“Aren’t you going to look?” she asked. “You paid your penny.”
“Oh, I’ve gotten more than my money’s worth.” Then he offered her his arm, and she wrapped hers around it.
“Took ye long enough,” the barker said when they finally exited the tent. “Gonna have to ask for another penny.”
Mr. Sommersby handed it over, and they strolled on. She had come here to distract herself from thinking about what tomorrow night would bring. But now she had to wonder if it would be possible to meet any lord whom she would desire as much as she did this man.
Chapter 12
“Once... up... on a... ti... time... theer...”
“There,” Matthew correctly gently.
The reader, a woman who appeared worn by life, her blond hair pulled back in an untidy bun, looked up at him with large pale blue eyes. “But I thought theeat the end made the vowel sound different. Like in time. Theidon’t sound like theiin Tim and that’s ’cuz of theeat the end.”
“Yes, well, there are exceptions. Some words you have to memorize rather than sounding them out.”
She scowled. “Readin’s ’ard.”
“At first. But it does get easier, and it’s rather worth the challenge of it.”
She returned her attention to the primer, having more luck with the words that followed. The book was the sort used in schools. The alphabet was listed in the beginning, then two stories followed. She’d apparently already made her way throughCinderillawith Fancy and was now eagerly tacklingLittle Red Riding Hood. He suspected for many the primer Fancy gave them was the first book they’d ever owned. For some it was no doubt the first they’d ever held.
Four others sat in the circle with him, following along in their primers, awaiting their turn to read the words aloud. He strove very hard not to make those gathered around him feel embarrassed when they stumbled. Even if one didn’t read perfectly, one was trying and that was the true accomplishment—seeking to better oneself, doing what was necessary to reach that end.
Just as Fancy was seeking to better her lot in life by attending a ball tonight and snagging the attention of some lord. He was tempted to give her a list of swells to avoid, but then she’d wonder how he knew them, and he’d have to confess he was the one about whom the letter had been penned and published for all the world to see. The suddenly heralded Earl of Rosemont. She’d view him differently then, and he didn’t want to be looked upon like he was a prize to be won.
He was continually distracted by the bumps, taps, and scrapes coming from the floor above him. An hour earlier, a veritable phalanx of maids had paraded past the doorway and taken the stairs up to Fancy’s lodgings. He suspected the servants had been sent over by Lady Aslyn. His mind kept envisioning what was happening up there as they prepared her for this auspicious night that could very well set her on a course that would take her away from her little shop.
It didn’t help at all that the night before she’d put in his head the image of her standing before a mirror sans clothing. A bath would have been prepared. She would have lowered her nude form into it. The steam would float up to caress and coat her skin in dew, some gathering in that enticing notch at her throat. The water, if not the soap, would be perfumed, and she would arise from the tub like a nymph from a lake, carrying the scent of flowers in a meadow.
Someone would use soft linen to remove the water droplets from her flesh. Another would brush the long silky length of her black hair. He imagined how marvelous it would feel to sink his fingers into the glorious strands or gather up the thick tresses and drape them over her shoulder in order to leave her nape unobstructed so he could place a warm kiss on either side of her ridged spine. The last thought caused a reaction in the lower half of his body that had him shifting uncomfortably in his chair, a reaction he should have grown accustomed to by now because it happened each time he thought of touching his lips to any aspect of her body. Her mouth, her fingers, her toes, her breasts—
Christ, he needed to get hold of himself. Thank goodness, the noises above had quieted. Suddenly light footsteps began echoing from the direction of the stairs. In perfect alignment signaling pride as though they’d just achieved victory in a crucial military campaign, the maids marched by the open doorway.
The room went quiet. No stammering of words or encouragement uttered, the girl in the red hooded cloak abandoned, her story no match for the suspense that had captured everyone’s attention, their gazes going to the empty portal where the servants were last seen. Because if they were done with their task and taken their leave, then couldshebe far behind? So like the others, he gave his full attention to the doorway and waited, as an anticipation he’d not known in years took hold and blossomed. An itch took up residence on the tip of his nose, but it went undisturbed as none of his muscles seemed wont to move.
Then she appeared and stole his breath.
Her white gown, what she might have worn had she been presented to the Queen, lovingly caressed her form, outlining the gentle swell of her breasts, the tuck at her waist, the rounding of her hips. Pearls adorned her throat. Miniature ones sewn in intricate patterns over the bodice caught the gaslight and winked as she strode into the room. A fan dangled from her wrist. Long white silk gloves traveled from her fingertips to just past her elbow, and he imagined a gentleman taking her for a stroll about the garden searching for a dark corner where he could roll them off and kiss the suddenly revealed flesh.
Her dark hair had been gathered into an elaborate coiffure, held in place with pearl combs that stood out in stark relief against the black background of her tresses. Her brown eyes seemed larger, more luminous. Her cheeks sported a bright pink, no doubt a result of her excitement for the evening ahead. She smiled warmly, softly. “I simply wanted to wish you all a good evening before I leave.”
“You... you look... uh, gorgeous, Miss Trewlove,” Mr. Tittlefitz stammered.
“Thank you, Mr. Tittlefitz. You’re most kind to say so. I do rather feel like Cinderilla after all the attention the kind maids gave me.”
She slid her gaze over to Matthew. Only then did he realize that at some point her arrival had stirred him to come to his feet. She was waiting for him to speak. He was rather certain of it, and yet no words he uttered would do her justice. Still he could not allow her to leave with even a pinch of her confidence shaken. “No woman there shall outshine you.”
Her cheeks turned a deeper hue. Her eyelashes fluttered, not in a teasing manner, but as though she were touched by his paltry compliment. Or perhaps embarrassed he should say such a thing. What had she wanted to hear from him? Whatever it was, he’d have spoken the words she yearned for—if he’d only known what they were.
She looked back at the younger man. “You will lock up when you’re done here tonight, Mr. Tittlefitz?”
“Yes, miss. You’re not to worry yourself. Mr. Sommersby and I have everything well in hand.”
“And you’ll see Marianne home?”
“Yes, miss.”
