by Rose Gordon
Elizabeth smiled at her warmly. “I was afraid of that. Would you care to talk about it?”
“I shouldn’t,” Liberty said solemnly before taking a sip of her tea.
“Bah! We all do things we shouldn’t,” she said, fluffing a pillow and shoving it behind her back. “I’m in ready position. Complain away, my dear.”
“He burned my books,” Liberty said testily.
Elizabeth blinked at her. “Your books?”
“My books,” Liberty repeated, nodding her head in confirmation.
“Why?” Elizabeth asked carefully.
Liberty blinked back tears. “Because he hates me.”
“That’s not true,” Elizabeth protested. “I may not be an expert when it comes to men, but even I can recognize that he doesn’t hate you.”
“Well, he certainly doesn’t love me,” Liberty retorted carelessly.
Elizabeth’s blue eyes lowered and she bit her lower lip as if she were choosing her next words with extra care. “Did you expect him to?” she said at last.
Liberty nearly choked on her tea. She hadn’t expected him to love her. She hadn’t even expected him to like her. But it surely wouldn’t have been unwelcome if he had. “No, I suppose not,” she said quietly.
Since there was nothing else to say on the subject, the two of them spoke nary a word about men for the rest of the day.
The night before when she’d been so distraught over Paul throwing all her books into the fire, she’d cried herself to sleep. But now, after nearly an entire day to get over his heartless actions, her shock and anger were giving way to thoughts of revenge.
She knew she shouldn’t want to take revenge on him. It was wrong. And, she reminded herself, it was revenge that had gotten her married to him in the first place. What would happen to her now if her plans went bust again? But then again, that was the one bright spot in a foiled revenge. She was already married to him. How could it possibly get worse?
Tonight, she told herself, after dinner she’d wait for him to go into his study, then she’d go look around his room to get ideas. Revenge was best done when planned out a bit. Obviously last time she hadn’t planned it out well enough. This time she’d have to plan better.
Dinner was awkward. But no more awkward than it had been in the past. It was just a different kind of awkward.
Her husband sat at his end of the table staring at her, drumming his long, blunt-tipped fingers on the wooden table. She’d never seen him do that and she had to resist the urge to laugh at his nervous habit. The only reason it was possible to resist was because she knew he had something up his sleeve, but unbeknownst to him, she had no intention to comply.
That morning he’d given a note to Mrs. Siddons to give to her while she was in her bath. There was no seal, but she knew who it was from. She half expected there to be words of apology or something of the like. Instead, it told her that after dinner he’d like to see her in his study. She groaned. He’d mentioned to her last night he was going to buy her a book for St. Valentine’s Day. He could toss it into the fire for all she cared. She wasn’t joining him in his study so he could give her whatever paltry book he’d bought for her.
It was about time for dessert. Liberty almost groaned with disappointment when she realized it was trifle, her favorite. Tearing her eyes away from the tempting trifle, she announced, “I’m not feeling well. I think I shall retire for the evening.”
Paul’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he murmured and went back to his food.
Her room was a bit cold and she noticed the fire was barely going. Not wanting to call Paul to help her with her fire, she bared her teeth, pulled off her gloves and got a fire going.
She’d have to spend a while up in her room before she could go raid his. There was no reason to be cold while waiting.
She walked behind her dressing screen and started to remove her gown when a sharp knock rattled the door.
***
No two ways about it, Paul was nervous. He’d never been good at impressing those of the female persuasion before, and even though Liberty was his wife, that didn’t make things any easier.
Until the night before, he’d still been unsure what he’d give her. Perhaps her barging into the room where he was burning her books was the best thing that could have happened. But he still felt uncomfortable about the display he was about to put on for her.
Last night she’d said she didn’t want anything from him and he quite believed her. In fact, if it wasn’t for his own selfish motives, he would have treated today like any other day and let her interpret that however she liked.
He’d anticipated Liberty might want to leave during dinner so he asked Mrs. Siddons to make all her favorite dishes. Now looking at her untouched trifle, he realized that either she didn’t like trifle as much as she thought, or she was so mad at him even the temptation of trifle couldn’t make her finish dinner with him.
He reached over and grabbed her dessert. A nicer man would bring this up to his “sick” wife, but he wasn’t in the mood to play her games.
A giant spoonful was heading for his mouth when he abruptly slammed down the spoon, sending some of the trifle onto the table. Better save the trifle, it might actually help him in his quest tonight, he thought, getting up from the table.
A quick stop in his study to remove his strangulating cravat and grab a few things, then he was on his way up to her room. If she thought to escape him by pretending to be sick, then she thought wrong.
He knocked on the door and waited precisely three seconds before swinging it open. He’d seen her wearing absolutely nothing before, whatever she had on just now should be adequate.
“Get out,” she shrieked from behind the dressing screen.
Paul put the things he’d been holding down on a credenza that was positioned by the wall. “No can do. I’m here to see after the welfare of my sickly wife,” he said idly while he crossed his arms and waited for her.
“I’m fine,” she ground out, making quite a lot of noise behind that screen.
“Are you sure about that? Would you like a hand?” he asked helpfully.
“No,” she exclaimed. “I do not require any help other than you leaving.”
“In that case, I’ll wait for you while you take off your gown,” he said, taking a seat on spindly chair in the corner.
“I’m not taking it off,” she said testily.
The rustling noises behind the screen sounding more agitated. “Then what are you doing?”
“I’m putting it on,” she said angrily.
“You came up here just to change gowns?” he asked, deliberately being obtuse. “Do you have an assignation with someone?”
“No,” she snapped. “I’m putting it back on because you invited yourself in here. And, because you are not leaving. And, because I don’t want you to see me without it.”
“I see,” he said, drawing out his words. “You don’t need to worry about offending my sensibilities, Mrs. Grimes. I’ve seen you in far less than whatever you have on just now.”
A slipper came flying in his direction from over the top of the screen.
“Just last night I saw you in your dressing robe,” he drawled, leaning backwards in his chair.
This time a bejeweled slipper with a heel came flying over the screen.
Paul chuckled. “Would you like me to continue to recount to you all the states of undress I’ve seen you in?”
“I’ve seen you undressed, too,” she retorted.
“Yes, I know,” he conceded, getting up from his chair and walking to her wardrobe. “Do you want to see me that way again?”
“No!” she exclaimed, accidentally ripping a seam in her fabric because of her frustration.
“I think you do,” he teased, grabbing a simple frock from her wardrobe.
Liberty nearly grunted in frustration. “I have no such interest,” she declared.
“Then prove it,” Paul shot back, tossing her the frock he’d
just pulled out of her wardrobe. “You have exactly two minutes to get that on and be out here. After that, for every fifteen seconds you make me wait, I’ll remove an article of clothing.” He laughed at her frustrated noises as she tried to get her old gown off. “Oh, one more thing, I’ll not be starting with my shoes, either.”
He walked to the vanity where a clock was positioned in the back corner and watched as the second hand ticked off one hundred twenty seconds. “Time’s up,” he called, then waited another fifteen seconds before tossing his coat over the screen.
“Don’t take anything else off,” she squealed from behind the screen.
“Are you dressed?” he asked, unbuttoning his waistcoat.
“No, but—”
“No ‘buts’, Mrs. Grimes, you’re late. And as you know, I prefer to be in my shirtsleeves anyway.” He tossed his waistcoat over.
“Stop! I’m dressed,” she exclaimed, coming around the corner of the screen.
His fingers froze on the buttons on his shirt. “All right,” he said hoarsely. His mouth had suddenly gone dry at the sight of her. That simple frock he thought he’d grabbed was not so simple after all. The blue silk clung to her womanly curves, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. The bodice swooped low, showing off the tops of her plump breasts. Tearing his gaze away from her chest, he gestured to the bed. “Why don’t you sit down?” His voice sounded uneven and he began to have doubts he’d be able to get through this.
Liberty took a seat and stared at him with hard eyes. “All right, Mr. Grimes, you win.” She sighed, held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Just give me the book so you can be on your way.”
Ah, the book. Good. He’d almost forgotten his purpose. “You’ll get the book. But first I have something else for you,” he said, flashing her a quick smile.
He walked over to the satchel he’d brought up with him. He pulled out several old cravats and placed them on the table. Next, he brought out a spool of silver wire in one hand and gold in the other. He placed the wire down by the cravats then pulled out a handful of metal tools. With a clang, Paul put the tools down and picked up a poorly wrapped bundle.
“Now, Mrs. Grimes,” he said as evenly as he could. He hated calling her that. He only did it in an effort to please her, even though it drove him insane in the process. “It has come to my attention that you do possess a sense of humor, but you choose not to smile.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Well, m’dear, I have the perfect solution to your predicament. I shall fix your teeth,” he exclaimed excitedly and beamed at her.
Liberty stared at him unblinking. “You sir, are an imbecile. There's nothing you can do to fix my teeth.”
“So you agree there’s nothing wrong with them, then?” he asked, his eyes searching her face.
“I didn’t say that,” she said sharply. “I said there’s nothing you can do to fix them.”
“I beg to differ,” he drawled. “If you’ll sit down for a second.” He waved his hand in a motion meant to stay her. “Very good. All right, the way I see it—and I could be wrong, so I’ll need to have a better look at your snappers before I can know for sure—it seems that it’s only your front tooth that’s out of line.”
Her face grew red and she pursed her lips. “If you’re going to make fun of me, you may leave right now.”
“I’m not making fun of you. And I’m certainly not leaving,” he said, his voice making it clear he was brooking no argument on the subject. “Now, as I was saying. I think if I were to take a piece of wire—either silver or gold, your choice—and wrap it around that misaligned tooth, then wrap more wire around some of the ones that are next to it, the tooth might be forced to join its brothers in line.”
Liberty looked at him like he was a simpleton. “And tell me, Mr. Grimes, just how is it that tooth going to be forced to ‘join its brothers in line’?”
“Good question, Mrs. Grimes,” he said thoughtfully. “However, I anticipated that concern and I believe every so often I’ll have to replace the wires with tighter ones.”
“So you’re saying you want to wrap wire around my front teeth and a few others and then every so often tighten this wire somehow in hopes of straightening out my front tooth?” she asked slowly, in a way a person might speak to a two year old.
“Yes, exactly,” he said, nodding his head as if he were the smartest man in existence. “Either I’ll replace the wire with shorter ones, causing your teeth to have to shift on their own. Or I’ll just grab the end of the wire with these,” he held up a tool that had a v-shaped handle that when squeezed, the long pointy ends came together, “and give it a jerk, then clip the extra off with a pair of scissors.” He shrugged. “We’ll have to work out the maintenance later. Right now I’m just telling you my idea.”
“Mr. Grimes, you never cease to amaze me,” Liberty said sarcastically, shaking her head. “Every time I think you’ve said or done the stupidest thing imaginable, you always find a way to outdo yourself. The idea that anyone would put wires around their teeth in order to straighten them is beyond laughable.”
“I thought you might say that,” he said with a shrug. “That’s why I have a second option.” He picked up a tool that was similar to the first. The difference was the handles were a bit thicker and the end had two giant pinchers on it. He held it up and showed it to her. “The smithy I bought this from called this thing a pair of pliers. But you know what? I don’t really like that name, so I think we’ll refer to it as the yankers instead. Sit back down. Good girl. Now, this plan is much simpler. Instead of months—or years—of tightening wires, I’ll just take the yankers and yank that offending tooth out right here and now and be done with this whole business.”
She looked at him dumbfounded. “Umm…don’t you think you might have overlooked one tiny detail?” she asked, her lips twitching. When he merely raised his eyebrows in question, she exclaimed, “That will leave a huge hole!”
“Oh, right,” he said, trying to be obtuse again. “And would that be worse than a crooked tooth?”
“Yes,” she cried with excitement.
“Hmm, I guess that does pose a problem,” he said easily, rolling his eyes up to stare at the ceiling for a few seconds before meeting hers again. “Unless, you would like to use this,” he suggested, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a little piece of wood that was about a half inch wide, two inches long and a quarter inch thick.
“Oh my goodness,” Liberty said, burying her head in her hands and shaking with laughter. “You cannot be serious! A wooden tooth?”
“What’s wrong with that?” he asked, feigning offense. “They are actually quite popular. In fact, that George Washington fellow had a whole set of them. You’ve heard of him before, haven’t you?” He smiled at her when she looked up and scowled at him. “I know it’s a bit big now, but we can resize it.” He went to where some of the other tools on the table. “I have a chisel we can use if need be. We can make it shorter or take some of the width off. We can also get some paint and paint it to match your other teeth if you like.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she choked out.
“Are you certain? I’ve brought all the necessary equipment to do the whole procedure right now.” He waved vaguely toward all the items on the table. “I’ve got cravats to tie you down, two clamps to keep your mouth open, the mallet to hammer in the new tooth, and of course the yankers to pull the old one out.”
She scowled at him and he grinned back at her again. He grabbed the atrociously wrapped book and walked over to where she was sitting on the bed. “May I join you?” he asked quietly. Seeing her hesitation, he said, “I’ll just grab this chair.”
“No, you don’t have to,” Liberty said belatedly, scooting over.
Paul already had the chair moved over and was about to sit in it when she moved over, making room for him. “Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“Can we agree there is nothing wrong with your teeth?” he
asked after he sat down on the bed next to her.
She looked away and stared at a little crack in the wall. “Does it matter?” she mumbled.
“It matters a great deal,” Paul said softly, putting his fingers under her chin and turning her face toward his. “It’s the reason you don’t smile.”
“Why do you care?” she asked, her voice catching in the middle of her question.
“Because I like it when you smile,” he said simply. “I’ll admit I’ve only seen a handful actually meant for me, but I’ve seen enough to know I like it.”
She shook her head. “I still don’t understand what that has to do with anything,” she said quietly.
Paul could feel his face heating up as he handed her the bundle. “Sorry, the wrapping’s a bit messy. After I opened it to make a few modifications I couldn’t get it back how Mr. Calahan had it,” he murmured as she untied the twine.
She eyed him askance as she pulled off the wrapping. “What is it?” she asked a moment later as she leafed through a book full of lined pages that had different dates written on the top of each page.
Taking the book from her, he flipped it closed and pointed to the front cover where he’d taken a heated piece of metal and scratched out her full name, Liberty Ellis Grimes, in the best script he could; then around it, he’d done his best to draw a box with scrolling edges and a few swooping designs. It was nothing too fancy, just enough to make it personal, and perhaps let her know he did care for her a little. “I’ve never been good at this sort of thing,” he admitted, silently praying he wouldn’t die of embarrassment on the spot. He ran his fingers through his sandy blond hair and gave it a tug before bringing his hand back down to his lap. “I think you need to smile more. So I bought you a journal of sorts. I thought if you were to record every time you smiled, you might realize how little you do it and decide to do it more often.”
“I see,” she said, appearing more confused than before.
This was a bad idea, Paul thought. Now she probably thought he was besotted with her. He was about two seconds away from grabbing the book back and hiding in his study for the rest of the night. But what good would that do? She still wouldn’t smile, except when she remembered what a fool he’d made of himself yet again. He had to turn this around.