Bessie

by Jackie Ivie

  She was humming to herself as she climbed back down the ladder. Placed the book atop a stack. She wrapped the shawl about her head, and pulled a section forward, preparatory to covering her to the chin again. The door opened. Without thinking, Bessie turned. And Devon walked in.

  Oh no!

  He secured the door behind him before approaching. Bessie was three steps back up the ladder as he reached the nearest pile of books. And she’d climbed the rungs backwards. This was the most ignominious moment of her life. It had to be.

  “I cannot believe my eyes,” Devon spoke first.

  Bessie had known this moment would come. She knew she’d have to somehow explain her conduct at the joust, and later – the stable. As more and more of his siblings found out, it would become impossible to continue hiding it. She’d hoped for more time. A bit of preparation. And a much more favorable setting than a disorderly library, a ragged dress, and a lot of dust.

  “My lord! You...startled me.” She didn’t have to disguise her voice. It didn’t sound like her, at all.

  “I was looking for my brother.”

  “Your brother?”

  Something was odd. Devon wasn’t acting any differently. He didn’t exhibit anything like surprise. Or outrage. Or even annoyance.

  “Byron. He’s usually here. I’m not complaining. If I’d known you were in the library, I’d have been looking for you instead.”

  “You would?”

  “Oh yes.”

  It felt like they were saying one thing but meaning something else entirely. He took a step nearer, put a foot on the bottom rung of the ladder and just stood there, looking up at her. His proximity had a devastating effect on her breathing. Her wits. Her ability to speak.

  “Do I frighten you?”

  “N-no.” It didn’t help that she’d stammered the word.

  “Not even a little?”

  His eyebrows lifted. The sun hadn’t yet set. He was standing in a shaft of light coming through the new window glass. It highlighted and defined. It wasn’t possible to be more handsome than Devon Hildebrand. Bessie couldn’t prevent the sigh. His head tipped as he heard it. That was even more disconcerting.

  “Your hair? Is it the same?”

  “The...same?”

  “May I see?”

  At her hesitation, he smiled. At that gesture, her heart stuttered. Stupid thing.

  “I won’t do anything more. Unless you ask, of course. You have my promise. Just like before.”

  Bessie dropped her gaze to her hands. She’d considered several explanations, trying for one that wouldn’t get her humiliated and punished. She’d even considered using a combination of excuses. All of them true. All of them unconscionable.

  She could say she’d done it to test him, but she shouldn’t start with that one. That deserved punishment. Banishment. Perhaps even a beating. No. Devon claimed he’d never do that. She’d probably be set aside, though. Far from him. Without recourse.

  She could tell him she’d wanted to attract him, alter his opinion of her. Experience his kiss. And more. That might be best, but it was fairly implausible. Because once she had those things, she’d run from him.

  Perhaps she’d say she wanted to surprise him. But that should have been done in privacy. Without resorting to vulgar exhibitions. No lady deserving of the title would have deported herself as Bess had at the joust!

  There wasn’t any obvious excuse to start with. And all of them led to despair and humiliation. Exactly as her maid had foretold. Oh! Why did Roberta always have to be right?

  “You are very beautiful. I’m not surprised you hide.”

  He was confusing her. He should be angry. Curt. She tugged the shawl ends apart with trembling fingers. She hoped it wasn’t as noticeable as she suspected.

  “Your husband would be forever watching over his shoulder otherwise.”

  “My...husband?”

  Bessie pulled the material from her head, wadding it as she did so. She held it between them, looking down at it without really seeing anything. It didn’t seem possible that he didn’t know her identity. Could he be tormenting her? Was that it? He wanted her to squirm before he exulted in his knowledge?

  Nothing else made sense.

  Or, did it?

  She was in shadow. He was awash with the last of the daylight. Still, she wasn’t that lucky.

  “Forgetting him, are you?”

  “Uh...no.”

  “So, tell me. Are you still of the same mind?” he asked.

  “The same mind?” she repeated automatically. He knew. He was simply dragging this out before making her confess. Her heart started hammering. Her fingers went icy.

  “About turning me down the other night.”

  “What?” The word was a strangled sound as it left her throat. For the briefest moment, the ball of material she held went to a blurred mass of cloth.

  “At the tourney. You remember.”

  “I...can explain.” Bessie mumbled. Oh no. Her eyes started to burn and her nose itched. She was going to cry. That would be beyond mortifying.

  “Oh. Allow me.”

  Dread was a debilitating emotion. Bessie collapsed onto a ladder rung. She hadn’t much choice. She felt dizzy. Her knees were shaking.

  “But first, let me say that my wife must care nothing for me.”

  Shock was an even more incapacitating thing. Everything felt like it had stopped in order to share the sensation. For a long moment she couldn’t hear anything except her own pulse. She no longer felt any urge to weep.

  “What...did you just say?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? She knows of my interest. And yet...here you are. Your hair truly does resemble fire. ’Tis lovely. And very rare.”

  The ball of material gave her a strange sort of courage. But she couldn’t stare at it all eve. Bessie pulled in a breath and lifted her gaze to his. Her heart stopped. Fell. And then restarted with an even stronger, heavier rhythm. It startled and weakened. Someone should have warned her that love was beyond dread. And shock. It was the most devastating affliction of all.

  “Here. Give me your hand. I’ll help you down.”

  He’d moved closer somehow. She shook her head.

  “I cannot hold you up there.”

  “Hold me?”

  His smiled widened. Her heart did another swoop.

  “In my arms,” he specified.

  “You shouldn’t!” She’d tried for a terse, shocked whisper. That went awry. She sounded breathless and nervous, and something even worse. She’d sounded more than a little interested.

  “Now I’ve found you, you’d be surprised at what I should. And for how long.”

  “You looked for me?”

  “Does that gladden your heart?”

  “Yes. I mean, no.” Bessie bit her tongue. It didn’t help. The words were already out.

  He chuckled. “No one claims to know a woman with hair like yours. You are bright to keep it hidden. Or, your husband is. Actually, he’s not bright at all. Only a fool would seek work here after observing the tourney.”

  “Work?” Her voice stopped. She couldn’t think of one thing to add.

  “He’s not here?”

  “I...didn’t say that.”

  “See? I am right. The moment I saw you I suspected it. Your husband is one of the new workmen. That explains your presence. And my comments about my wife. She is incredibly bright, yet sometimes so foolish. Why would she put you beneath my nose? I cannot comprehend it.”

  He reached without warning and pulled her off the ladder and right into his arms. The shawl fell. He didn’t let her feet touch the floor. He just stood there. Holding her to him. Her arms were along her sides. Her nose pressed against his neck. It felt unbelievable. Amazing. Bessie had never been held like this in her entire life. She’d wondered what it felt like when he hugged Lizzy in the hallway.

  Now, she knew.

  Devon’s warmth permeated everything. The arms about her felt strong. Safe. She’d never felt
so secure in her life. She shut her eyes to absorb it.

  “Your hair smells nice.”

  The whisper of his breath tickled her earlobe. It brushed stray hairs across her skin. It also created an entirely different sensation. The calm, comforting one dissipated, replaced by something much more potent. Vital. And urgent. She couldn’t define why. She was afraid to try.

  “You must...set me down.”

  “Why?”

  Because I can’t stand this!

  “There is not one blemish to mar your skin, even up close. I’ve never seen the like.”

  “You mustn’t...say such things.”

  “Who is to say me nay? You?”

  “Please?” She meant to sound authoritative. Instead, she sounded intrigued. Rapt. And slightly worried. It matched how she felt. Exactly.

  “Ask me for something you want.”

  “I...just did.”

  “Ask me for something I want, then.”

  Bessie pulled back from him and forced her eyes open. He was very close. His eyes glowed like the emeralds they resembled. Her heart felt like a caged entity. Her breath caught before each release. Her lips parted.

  “I think I shall let you kiss me this time.”

  Her jaw dropped. “What? No. I...couldn’t.”

  Each word accompanied a glance to his lips and back. He was so close! So unbelievably tempting. Wait. What was she doing?

  “Are you saying you don’t want to?”

  “No. I mean yes.”

  Devon’s lips touched her forehead. Bessie started shaking. It was accompanied by his shudders. Something wondrous happened. Something vast. Warm. And perfect. It spread through her entire body, enveloping her with a blissful feeling. She’d never felt anything like it. Then he pulled back. His eyes narrowed. He set her down slowly. He waited a bit before opening his arms in a large gesture. And then he stepped back. His boot brushed her stacked books. One fell. Another. A third. Bessie watched them, and then looked up to him.

  “Tell your husband to guard his property better. The man needs a sword shoved through him. What am I saying? If anything like that happens, you’d leave. And it took forever to find you.”

  “It’s been...three days.”

  “Time is a vast span when placed against longing. Perhaps you agree?”

  Bessie didn’t dare answer. Or move. She’d thought Byron gifted with words. Devon was rapidly demonstrating it could be another family trait. No wonder Mirabelle Bryant had been in such raptures.

  “Don’t hide your hair. Please? At least, not while you’re here. At Hilde.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I ask if of you.”

  “But...why?”

  He sighed heavily. “Because you’ll be easier to spot. And I must be this fool my wife calls me to want that.”

  He spun and walked away. And she watched him.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Why would I want to send an order for red wigs again?”

  “Just send my note, Roberta. And make certain there are enough of them.”

  “Enough for what, may I ask?”

  “Enough to cover each servant woman’s head. Yours included. That should come to thirty-three.”

  “Why stop there? Why not cover all of the women?”

  “My husband knows his sisters aren’t redheads.”

  “You’re probably right there. So, what do we poor servants owe such an honor to?”

  “It’s just a wig, Roberta. Wearing it will not kill you.”

  “You’ve gone and jumped off the cliff, my lady. I wouldn’t have thought it possible before, but there you have it. His lordship knows we’re not redheads, either.”

  “That won’t matter.”

  “You want redheaded servant women running about your estate now? I’m going to fetch Augusta, I am. Perhaps she can talk some sense into you.”

  “I have a very good reason for this.”

  “This should be good. And what might it be?”

  “I am disguising myself.”

  “By disguising all of us? Why can’t you simply wear a table linen like usual?”

  “Oh, I’m not giving up my weeds. Not yet, anyway. I won’t be doing that until after the masque at Stansbury.”

  “I had heard you were changing this gala to a costume masque. And I did ask myself why you’d do such a thing. It lacks sense. But then I remembered. You have lost yours.”

  “Roberta.”

  “The Hildebrand ladies are quite a sight. They’ll not be hard to espouse, even without dowries such as you are set to offer...but what do you do with such a gift of beauty? You hide it. What sort of spouses are you looking for? Blind ones?”

  “If it’s a costume ball, I can go as myself.”

  “You can always go as yourself. If you remember who that is, anymore. Once you get me attired in my own red hair, who knows what might happen? Why, I might forget just who the Lady of Hilde really is.”

  “You will not fit my wardrobe.”

  “Perhaps not, but I can certainly find something ugly enough in mine. Besides, I will wear a shroud about my head. No one would question it.”

  “That’s just it, Roberta. I don’t want to be large, and ugly, and covered up. I want to appear at the ball in the most beautiful attire we can design.”

  “Oh. So now you want to be beautiful?”

  “Only at the ball. As myself.”

  “Myself - the redheaded servant? Or myself - the new Lady Hilde?”

  “You know very well what I mean.”

  “My head spins and you say I know? You don’t even know. Nobody knows, except maybe that Will, fellow. He seems to know all the goings-on in this household. The boy’s a sneak-pad.”

  “He climbs through windows. Why do you think I’ve changed the latch on mine? Twice.”

  “That explains it. He must have had the pleasure of viewing the real you. Or rather...the Lady Hilde you. No wonder he’s at your beck and call. Perhaps you should have wed with him.”

  “Oh, cease already. I have a very good reason for what I do.”

  “As I have already been informed. I just don’t know what else may come from that pretty head of yours. You want red wigs now! The world’s upside-down, it is. I don’t suppose you wish them all in the same shade of red? Or would you like a mix?”

  “That won’t matter. As long as they are red. I just want to confuse him.”

  “You are confusing everyone else. Why should your husband be left out?”

  “It was his idea, Roberta.”

  “He wants you to place all your servant women in red wigs?”

  “Of course not. Oh! It is so wonderful! I had no idea!”

  “I might need Augusta to cipher this, Bess. You truly have ceased making any sense whatsoever.”

  “He told me he longs for me. Oh, Roberta!” Bessie flung her arms wide. “I am in love! I didn’t know what it felt like. It’s unbelievable. Wondrous!”

  Bessie dove backward onto her bed. She sank into the mattress and laughed with joy. It was miraculous. Wonderful! She wanted to share the sensation with the entire world.

  “Oh! Thank the Lord! This is wonderful news! Oh. Wait a bit. I’m more mixed-up than before. Why do we need red wigs if everything is wonderful?”

  “He wants me to stand out. So he can spot me. He longs for me.”

  “You, the servant woman? Or you, the wife?”

  “Not his wife. He thinks she is very bright, but sometimes very foolish.”

  “The boy is a wonder. I’d not thought a handsome face hid such. Of course his wife is bright and very foolish. I have been saying the same thing.”

  “He can’t believe I hired me when all he thinks of is me. Oh! Where should I start?”

  “Take a good bit of lessons in proper speech. That would be my first thought. Perhaps then, you’d make a bit of sense.”

  “I am making sense.”

  “I will go fetch Augusta. She might think it so.”

  “Yes, fetch her. I ha
ve yet to decide what I shall do with my hair, or how I want it arranged.”

  “You’ll hide it, as usual. What is so difficult about that?”

  “I mean, at the masquerade. Oh Roberta! I can’t wait. When I think of his arms about me...and his lips on mine...oh! I vow, ’tis the most wondrous thing in the world!”

  “Oh, dear. Oh, my. I do not want to ask what this is about. Although I suspicion it’s got a mite to do with the wigs.”

  “He held me in the library. And kissed me. Here.” Bess touched two fingers to her forehead in awe. “It was thrilling! Incredible! Why...it was the most wondrous experience of my life!”

  “Bright lad. As I already made mention.”

  “It felt...oh! I cannot describe it.”

  “I was wed, Bess dear. For nigh on eight years before my man passed on. It wouldn’t be a surprise whatever you describe.”

  “Your husband held you? He...kissed you?” Bess sat up and stared. “I’m not so sure I can envision that. In fact, I’d rather not.”

  Roberta laughed. “You think babes come from caves? Of course I kissed my Maurice.”

  “I suppose next you’ll tell me that Augusta kisses her husband, Lymon?”

  “Youth! They think they invented this whole thing. I shall go get Augusta so you can ask her yourself. She’ll apprise you of it. She’ll probably think your latest idea more amusing than the joust, too. She might even look good in red hair. You can put her in your place next time. She likes your wardrobe, too. I’ll have to let out most of the seams, though.”

  “Are you certain she and Lymon...kiss? Each other?”

  “They have eight grown children, Bess. You employ most of them. Where do you think they came from? Oh. Never-you-mind my tongue. I forgot. You might be oft-wed, but you’ve yet to find out. Drat my loose tongue.”

  “Speaking of...do you think he suspicions?”

  “He, who? And what would he suspicion?”

  “My husband, Devon. And my...you know.”

  “Your...maidenly state?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well. To a worldly man - and a comely one at that - it is probably as obvious as the shade of your hair.”

  “What would his looks have to do with it?”

  “Women have a weak spot for a handsome face, Bess. They’ve the same for a big, strong, manly sort. Your husband has both. Why, I’d be surprised if the women didn’t fight each other for the honor.”