Fair Maiden

by Cheri Schmidt

  Jackson entered, noted his rejected dish with a flicker of his gaze, then said, “Is the meal not fitting, Chri—my lord?”

  “It is cold. Would you please warm things up? I do not want Tessa’s first breakfast to be a disappointment.”

  With a bright smile that crunched up the old man’s face, Jackson agreed, “Certainly.” The butler then began carrying plates back to the kitchens while whistling a cheerful tune. And Christian realized the old man was apparently over his initial shock and was equally fond of her.

  But where was she? Surely she hadn’t fallen and…. Lunging to his feet again, Christian made for the stairs, took them two at a time and dashed for the toilet, then pounded on the door. “Contessa! Are you all right? Please answer me or I swear I’ll break the door in!”

  “This bath is most wonderful! The heated water is a magical dream!”

  He dropped his head against the wood with a soft thump, and exhaled in relief.

  Sounding startled and worried, most likely from the sound of his head bumping the door, she said abruptly, “Oh, please do not break the door in! I am not clothed!”

  After letting out a bellow of laughter, he said, “Don’t worry, I won’t come in.” He paused momentarily and then added, “So, you like the new privy?”

  The only reply he received was a contented sigh, and the sound of water sloshing. He imagined it sluicing down her smooth…then shook himself mentally and decided he’d best not follow that line of thinking.

  “Now don’t linger so long you turn into a prune,” he said. “You still need to eat your breakfast, which Jackson is reheating for us.”

  “Oh, yes,” she mumbled back.

  He could almost see the adorable pout touching her full mouth, and as he turned back toward the staircase he struggled to keep his thoughts from drifting again to places they shouldn’t. If he kept letting his mind wander like this he’d be no better than that rakehell of a prince. And that was the last thing he wanted.

  Chapter 17

  In Vogue

  The relief on Jackson’s face made her wish she had dressed and gone down to breakfast with more haste. But the bath had been so pleasant she could not bring herself to get out until the water eventually grew cold.

  “I apologize for making you wait,” she said, moving into the dining chamber where Christian had stood and pulled out a chair next to himself for her.

  “Nonsense, I’m glad you enjoyed it, but surely you’ve had that luxury before.”

  “Of course I have,” she was beginning to remember experiences like that, “but even the little things are so new right now.”

  He smiled. “Such as food.”

  “Yes.” She turned to Jackson and said, “Again, forgive me for dallying.”

  “It wasn’t any trouble to put the dishes into the cooker for a bit,” answered Jackson.

  She assumed “cooker” meant the fire or something and sat down as the old butler began dishing up her breakfast. As it was set upon the table in front of her, the aromas that rose to her nose were divine, and she reached for the meat with her fingers.

  Apparently this was the wrong thing to do, because both men were watching her with expressions of distress, then Christian said, “Use the fork, love, the sausage could be hot.”

  “Fork?”

  He lifted what she suspected was a fork and what she knew was a knife and began cutting up her meat. “Yes. Do you remember our first conversation when you asked where my trencher was, and I said we no longer used them?”

  “Aye, but you did not have a,” she looked at the silver item, “fork then.”

  “That is because my meal only consisted of soup, I did not need a fork.”

  “And at the ball the food was eaten with our fingers….”

  “Hmm, well, yes, but those were finger foods, we commonly use forks with most meals.”

  “I see,” she replied as he offered the fork with sausage on it. She opened and he carefully slid the food-laden, pronged thing into her mouth.

  The warm meat was so tasty and so well seasoned she forgot all about not knowing much about his world and snatched the fork from his hand to then feed herself. She sampled the different items: the eggs, which she did recognize, the herring, which Christian called kippers, and the mushrooms. The bread, which he called toast, was the only dish she hesitated at, wondering if she was supposed to cut it up, as he’d done her meats or—Christian, it seemed, noted her looking at the bread and had snatched it from her plate, slathered butter and a red jelly onto it and then held it out to her. “This you may eat with your fingers.”

  “Oh,” she said, wondering how she was to know what she could and could not eat with her hands and began watching him. Perhaps she could learn from his example.

  He was holding his fork in his left hand with the prongs pointing down toward the plate, and his knife was gripped loosely in his right. In that fashion he sliced a bit of sausage from the link, pushed some mushrooms onto the curved back of the fork and then lifted that to his mouth. It was as though he used the fork as an upside-down spoon. Contessa wondered how he managed to balance his food on the rounded surface rather than spearing everything.

  Observing her observation of him, Christian lifted his gaze and lowered his hands. “Are you finished?”

  Silently she shook her head and bit into the jelly-covered toast. Then moaned audibly as she chewed, swallowed, and then took another bite, knowing she was smiling.

  “Eat up, darling, and when you’re finished we will go and purchase you some new gowns to wear.”

  She opened her eyes, only realizing then that she’d closed them, and looked at him.

  “Are you certain—?” she began, feeling guilty for his having to spend his gold on her.

  “Please do not worry about the funds. It is my pleasure to care for you.”

  That dimple of his showed itself again and she could not help but return his smile. “Very well, but I insist upon repaying you.”

  “If I’m to court you, Contessa, you must not...” she thought he said, but he’d muttered the words around a mouthful of fish so she couldn’t be entirely sure.

  “What?” she asked.

  He hesitated in his response, swallowed and cleared his throat. “Mistress Madison will be delighted to meet you.” He blotted the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin. “She is quite quick with a needle, and frequently has dresses pre-made, and ready to be fitted.”

  “How do you know she has dresses ready? Have you purchased for other women before?”

  He laughed and nearly choked. “Certainly not, but my mother has purchased for herself. Madison fashions most of the clothing for Mother and Emma.”

  “I see, but—what was it you said earlier?”

  “You’d look lovely in an aquamarine day dress.”

  With the blatant way he chose to not answer her question, she understood he never meant to repeat what he’d muttered and figured that perhaps she had imagined the comment. It was true that she’d not heard him properly.

  She decided she was done as she finished the last bite of the bread and used her napkin as well. “I am ready.”

  “Shall we?” He stood and offered his arm.

  Which she took, and was instantly reminded of how warm his body was.

  And solid, she remembered, as he moved her around the table to the doorway.

  Mistress Madison was a thin, dark-haired woman who resembled one of the needles she used to stitch things. Especially with the large spectacles perched upon the tip of her long nose.

  “Oh, my! That gown is so unusual,” exclaimed the woman, urging Contessa to turn about for her perusal.

  As before, Christian appeared bothered whenever anyone made too much of a fuss over her medieval attire and quickly changed the subject. “Madam, what do you have for us today? Lady Contessa is in need of a whole new wardrobe.”

  “But she is so well dressed already.”

  “And if she is to remain so, to remain at the top of
fashion, she must have new gowns.”

  “Yes, yes, of course, my lord,” the woman said, leading Tessa to a platform and encouraging her to step up onto it.

  He followed and lifted one booted foot to the platform next to her slippered one. “Tessa, darling,” he whispered near her ear, “I must go to the library while you’re taken care of. In about an hour or two, I will return to collect you and take you out for tea and scones.”

  She nodded, at a loss for words, and spent those two hours, which felt like much more, in a whirl of chatter between the Mistress Madison, her two assistants, measuring tape, pins, and yards and yards of fabric.

  Contessa ended up in an aquamarine day dress, just as Christian had suggested. And he was right, it did bring out her eyes. The flowing material was solid, but accented with pink rosebud trim and a pink and white ticking intermixed with tiered ruffles of aquamarine that danced around the hem. She felt pretty dressed as she was.

  The fitted coat, which flared at the hip, was flattering to her shape. The sleeves reached down to her wrists. The full skirt bustled out in the back and the hem brushed the top of the soft leather boots placed upon her feet by the cobbler they’d visited earlier in the day. Even her undergarments matched, constructed of white linen adorned with pink lace and aquamarine ribbons. These under things were quite different from what she remembered, and possibly more complicated. Mistress Madison thought it unusual that a lady, such as she appeared to be, did not have something similar on already, as again, the woman studied her current attire with a level of bewilderment that was written in every line of her face.

  The finishing touch was the hat pinned atop her hair which had been swept back with two pearl encrusted combs.

  Relief and curiosity as to what he would think upon seeing her so modernly clothed described how she felt when Christian finally returned.

  He paced a circle around her with a deep dimple etching into his whisker-darkened cheek.

  Mistress Madison stepped forward.

  “Lovely,” he said, whilst smiling at the ball gown made of pure white linen and adorned with blush-colored roses made from silken ribbon which the woman presented for his perusal. Contessa couldn’t help but be relieved there were long white gloves to go along with it, as Christian fingered the nearly nonexistent sleeves. Before tucking it carefully into a trunk, Mistress Madison explained that another lady had ordered it and then changed her mind, saying she wanted a gown of lavender instead. And because of that, she was able to sell it to her…or to Christian, really.

  He nodded and smiled as the woman displayed and explained the remainder of what she’d created, or altered for her due to the short notice they’d given. His gaze frequently flickered to her, however, as he and the woman agreed upon a price. Funds were exchanged in the form of paper and coin, the paper of which she had never seen before, and wondered how it had any worth.

  When finished, he looped her fingers around his arm, and muttered softly, “I knew that color would complement your complexion and eyes.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered in reply, feeling tremendous guilt for the way he spoiled her. She knew they walked away with a trunk laden with elaborate gowns, supple shoes, lacey night-rails and silky under things. And knew it could not have been inexpensive.

  Before Tessa could move to step inside the carriage, Christian steered her away from it. “This way to Little Betty’s. I know you’ll love the food. You must be famished after having been fitted for all of that,” he said cheerily, then cast a gaze over his shoulder. “Come, Jackson, you’re our chaperone.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course,” the butler muttered as he trotted behind them as only an old man could. Slowly.

  “And,” Christian reached into a pocket and pulled out a small box, saying to her, “I have a treat for you. You may eat one now and then save the others in your reticule.”

  “My what?”

  “This.” He lifted the little pouch tied to the waistband of her dress.

  “Oh, a tiny rucksack which matches my—” She was silenced when he pressed a brown confection against her lips. She opened and his fingers pressed inward touching her tongue with something sweet and rich. Once his hand was clear, she chewed, even though it did more melting than crumbling and she recognized it.

  He opened his mouth to speak.

  But instead she said, “Oh, Christian, I do love chocolate!”

  “Then you’ve had it before?”

  “Yes, of course. Daily.”

  “Really? Hmm.”

  “Thank you,” she repeated, then began taking in the sights, sounds, and…smells of this great city as the last of the chocolate dissolved along her taste buds.

  The smells were not so pleasant. The Thames, as Christian called it, smelled like medieval privies had. That was one of those aromas that came back to her memory with a vengeance. But when they passed by a bakery, she tried to follow the fragrance of pastries inside, yet he would not allow it. She could feel her bottom lip inch outward as they passed by the flakey treats lined up for display behind the glass.

  His fingers gave hers a little squeeze. “When we are finished with lunch, my darling, we will purchase some sweets to take home with us. How does that sound?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Christian tugged on her arm as she twisted around for one last look. “I promise,” he added with a low chuckle.

  They entered what Christian called a tearoom and were seated at a small, round table draped with white linen and dressed with a crystal vase holding several fresh daisies, which of course she had to touch and smell.

  He said nothing about, what she assumed to be, her unorthodox behavior.

  Together, with Jackson, they sipped mint tea, nibbled on egg mayonnaise sandwiches, smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches, raisin scones with clotted cream and jam, fruit tarts, cakes, and macaroons. Contessa was so full afterward she felt sick to her stomach, but could not bring herself to regret a single bite she’d taken.

  After swallowing the last remaining morsel of her berry tart, she said another time, “Thank you,” as she rubbed her aching middle.

  Christian laughed. “Now stop that."

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop thanking me.”

  “But I feel so grateful to you. I—”

  “I, as well, am grateful for the fine meal, my lord.”

  Chuckling shook his broad chest. “It was my pleasure, Contessa, Jackson.” He smirked almost wickedly, then said with a quirk of his brow, “Do you still fancy a visit to the bakery?”

  She groaned and giggled. “Yes, please.”

  A guffaw escaped him this time, and then he fell silent as his gaze focused on someone or something just past her shoulder. She turned, and frowned. It was that Lady Canary from the ball leering down at her. A cloying scent overpowered her nostrils and she wrinkled her nose.

  Today Lady Canary was adorned in a dark pink gown with orange ribbons trimming the edges, and a hat that was bursting with more ribbon and many fat feathers. Her chestnut ringlets rained from underneath it.

  Christian and Jackson stood and offered short nods of their heads. Was she supposed to do the same? But when she attempted to rise, he settled one hand on her shoulder with enough pressure for her to stay put.

  The young maiden bobbed in reply, and just as curtly. “How lovely to see you out and about together.” She peered down her nose at Tessa, as if Jackson were not truly there, and Tessa thought the expression in her gray-blue eyes betrayed the pleasant twist of her blushing mouth. “Will you not introduce us, Lord Sparks?”

  “Yes, of course. Lady Spencer, this is Lady Contessa. Darling, might I introduce Lady Muriel Spencer.”

  Lady Spencer then dipped in her direction, and Contessa attempted to do the same by rising. But again, Christian prevented any such action as his fingers curled more protectively into her shoulder. She looked at him and noticed his charming dimple was nowhere in sight. Yet Lady Spencer was practically beaming at him, whilst flu
ttering long lashes.

  Contessa was slightly confused.

  Almost as abrupt as his nod had been, Christian fished some coins from his pocket and tossed them to the table. He captured her upper arm, gently tugged her to her feet, linked her fingertips around his bicep and made to leave. “Lovely to see you, Lady Spencer. Good day,” he muttered.

  And now Lady Spencer looked confused as she said, “Christian, Mother said we are coming to visit you very soon.”

  He halted, and looked in “Mother’s” direction. Contessa followed his gaze and noticed the woman seated at a table not far behind her daughter, grinning with an odd hunger creating lines around her mouth. Returning her gaze to him, she noted the ripple of muscle along his jaw, and thought she could hear his teeth grinding. “I see,” was all he said as he continued his angry march toward the door.

  “What was that all about?” she asked once the cool air of late afternoon surrounded them. Shuddering as gooseflesh sprang up along her arms and legs, Tessa rubbed her palms over her sleeves. “And why would you not let me curtsy? Was I not expected to—?”

  “Are you chilled?” he asked, starting to shrug out of his jerkin…er…coat.

  “No, Christian. Truly, I am not cold.”

  He considered her for a moment, and then instead of stripping, he draped a heavy arm over her shoulders. “She doesn’t deserve anything from you. You are above her,” he said, nudging her closer to his heat.

  “How can you know? Did you discover something about me?” She gathered a fistful of his clothing. “Christian, tell me.”

  They neared the bakery, and he halted in front of it. “I’m sorry, but no, I did not find anything new, which confuses me. There should be some record of your parent’s estate.”

  “Then why?”

  His shadow fell over her, swallowing her, as he looked earnestly down into her face. “Sweetheart, even if you were the lowliest of servants you would be above her. Yet you must be from nobility if you’d been able to indulge in chocolate daily in your time. Her heart is blackened with her selfish—cunning—manipulative ways.”