Once in my room,I collapsed onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, the kind Kate used to produce when discussing her newest love. I had no idea. None. I knew I should be overcome with an abundance of guilt and shame, but I could not put forth the effort to summon the emotions. At this moment, it seemed as though everything was possible, that there were no obstacles between Michael and myself.
I should set about removing my damp garments, but instead I lay there, tracing the path his lips took on my skin with my fingers. Reliving the wondrous sensations seemed a far more pressing concern than making myself presentable in the moment. If I was found in this state I would be ruined. A part of me welcomed it. I was certain I had never been such a mess. My hair would never recover, my gown and shoes were destroyed, and my skin was certainly flushed from Michael’s attentions. I was a wanton mess. I had strived for perfection my entire life, and in spite of my disheveled state, I finally felt it—perfection. It was nothing like I had expected, and everything I never dared to hope for. I resisted pressing my face into the pillows to unleash a girlish squeal.
After an extended period of rapture, I finally rose to address the condition of my hair and clothing. My chemise was the only layer that had escaped the deluge. I splayed the rest of it out in front of the fire. Seated before the mirror for my toilette, I was forced to acknowledge the enormity of the task before me. My hair had never seen such a state. My lips, neck, and jaw all bore the marks of Michael’s admiration. I hardly recognized the woman before me. There was a lightness to her countenance I had not ever seen in my reflection.
With a sigh, less put upon than the one I typically reserved for sorting out my curls, I began the onerous task of righting them. Brush in hand, I attacked each in turn. I had foregone the assistance of a lady’s maid for nearly two years so the task was familiar. I was grateful for the experience now. One by one they gave way until I had them in order.
I had yet to develop an attack strategy for the reddened marks across my décolleté and neck. I settled for pressing a towel dipped in the cool water of the nearby basin to the irritation. I couldn’t bring myself to regret their existence, not when I was still reliving their creation with giddy, lustful ardor. Eventually, my efforts proved effective and the redness gave way.
A knock sounded at the door followed by a timid “My lady?” Anna, Kate’s lady’s maid poked her head in when I granted her entry. “Stevens suggested I might be of assistance to you?”
If the servants knew enough to suspect I needed assistance, my misdeeds were certainly all over the house by now. I felt the flush of embarrassment but not the accompanying panic I expected from the acknowledgment.
“Thank you, Anna. Your assistance would be much appreciated.”
“Of course! Have you considered what you might like to put on this afternoon?”
“I’ll leave it to your judgment.”
“Of course. May I assist with your coiffure as well?”
I couldn’t stop the huff of laughter at that.“You may certainly try, but I think it may be beyond even your considerable talents at this point.”
She cracked a small smile but politely denied the trouble for which my unruly curls were famous and started to pin them into place.
“That was quite the storm, my lady. I’m glad you and Michael—Mr. Wayland—were safe,” she said, confirming what I already knew.
A few of my curls escaped her pins, and she removed the pins calmly. I usually found myself frustrated at this point but her touch remained gentle.
“May I ask, is there a great deal of talk downstairs? About my whereabouts this morning? And Mr. Wayland’s?”
I was not certain we had developed enough of a repertoire for her to speak candidly with me, but I had no other way of discerning the extent of the damage to my reputation.
“Oh! None at all my lady.” Her answer was too quick and too bright to be the full truth. “I don’t think anyone knew you were out in the storm until Stevens went to search for Michael. He pulled me aside and said you might require assistance because of the rain. I won’t say a word, I swear it. And Stevens is a vault. But no one downstairs would say anything anyway. We quite like you, you see. It’s clear that Michael adores you and— Oh, my mouth has run off with me.”
I had no reason at all to believe in her sworn discretion, but something about her suggested that she wouldn’t betray my confidence.
“Oh, please go on. Is my reputation quite in tatters?”
“No, my lady, of course not. Mama and I were beginning to despair of him ever taking a wife. But then we saw the way he is with you, and… we’re just hoping for the best for the both of you.”
“I hope you will tell me if there’s any… untoward gossip downstairs.”
“Of course, my lady, but no one would speak so about Michael, and you, as well, of course.”
“Thank you.”
She was going in for a third attempt with the pins, still as patient as the first.
“I think you should wear the light blue gown for supper. It flatters your eyes.”
“I will then. Thank you.”
There was a pleased flutter at the thought of displaying myself for Michael’s perusal. At showing any of my features to advantage for his gaze. She finally managed to tame my curls on the fourth attempt, and I had to admit they looked beautiful. She abandoned the fashionable, tight, face-framing curls. Instead, my larger, disorderly curls were left to escape my coiffure naturally. The effect was quite enchanting. Certainly Michael would agree.
Twenty-Two
THORNTON HALL, KENT - JUNE 3, 1814
