Down the corridor from the Granborough’s stateroom suite stood a modern lavatory with hot and cold taps. Stationed there were both ladies’ and gentlemen’s bath-stewards, who would see to the scheduling of baths and shower-baths, provide clean towels, and oversee any other hygiene-related requests.
Louisa had grown up with indoor plumbing, yet feared she must renounce such creature comforts once she arrived in England. She’d been warned to expect frigid hip baths in the morning and midnight slogs to the outhouse regardless of the weather.
“Isn’t it true,” she asked her husband, “that you don’t have flushing toilets or hot-water boilers?”
“Running water is a luxury most country houses can ill afford. If you find you cannot live without these modern conveniences, you may pay to install them at Granborough.” He waved his hand at the light fixture overhead. “You can put in electricity, as well.”
His ancestral home would be restored atherexpense. “How very generous.”
“It shall be your home, Louisa. You must do whatever you feel necessary—whether that be improvements or advancements—to make yourself comfortable.”
“I think I’d rather live in London…”
Lord Granborough had told her once of his house in Mayfair, of the park and the parties, and the shopping and dining. The townhouse needed only a bit of ‘spiffing up’, yet his country seat required extensive refurbishment.
His mouth formed a grim line. “Well, yes, there is always London.”
Louisa hadn’t meant to insult him or his home. Truly, her questions had been asked out of genuine curiosity. She’d read the worst things about England, from the poor climate to the rampant poverty, and of the coldness which awaited her on the other side of the Atlantic.
Coldness of water. Coldness of weather.
Coldness of manner.
She only wished to be prepared.
Louisa looped her arm through her husband’s. She remained close to his side throughout the rest of their tour and made only the most polite inquiries, yet she breathed a sigh of relief when the cabin steward finally reached their stateroom suite.
“Here we are, my lord, my lady,” the man said, retrieving a key from the pocket of his white jacket. “Parlour suite twenty-five.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Their honeymoon suite was far superior to anything he’d had crossing over. Giles wagered these were the finest quarters on the ship, fit for a marchioness—even a spoiled one.
The suite held a curtained bedstead, sofa, and dining table for two, all furnished in the French fashion and upholstered in sumptuous red brocade. Candlestick sconces and a wide porthole window illuminated the little enfilade of rooms.
Louisa walked the length of their stateroom, no doubt tallying up the faults she found within. It annoyed him that she could not be satisfied with what he’d provided. It wounded him that she’d criticized his homeland, his customs, and his lack of plumbing.
She paused in the bedchamber doorway, as if something had just dawned on her. “Only one bed for the two of us?”
“Did you expect to sleep separately?”
Perhaps shehad.His wife had never been alone with a man, he realized. Her innocence was amusing, enticing. Giles joined her in the doorway. He propped his elbow an inch above her head. She was forced to crane her neck to meet his gaze.
Louisa recovered her composure quickly. “The suite is smaller than I imagined.”
A knock sounded on the stateroom door. “Trunks!” called the staff from the corridor.
Giles was forced to abandon his wife as maids, porters, and stewards filed into the space.
Louisa directed her bags to be placed in the bedroom, announcing, “My dress-basket! This is exactly the one I wanted!”
Her Ladyship’s maid bobbed a curtsey, asking, “Shall I unpack for you, madam?”
“Thank you, but I’ll see to this myself.”
The luggage was delivered and, almost as quickly as they’d come, the Cunard staff excused themselves. With the click of a latch, they were gone.
Louisa crouched on the carpeted floor, careless of her rumpled velvet skirts. She opened the domed lid of her trunk to sort through the drawers, trays, and compartments within. Giles watched over her shoulder, spying frocks, corsets, stockings, wrappers, and fripperies at which he couldn’t begin to speculate. She unpacked jewelry cases that must be delivered to the purser’s safe, as well as toiletries that would be carried to and from the lavatory. He imagined her draped with diamonds, or damp from her bath, or simply undressing for the evening.
