Friends?Brother,she had called him. For the first time in his life he was unable to handle that disconnect.Platonic? How tragic.Plato would have an opinion. How about friends delving into a base and carnal nature?
“I suppose you can tell me what I’m thinking.”He hoped not.
“Absolutely.”
“Amazing because I don’t even know my mind.”
“You are thinking about getting back to your laboratory. Look over my shoulder, the man conversing with Lord Banfield…the man with the glass eye. He sends shivers down my spine. He is malevolent. He has a secret. There is anger.”
Anthony snorted. “That is my Uncle Cornelius, Duke of Westbrook. He’s been looking like that ever since your cousin, Captain Thorne captured his ships. Almost bankrupted him.”
Anthony escorted her off the dance floor and Rachel unconsciously leaned into him. He liked her bending into him. “Don’t worry, he’s harmless.”
“You are the student tonight,” she reminded him. “Now tell me what I’m thinking.”
He looked her up and down. Beneath soft brows were eyes a mystifying violet and he imagined, when her moods changed, were endless shades of lavender and blue lilac. “I haven’t a clue.”
Rachel waved her hand over the broodmare competition. “All this and I’ll never marry.”
“Why not?”
Her fingers twisted in his, and he barely caught her muttered words before someone took her for another dance.
“Because I’m not desirable.”
Chapter Six
Gasping, Rachel sat up like a shot, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. Would she ever be able to eradicate the nightmares and terrors that haunted her? Abby had been her one true confidante, allowing into the darkness that swallowed Rachel, a glimmering of light. But Abby was an ocean away and she dared not confide her shame to anyone. She did not want what happened to her in Boston, and the humiliation of everyone treating her like an oddity to follow her to England.
The heavy gold drapes were peeled back and the sunshine spilled over her bed, warming her skin. Blinking against the brightness of the morning, she became aware of busy, rustling noises coming from inside her room.
“Good morning, Miss Thorne. I didn’t mean to startle you, but you did tell me to wake you for breakfast,” said Mrs. Noot, her assigned lady’s maid, a middle-aged woman with curly brown hair tucked under her cap, her uniform, neat and crisp, denoting efficiency, yet severe in comparison to her lively and smiling manner.
Rachel fell back into the pillows, trying to slow her breaths, grateful for the brilliant day that chased away the gloom. She clutched and unclutched the gold damask coverlet, forcing the rich smoothness to ease her tremors. No doubt, Sir Bonneville’s provocation triggered the nightmare. Although, she’d put on a strong façade, in truth, she had been terrified, panicking, her limbs useless to move. Thank God, Anthony had rescued her when he did.
A housemaid dusted the marble hearth, and then stoked smoldering embers. A fire flared to life in a gigantic fireplace. Rachel stared at the motifs of roses and cherubs on the ceiling, her sight descending to the walls painted a robin-egg blue and a darker hue of equivalent shades in rich velvet drapes that were secured with gold tassels. Her vanity was skirted with a harmonizing color and a blue brocade stool to match. Across the elegant room and housing a portion of her new gowns stood a massive walnut armoire with inlaid mother of pearl. The housemaid gathered her canvas and copper pot filled with the night’s ashes and left.
“You have nothing to fear, Miss Thorne. You are safe in the Duke’s house.” Soft brown eyes gentled as did the grooves in her cheeks, lending a motherly appearance to Mrs. Noot.
Had she said something in her sleep?
Servants gossiped.
Rachel threw back the covers and planted her feet on the silky-smooth Aubusson rug of pink and sea foam green while Mrs. Noot laid out silk stockings and lacy underthings.
“I cannot possibly wear this gown.” Rachel smoothed her hand over the silver brocade trimmed with silver bobbin lace along the hem, sleeves and bodice. If she spilled something on it in the lab, the gown would be destroyed. Neither could she tell Mrs. Noot she was working alone with Anthony. “I need something more serviceable, less weight, less cumbersome, less expansive…without the panniers. I wish to take a walk today.”
Mrs. Noot produced a simple green linen gown that the seamstress had insisted on, making several for Rachel, informing her the new style was scandalously started by Queen Marie Antoinette in France. The chemise a la reine was incredibly light and simple, consisting of layers of thin muslin with a low-laced bodice, belted around the waist with a sash, fitted sleeves from shoulder to wrist and no panniers. Perfect for Rachel’s work in the laboratory.
After helping Rachel dress, Mrs. Noot guided her to the vanity to do her hair. Gone was the chatty, effervescent, and welcoming maid. In the mirror’s reflection, Mrs. Noot opened her mouth, and then snapped it shut. Was she on the brink of telling Rachel what she heard? Was she condemning her for an assault that was entirely out of Rachel’s hands?
“Out with it,” Rachel demanded. “What did I say in my sleep?”
Mrs. Noot moved across the room. “I can’t seem to find the hairpins.”
From her vanity, Rachel held up the crystal bottle of hairpins Mrs. Noot thought she had misplaced.
“I’m so happy you found them, Miss Thorne.” She picked up a silver brush and started on Rachel’s hair.
