Old? Yuánchi called nothing old. Not the gnarled oaks. Not even the druids’ ruins. “Should you know her?”
I know the first wyfe I bound. This is another.
“Then how do I remember?”
I sensed rushing wind.Who was with you, before? A great wyfe touched me.
“Georgiana?” I said. Foolishly. I knew that was not the answer.
I know the wyfe of song. It was another…Yuánchi sounded wistful.
“Her name is Emma.”
Silence. Speed.
“What did I see?” I said sharply. “Whodid I see? You know more than you have said.”
You saw the binding of a first wyfe. The first wyfe of war.
7
LOVE AND SONGBIRDS
LIZZY
“Ma’am? Mrs. Darcy?”a girl’s voice whispered.
Light tickled my eyelids. I was cozy in bed. Well, not so cozy. The sheets were soaked. I felt cold, and yet… I touched my forehead. Sheened with sweat.
A maid of thirteen or perhaps fourteen was grinning at me. I wiped a sticky curl out of my eyes and whispered, “Good morning, Lucy. Do not wake Mr. Darcy.” His shoulder was pressing my back, but for once I was not trapped under one of his immovable arms.
I felt under the quilt for my nightgown, then searched with my toes. Nothing.
Lucy’s grin tilted mischievously. She lifted a length of gauzy muslin from the floor. “Lost something?” she whispered.
I pulled it over my head while she innocently studied the ceiling. The fabric clung unpleasantly to my wet spine and breasts. I pinched a fold and fanned it to dry off.
I whispered, “Was the fire high last night?”
“Don’t know, ma’am. Mrs. Reynolds had a coach for me at the hotel this morning. Brought your things.”
We tiptoed out, leaving Darcy sprawled across most of the bed. Really, it was a good thing I was small. In the dressing room, Lucy tugged my damp curlsinto a mass that could be tied while she prattled about what she had packed. Then shetskedand held up a petticoat I had worn yesterday. “How’d you get so muddy?”
“Oh,” I said.
The door to the bedroom was ajar. I leaned to peer through. Darcy’s hand and wrist were sticking off the side of the bed. Sound asleep.
When I returned from my trip to the boathouse, the house had been in a tizzy. Mrs. Reynolds had every servant running one way or another. It had been decided that our party would stay the night even though rooms had not been made up.
Amid the fuss, I had not a second alone with Darcy until we shut our bedroom door. And then I barely drew breath before… Well, he had been distracting.
Lucy was watching expectantly.
“I am infamous for muddy petticoats,” I said. “Consider it training as a lady’s maid. Will you take it down and see if Mrs. Reynolds has a laundress?”
“Now?”
“Please. I should hate for it to stain.”
