Starling

by Virginia Taylor

  As he turned to Starling, he noticed the gape in his flies and accordingly dealt with the buttons. Lavender had been more efficient than he thought.

  “That looks neater,” Starling said in her prosaic voice.

  “I went to talk to Lavender. She and I were lovers years ago. And so...” He shrugged, relieved he didn’t have to censor his words for her.

  “Lovers? Should you tell me that?” She stared into his eyes.

  “I want to marry her.”

  She watched his face. “I thought you were set against marriage?”

  “Only because I couldn’t have her. She is the woman I have always wanted.”

  Her mouth opened and closed, and she dropped her gaze. “So you’ll tell her you hired me?”

  “She doesn’t want marriage, not with me.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “She never did. She wants me, and she admits that, but I’m not about to be used for her pleasure.”

  “My. There’s a turnabout. I’ve never heard of a man holding out for marriage. Though I’m sure if you tell her you are not married and exactly how much money you have, she will marry you in an instant.”

  “Her family has more money than I will ever make.”

  “In that case, she can marry where she chooses.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I can’t give in to her until she realizes she loves me.”

  “I don’t understand what business this is of mine.”

  “Be her competition. While she knows she only has to snap her fingers, she won’t consider making an honest man of me. Think of yourself as an altruist. She’s never had to compete for a man. You’ll be giving her an opportunity to experience, firsthand, the pleasure of earning something she wants.”

  “What exactly do you want me to do?”

  “At this stage, I merely have to smell her perfume and I’m a horny eighteen year old again. This puts me at her mercy every time she brushes by me.” He picked up her hand. “If you could possibly look interested in me, rather than shifting away every time I come near, I might be able to convince her that I’m not so easily distracted.”

  Chapter 7

  Starling’s hand froze.

  “I don’t think flirting with you was part of our bargain,” she answered, thudding with curiosity or perhaps a wayward interest.

  “This is simply a request.” He averted his eyes, clear and thick-lashed. “I won’t beg you,” he said, moving his hand to the bedspread, “if you don’t want me to touch you.”

  She glanced at his bruised knuckles and the cut on the back of his hand. While greatly admiring him because of his deeds yesterday, she also respected him because he kept his promises. Unfortunately, he also physically attracted her. Lying beneath him in bed had been the most sensuous experience of her life. All too tempted to relax around him, touch his hand, or let him hold hers, she couldn’t afford to let down her guard. Her side of the bargain was as important to her as his was to him.

  She shook her head. “Ours is a monetary transaction, not one of affection.”

  “A monetary transaction?” His laugh sounded wry. “Making me no different from every other man you had at the inn? Trust me. I’m not about to throw you on your back while I’m dreaming of Lavender.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You must have faked affection hundreds of times before.”

  “No, never.” She twisted her fingers together.

  He brought one knee to his chest, propping his forearm. “You can’t kiss me, but you can fuck for money.” His chin dropped onto the curve of his elbow.

  “No. I can’t.” She wrapped her shaking hands in her skirts.

  “I’m no worse than any other man.”

  “As far as I can see, all men are the same.”

  He shifted, took his arm around behind her, and lifted back, settling his bent leg behind her back. Encircled by him, her cheeks warmed. She could hear him breathe.

  “Were you hurt by one of your customers at the inn?”

  “A few men annoyed me, and a couple disgusted me, but I haven’t been hurt by a man. The thing is, I don’t need to earn my living by selling myself. At four shillings a time, why would I, especially now? You’ve promised me forty pounds to fool your sister. To earn that same money as a whore, I’d have to do something horrible too many times to count.” She wanted to move away, but she wanted to stay.

  “Something horrible?” One of his hands lifted to her chin, which he took between his thumb and forefinger, turning her face toward him. “Fucking shouldn’t be horrible, Starling. Haven’t you ever been pleasured?”

  She could have told him she wasn’t the whore he thought her, but she doubted he’d believe her any more the second time than the first. Aside from that, if he did, he wouldn’t let her share his bed, being a respectable woman; then she would be of no use to him. She would lose her money. She shook her head.

  He tugged a curl that had loosened around her face and focused on her as if noticing her features for the first time. She stared back. The moment seemed fraught and her heart began to race.

  He broke the silence. “What did you buy?” He lifted one of her brown paper parcels and rattled the insides.

  “You do still want me here, don’t you?”

  He sucked in his cheeks, as if thinking. Finally, he sighed out a breath. “I still want you to pretend to be my wife for two weeks.”

  With a tug of relief, she reached for the topmost parcel. “I didn’t unwrap these in case I had to return them. Mary said I could charge everything to you because I don’t have a penny, you know. You didn’t pay me for my last week at Seymour’s and I spent my wages from the inn on a jacket, which I left at the boardinghouse. I hope I can go there tomorrow to get my things.”

  “I’ll send for them.”

  She hauled out a pair of gloves. “Mrs. Trelevan thought I ought to have these.”

  “And this?” He shifted another parcel toward her.

  “A hat. It will go with the jacket I have at the boardinghouse. The last is a gown that Mary insisted on giving to me as a wedding present. I won’t wear it. You can return it after I leave, but I can pay you for these other things.”

  “Let me see the gown.”

  “No. She gave it to me because I lied and so I don’t deserve it.”

  “I said we were married and so the lie is mine.”

  “I said my things hadn’t arrived yet from Ballarat. You told the servants I came from Ballarat. Mary said I can’t keep wearing the same evening gown night after night, especially when Lavender...well, when Lavender looks so lovely.”

  The tips of his fingers tapped on his chin. “She’s right. You need to dress as my wife.”

  “I told Mary you wouldn’t like me to have this gown.”

  “Open the parcel,” he growled.

  “I won’t pay for this. When I leave here, I’ll have no use for it.”

  “Consider it my property, on loan,” he said, sounding exasperated.

  Carefully, she untied the string. “You won’t want me to keep the gown.” With reverence, she drew out the pale blue silk.

  “Hold it in front of you.”

  Standing, she did as he asked. In the dressmaker’s shop, she’d looked serene and pearly skinned in this gown, an expensive version of the one she’d dreamed of owning for years. She thought the color would suit her. However, Alasdair had chosen her because she looked plain and drab. He would frown when he saw she looked nice and make her pack up the gown again.

  “I’d have to see the color next to your skin. Expose your shoulders and hold the gown up again.”

  She pulled at the neck of her gown but only managed to constrict her shoulders. When she made a helpless face, he rose to his feet and unbuttoned the back for her. She held the blue gown against her skin, and he took the garment from her, slowly sliding both necklines lower. Lightly clasping her upper arms, he drew her toward him and touched her mouth lingeringly with his.
r />   “That’s to show you that kisses are given for many reasons,” he murmured. “Not all of them as a prelude.” With a steady smile, he put her gown back into her hands and began changing his clothes for dinner.

  Striving for composure, she covered her shoulders with her brown gown. “Should I wear the blue tonight? For dinner?”

  Turning his back, he put on a black waistcoat and a white cravat. “Do so if you wish. I’ve made my decision. You have a right to make yours.” Shrugging into his black jacket, he left the room.

  Starling put away her new hat and gloves. Alasdair had admitted that he’d been rutting with Lavender. Apparently, the beauty didn’t see a wife as any impediment to her needs.

  A knock sounded at the door. Thinking she must have misheard when no one entered, she began to fold the tissue paper around the blue evening gown. The knock rapped out again, a little louder. “Yes,” she called.

  “It’s Freda, ma’am.”

  “Come in, Freda.”

  Freda sidled into the room, head down. “Shall I bring in a bath now?”

  “Please. Is Ellen ill? Shouldn’t you be in the kitchen at this time of night?”

  “We’ve changed jobs for a while.” Freda took a deep breath. “Mrs. Frost says that Ellen isn’t a real ladies’ maid. She said El takes too long to button her gowns.” She jutted her jaw.

  Starling frowned. “Perhaps Mrs. Frost is simply used to a maid who works another way entirely. Ellen is very fast with me.”

  “She can do everything just as good as me. She learnt to manage without them fingers, and it’s not fair.”

  “Is that why Mrs. Frost says she is slow?”

  Freda nodded. “El lost her fingers barely a year ago. We was piece-workers.” She spoke as she set up a bath and draped towels over the screen. “We did beading and embroidery. Seymour’s bought from us.”

  “How did Ellen lose her fingers?”

  “The thread dispenser. She got her fingers caught. Then she got an infection and she near died.” Freda walked to the door. “I stayed home to look after her while she was sick, and so our manager put us both off. When Mr. Seymour found out he took us on as maids, though we’d never been in service before. Conditions is much better here.”

  Starling put her thumbnail to her mouth and chewed. “Mrs. Frost might be gone in a few weeks. If she hasn’t, she’ll soon see what a fine worker Ellen is.”

  “Will you tell Mrs. Frost?”

  “I’ll tell her.” Starling squared her shoulders.

  “El might have been tactless. She had a small amount of trouble lacing Mrs. Frost’s stays and Mrs. Frost thought she said she was fat. Silly, really, when anyone can see Mrs. Frost is as beautiful as a princess.” Freda opened the door.

  “Before you fetch the water, I wonder if you’d mind... I need Ellen to style my hair again. Could you tell her I can’t manage without her?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And she’s sorry she came in this morning without being asked. We know things has changed around here, what with the marriage and all, and neither of us will do it again.”

  “Is that why you didn’t enter until I answered?”

  “We can’t walk into rooms just because we’ve knocked. Mr. Seymour said.”

  “He wasn’t awake when Ellen came in this morning.”

  Freda lowered her gaze and turned to leave the room.

  “When did he say that, Freda?”

  Freda shook her head. “It’s Mrs. Frost’s fault. She’s makin’ everything awful, just awful. I wish she’d go away.”

  Starling raised her chin, looking the maid in the eyes. “Mr. Seymour likes her. He wouldn’t like someone bad, would he?”

  “No, ma’am.” Freda bobbed her head. “I’ll get El for you.”

  * * * *

  Alasdair sipped his predinner sherry with Paul, Mary, and Starling all companionably conversing. Starling had an amazing ability to fit in, which surprised him. He wasn’t surprised that Lavender hadn’t yet arrived. After his apparent rejection of her advances, she would be likely to punish him and sulk for a while.

  When she finally entered the sitting room, he rose to his feet. Her primpings had been worth the effort. As usual, she looked breathtaking. The sparkling amethyst necklace she wore matched her beautiful eyes.

  “I’m not late, I hope?” she asked with a sweet smile.

  Alasdair did not intend to come to heel instantly. “Certainly not,” he said, keeping his expression purposely bland. “Too late for a glass of sherry, though. Now you’re here, we’ll go into dinner.”

  “Oh, I did keep you waiting. I’m so sorry.” She put her hand on his arm.

  He patted her fingers in an avuncular way, leaving her and moving toward Starling, whose arm he took instead. “Our first formal dinner,” he said to her, trying to sound doting, while leading her into the dining room.

  “Come, ladies.” Paul scooped up both Lavender and Mary. “Our newlyweds must be allowed their indulgences. Their first formal dinner, eh? I’d never thought Alasdair such a romantic fellow. Course, I’ve never seen him married before.”

  With almost a pettish flounce, Lavender sat at her designated place. “Such a pretty gown,” she said, inclining her head toward Starling. “When you wore that floral last night, I forgot to say how much I admired the colors. Perhaps I should have worn the same gown I wore last night, too, but my gowns have spent days packed and so I need to give each an airing in turn.”

  Alasdair filled Starling’s glass. “Yes, my wife looks very lovely.” The slender bird looked softer in the frills, paler skinned and with lustrous eyes. And her hair looked better, softer and fuller around her face.

  Not wholly to madden Lavender he kept his gaze on Starling’s every move, noting her enjoyment of food. She ate everything with smiling pleasure after savoring first, which fascinated him. Her table manners were faultless. Nor did her conversation shame him. She didn’t talk too much or gossip. She simply added content.

  “I’ll be as fat as a pig when I leave here.” Paul finally leaned back, eyeing his last mouthful of Queen pudding with regret. “Has your cook always served food as rich as this, Alasdair?”

  Mary laughed. “You don’t have to scrape your plate. Look at Lavender. She only ever eats half her servings.”

  “I’ve always had the appetite of a sparrow,” Lavender said, peeking under her long lashes at Alasdair.

  He quickly jerked his attention back to Starling. “And our little bird has the appetite of...?”

  “An eagle, I expect. I’m always hungry. We were never given much to eat in the foundling home.”

  “Are you an orphan?” Mary asked, eyes wide. “I almost can’t believe that. You speak so well. You must have been brought up in a very superior establishment.”

  Starling gave a faint smile. “One of the nuns was a gentlewoman. She taught us to speak like her.”

  “The orphanage explains the eighteen sisters. I assume they are not all related to you by blood?”

  “As far as I know, no one is.”

  “Were you orphaned very young? Poor thing.”

  Lavender offered a polite smile. “Paul, do you admire the architecture of Sir Henry Delaine’s new country house in Ivanhoe?”

  “Very much.”

  “And you know the Delaines. Yes? Sir Henry was a great friend of my father and after Mama died, he was a good friend to me, too.” She lowered her gaze. “A very good friend.”

  “That was kind of him, Lavender,” Mary said. “But how very sad, Starling, that you never knew your parents.”

  “She might be lucky,” Lavender said stiffly. “Not all parents are good. Mine were, of course, but I’ve heard of—”

  “Were they kind to you in the home, Starling?” Mary asked, her forehead creased with concern.

  “As kind as they could be. Money was short and...” Starling shrugged. “Charity begins at home, they told us quite often. We were expected to earn our l
ivings as early as we could. I stayed on until I was eighteen, which was unusual. Most of the girls were put into service at fifteen years old.”

  “Why did—”

  “This subject is so depressing.” Lavender rearranged the placement of her spoon and fork. “Mrs. Seymour, do you mind if we talk about the treats we have planned for tomorrow instead?”

  “Please call me Starling, Mrs. Frost. Everyone else does.” Starling leaned back to allow Freda to take her last emptied plate.

  “Want a game of billiards, Alasdair?” Paul said, tucking his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets.

  “No. I’ve hardly seen Starling in the past two days.”

  “Lavender?”

  She shook her head. “Ladies don’t play billiards, I’m afraid.”

  “You should have asked me. I’m no lady,” Mary said with a mischievous smile.

  “I know that. You never let me win. I thought Lavender might.” Paul rose to his feet and left with Mary for the billiard room.

  “What shall we do?” Lavender asked Alasdair as he pulled her chair out. She took his arm before he realized he should have tended to Starling first, but as he tried to do so, Lavender gave him such a glance of reproach that he couldn’t leave her.

  “What do you want to do?” he asked gruffly.

  “Nothing too strenuous.” She touched the back of his hand. “Oh, you’ve scraped your knuckles. You haven’t been fighting over me? Of course not. You’re a married man.”

  He raised his eyebrows, trying to look bored. So far, his ignoring her had spurred her on very nicely.

  “Anagrams, perhaps?” she asked in a low voice.

  “Would you like to?” He glanced at Starling, who nodded.

  Lavender plucked a few pink rose petals from a side vase while Alasdair set up the games’ table in the sitting room. He placed a chair for each woman and each sat, Lavender offering him a complicit smile before she glanced at the first word whose letters she had to make into as many new words as she could.

  He had to deliberately look away from her to set the timer.