by P. F. Kozak
When Jack recovered, he took out his handkerchief. Before he tucked himself back into his trousers, he wiped Pamela clean and pulled down her skirt. She laced up her chemise and buttoned her dress.
While putting her bonnet on, Pamela looked out the window. The rain had lessened. “We should be getting on now, Jack, before anyone notices we are still here.”
“Yes, miss, quite right.” Before opening the door to go to the driver’s seat, Jack reached out and pulled Pamela to him. He kissed her, deeply and passionately. “Miss Pamela, once the guvner opens you, if you ever have a mind to lay with me, I would be honoured.”
Before Pamela could answer, he opened the door and jumped down to the street. The carriage jolted forward as Jack took them home.
Chapter Six
Pamela and Jack arrived home well before the hired wagon with the furniture. That gave Pamela time to wash and tend to her hair. Jack dismantled the old bed and readied the room for the new furnishings.
When the wagon arrived, it took some time to get everything inside and up the stairs. Fortunately, two men came with the wagon, which spared Jack most of the lifting. Once they had the bed assembled, Pamela decided to use the mattress from the dismantled bed, it being in better condition than the older one from storage. Lucy fetched the bedding from Pamela’s newly vacated room.
By the time Jack had to leave to pick up Peter, the room looked like Pamela’s room. She wanted to have new curtains made, with a matching canopy for the bed. And certainly, new wallpaper to replace the cheerless paper Peter had selected for the walls. She carefully placed the rosewood clock on her night table and set it to the correct time. Now, she had to think about getting dressed for dinner.
“Lucy, I don’t have much time. Jack will be back with Peter in less than an hour. Does May have everything set for dinner?”
“Yes, miss. The table is set. While you were out, she sent me to the fishmonger to get some fresh cod.” Lucy grinned. “I got a fine one, I did. Master Rennard fancies the way May cooks up fish.”
“I remember. He asked for it on Christmas Eve. I’m surprised he allowed the Christmas goose. I thought perhaps we would have the Christmas haddock instead.”
“May says she thinks he should have been a fisherman, the way he fusses about fish. He sometimes goes to the fishmonger himself, to see what they have. He’ll bring home too much and May has to dry it before it goes bad.”
Pamela steadied herself against the bedpost as she said, “Lucy, I didn’t know that about him.”
“Miss Pamela, are you all right? You look a bit drawn.”
“I’m fine, Lucy. Hearing about Peter’s habits, the things about him I know nothing of, makes me sad. There is so much I don’t know.”
“But, miss, you’re home now. You’ll find out soon enough about his habits.”
“I hope so, Lucy.” Pamela shook off the feeling of melancholy. “Help me to dress. I want to look beautiful tonight.”
Lucy laid out Pamela’s clothes on the bed. From the petticoats Pamela had in the trunk, Lucy had selected the laciest one. Even the camisole and knickers had lace.
Picking up the frilly undergarments, Pamela had to ask, “Lucy, are these for me or for Master Rennard?”
“Why, for both of you, miss. You did say you hoped he would lift your skirt tonight.”
“You are quite right, I did say that.”
“Miss Pamela, don’t be scared about it all. He’ll do right by ya. The mister is an honourable man.”
“Sometimes, too honourable, Lucy. That’s why he won’t touch me.”
Lucy giggled. “Miss Pamela, in that dress, he’ll be on you like flies on treacle.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears. He’ll be home soon. Help me with all of this.”
Pamela quickly removed her day dress. Lucy helped her lace up her chemise. “Miss, don’t tie it too tight. You don’t want the mister to have to fuss with it to undo it.”
Pamela smiled at Lucy’s lack of modesty. “How would you know about that, Lucy?”
“I just know, miss. Men don’t like to fuss with strings.”
After pulling the dress over her head and fastening it properly, Lucy worked on Pamela’s hair. Lucy noticed her reflection in the looking glass. “If you don’t mind my saying so, miss, you look pale.”
“I am simply a bit peckish. I haven’t eaten much today. I’ll be fine once I have some dinner.”
They heard the door across the hall open and then close. Pamela’s skin went from pale to flushed. “Lucy, he’s home. What time is it?”
“It’s half past six, miss.”
“Oh, my. We have to finish here. My jewelry, where did we put the necklace I want to wear?”
Pamela jumped up from the dressing table stool, nearly knocking the brush from Lucy’s hand. She turned to apologise for her abrupt movement. She only said, “Lucy, I’m…” and her legs turned to jelly. The room spun for a moment and then, nothing.
As Peter unbuttoned the last button on his shirt, he thought he heard Lucy’s voice across the hall shouting Pamela’s name. He stopped for a moment and listened. He did hear Lucy shouting. Before he could reach his door, Lucy pounded on it.
“Master Rennard!”
When he opened the door, Lucy seemed frantic. “Miss Pamela!” She pointed to the open door across the hall. What he saw made his heart stop. Pamela lay sprawled on the floor.
“Lucy, what happened?” He ran into the room and knelt beside Pamela’s motionless body.
“Sir, I don’t know. I was fixin’ her hair and she jumped up to find her necklace. Then she fell to the floor.” Lucy almost sobbed.
“Lucy, go to the kitchen and fetch May. Tell her Miss Pamela fainted and to bring some brandy.”
“Yes, sir, right away, sir.” Lucy ran out of the room, yelling for May.
Peter took no notice of Lucy’s hysterics, his only concern being Pamela. He scooped her up and carried her to the bed. After gingerly putting her down on the quilt, he sat down on the bed beside her. “Pamela, can you hear me? Pamela?” He shook her. She did not respond. Lightly slapping her face also brought no response.
He quickly went over to the washbasin and poured cold water over the face flannel in the bowl. Wringing it as he walked, he went back to the bed and wiped her face. Pamela softly moaned.
“Pamela, can you speak? This is Peter.” She didn’t answer him.
“Good Lord, what happened to her?” May came into the room with Lucy following.
“I think she fainted. Did you bring the brandy?”
May handed Peter a glass. “It’s your cognac, good and strong, it is.”
Peter put the glass under Pamela’s nose. Pamela turned her head away. Peter followed her with the glass. “Breathe, Pamela.” She raised her hand and tried to push the glass away. Peter dipped his finger in the cognac and put it in Pamela’s mouth. She coughed.
Lucy whimpered in the background, stifling another sob. May said sternly, “Hush, child. She’ll be all right. The foolish girl has hardly eaten anything since she’s been home. A good meal will bring her around.”
Peter again gave Pamela a taste of cognac on his finger. “What do you mean she hasn’t eaten? Why hasn’t she eaten?”
“She says she’s excited about being home. At least that’s what she says.”
Peter turned and scolded May. “You are to see to her meals. Why haven’t you?”
“Miss Pamela is a grown woman. I can’t make her eat if she refuses food.”
“Peter?” Pamela faintly spoke his name.
“Pamela, are you all right?”
“What happened?”
“You fainted, dear heart. Went down like a stone, from what I can tell.”
“I did?”
“Yes, you did.” Peter handed May the face flannel. “Could you wet this again?” May wet the cloth and handed it back to Peter. He folded it and put it across Pamela’s forehead.
“Take a sip of this. It will help bring you aroun
d.” Peter put his arm underneath her shoulders to support her. To balance herself, she reached out and put her hand on his bare chest.
He had forgotten about his open shirt. Her hand rested on his skin as he tipped the glass to her lips. She sipped the cognac and coughed again, pressing her hand against his chest. He thought surely she was branding his skin with her handprint, the heat of her palm searing his chest.
“Why haven’t you eaten anything today?”
“I did eat. I had some biscuits.”
“May says you haven’t eaten a meal. She says you’ve been too excited.”
“I am excited. I’m home.”
Pamela didn’t seem to realise she had her hand on his bare chest, but Peter certainly knew. He could feel himself stirring, at a completely inappropriate and undesirable time.
Even in a dead faint, her femininity took his breath. Now, seeing her in this exquisite dress, lying on the bed, with her hand on him, he again questioned his capacity to control himself with her.
“May, perhaps you should bring Pamela her dinner on a tray.”
“No!” Pamela tried to sit up. “I want to take our meal together in the library.”
May stepped in. “Master Rennard, I think if you help her down the stairs, she will do better to have dinner in the library. I have the table set and the fire is stoked.”
Peter removed Pamela’s hand from his chest and held it for a moment. “As you wish, Pamela. I must finish dressing. You are not to leave this room without having me at your side. Do you understand?”
“I will wait for you to come back. Could I have a glass of water?”
Lucy stood closest to the pitcher. She picked it up, but Peter came and took it from her. After pouring the water himself, he took it back to Pamela.
He set the glass on the night table and helped her to sit up. “Drink it slowly, dear heart.”
His shirt remained open as he leaned over her. She reached up and lightly touched his chest, sliding her hand the full length to his stomach. Her eyes moved lower than her hand. He could not hide his reaction to her touch. She smiled and simply said, “I will, Peter. Thank you.”
“You are welcome.” He turned to go back to his room. “May, we will be ready for dinner in ten minutes. Lucy, stay with Pamela until I come back. I do believe she will want her hair fixed when she sees herself in the looking glass. It has come undone.”
Peter went back to his room and closed the door. He had to decide how to handle this situation once and for all. Pamela could not help but see the stiff ridge in his trousers. Even with the vapors, she responded to him as a woman would. In that revealing dress, she obviously wanted him to know of her charms.
He took off his shirt and washed himself, and then dressed for dinner. Seeing that Pamela had formally dressed for dinner, he did as well. He selected a white ruffled shirt with a black ribbon bow tie, a grey waistcoat and a black tailcoat. The narrow trousers hid nothing. Any reaction he might have would be clearly outlined.
Within ten minutes, he had readied himself for dinner, and he had made his decision. When he knocked on the door, Lucy opened it. Pamela sat at her dressing table about to fasten her necklace. Coming up behind her, he said, “Let me do that, my dear.” He took the necklace. “How do you feel?”
He saw Pamela watching him in the looking glass. “Much better, thank you.”
Lucy spoke up, “She still looks peaked to me, Master Rennard.”
“I agree with you, Lucy.” Peter carefully fastened the necklace. Resting his hand on her shoulder, he looked at her reflection. “Isn’t this the necklace I gave you two years ago for Christmas?”
“Yes, I am quite fond of it. It is lovely.”
“As are you this evening. Your dress is stunning. I’ve not seen it before.”
“I only bought it a few months ago, for a party to celebrate our finishing University.”
“Then we should go to dinner. It would be a shame for this lovely dress to be crumpled on the floor again, if you should once more succumb to your empty stomach.”
“Thank you, Peter. Your concern for my dress is commendable.”
Peter smiled, noting the typical cheekiness in Pamela’s retort. She had always answered him with sass. As she matured, her tone with him became saucier, tinged with a familiarity no one else shared with him. “Come, let me help you down the stairs. I am quite sure May is waiting dinner.”
Pamela stood. Peter noted a slight wobble as she took a step. “Slowly, dear. Lean on me.” He put his arm around her waist and steadied her as they walked down the hall. When they reached the stairs, Pamela wrapped her arm around his waist. He cautioned her as they went down the stairs. “One step at a time, Pams.”
“I’m not inclined to slide down the railing, Peter, which is what I did the last time you called me Pams.”
“As I recall, you nearly knocked me onto the floor, sliding down that railing as if it were a greased pole. I believe your father scolded you for not conducting yourself as a lady and sent you to your room for that incident.”
“I’m surprised you remember. Of course, you know I wanted to knock you down. At least I hope you learned never to stand with your back to the railing.”
“I’ve learned much more than that from being with you.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs. Peter turned her around to face him, still holding her around the waist. “Pamela, you must promise me you will not allow this to happen again. Such folly, not eating properly. Had you been on the stairs when you fainted, it could have been disastrous.”
Pamela stepped closer to him and touched his face. “I am surprised, Peter. You have not shown concern for me to this degree in some time.”
“Pamela, we have much to discuss about who we are to one another, but this is not the time. The first point of order is to feed you!” Peter stepped back and quite deliberately threaded Pamela’s arm though his, as though making an entrance to a formal ball. “Shall we?”
When they entered the library, May stood waiting to serve. Peter led Pamela to her chair. “May, Lucy could do this.”
“Poppycock! I am going to stand right here until I see her put some nourishment inside her belly!”
As Pamela sat down, Peter leaned in close to her ear. “I do believe she means it. I suggest you eat something before she takes that wooden spoon she’s holding to your bottom.”
“If anyone takes a wooden spoon to my bottom, I expect it would be you.”
“As I have been sorely tempted at times!” Peter went around the table to his chair. Pamela’s comment indicated she had taken to heart some of her newly discovered literature. However, he could not speak of that until they were alone.
May handed Pamela a freshly baked roll. “Now, missy, you start on this bread while I serve your meal. You need a cushion so this fish doesn’t upset you more.”
“May, for Lord’s sake!”
“Don’t you be taking that tone with me, young lady! You have Master Rennard cross with me because of your foolishness.”
Peter folded his arms across his chest and enjoyed watching May take Pamela in hand. “May, Sir George certainly understood the need to send you along with Pamela. You are the only one who has ever been able to discipline her properly.”
“Why, Master Rennard, I thought Sir George meant that to be your job, he did!”
“Perhaps so. I could always get the original will out of the safe and review who has proper authority to discipline her.”
Pamela sat across the table, chewing a piece of bread. “In case the two of you have forgotten, I’m sitting here!”
Peter picked up his fork to sample his fish. “We haven’t forgotten that, Pamela, have we, May?”
“No, sir, we haven’t. You’re well within your rights to take her over your knee and paddle her for puttin’ us all through what she did.”
“May!”
“Thank you for the suggestion, May. I’ll consider the necessity for it later.” Peter tasted the fish. “As
always, it is perfection. If you would be so kind as to pour us some wine, I will supervise Miss Pamela’s meal. I promise you, she will finish what is on her plate.”
“Make sure that she does. I’ve had quite enough for one day.” May poured the wine, leaving the bottle beside Peter. “Ring for me if you be needing anything.” As she left, she gave Pamela a pat on the back.
“May set a lovely table, didn’t she?” Pamela poked at her fish with her fork.
“She always does. She also prepares fish better than the finest chefs in London. If you taste it, you would better appreciate what I’m saying.”
“Peter, the smell, I don’t know if I can.”
“Of course you can. Lift your fork and put it in your mouth. It’s really quite simple.”
Pamela ate another bite of the bread, and then tried the fish. Peter watched her roll it around in her mouth before she swallowed. “What is that flavour?”
Peter tasted another bite and smiled. “This is my favourite. She marinates the fish in wine and spices, usually dill, coriander and a hint of anise. Then she puts the fish and marinade in an iron skillet and cooks it until the liquid is nearly gone. The remaining sauce coats the fish, as you see here. It is superb!”
Pamela appeared incredulous. “You know how May cooks fish?”
“Of course I do. Perhaps she should teach you. Then you could cook me a fish dinner.”
“It seems you know the cooking method so completely, you should be cooking me dinner instead.”
“Not very likely, dear heart. It is more likely May would throw us both out of her kitchen if we tried to pick up a frying pan.”
“That’s the God’s honest truth. I remember she tossed Papa out when he tried to tell her how to season a pot of stew. She told him he could season his own plate at the table. When we sat down to dinner, she lined up every spice bottle in the kitchen on the table and told Papa to season it any way he liked. He never interfered again.”