomach, wishing with all her heart that she could make them go away.

  But she couldn’t, for although she had the power to heal others, she could not heal herself. Only another fairy could. “Harmony, you must help me with these prickles.”

  Harmony flew directly in front of Splendor’s face and looked into her sister’s left eye. “His mouth gives you strength?”

  “Harmony, please make these prickles disappear.” Harmony glanced at her sister’s irritated skin, then sailed across the room and alighted upon the head of a porcelain figurine that sat on the dresser. “Nay.”

  “Harmony, please!”

  “What will you give me in return?” Harmony looked at her fingernails, blew on them, then rubbed them on her bare shoulder.