And while Gemma might have stubbornly held onto her technical virginity out of some contrary impulse not to live down to her reputation, she’d certainly done plenty of things that would make a true lady blush.
Hal wasn’t the first man she’d brought to completion; she’d experienced before the power it gave her to be in control of a man’s pleasure.She liked it.She had also enjoyed exploring her own body, bringing herself to a shivery climax in the darkness of her bedchamber, since no man she’d dallied with before Hal had ever been able to manage it.
Really, nothing about what happened with Hal could be compared to those meaningless, often-drunken exploits with the dissolute rakes and bored dandies of her social set.
With Hal, everything felt so…real.It seemed silly even to think it, but it felt almost...she bit her lip.
It felthonest.And she craved it in a way she hadn’t understood was possible.
Hauling her tired body out of the tangled bed sheets and over to the washstand, Gemma attempted to put herself to rights with the aid of a little cold water and a few hairpins.She lacked Lucy’s burgeoning skill at arranging hair, but she did the best she could.
She had to make an effort, she told herself as she pulled on the corset she’d learned to leave laced so she could do it up again by herself.She couldn’t afford to let her standards drop, just because there would be no one at the inn tonight other than farmers, shopkeepers, and the local blacksmith.
None of those people would care if she put on a fresh gown, Gemma knew.And while she couldn’t bear to touch the sweat-stained, wrinkled mess of a dress she’d worn to do the washing, she couldn’t quite work up the energy to deck herself out in one of her silk evening gowns either.
She was going to need to do something about her wardrobe, she realized as she sorted through her options.She was perilously low on serviceable, plain day dresses that could be rendered fit for chores with the addition of a linen apron.And her evening gowns, an array of flesh-baring, brightly colored silks and satins meant to be worn under over-dresses of delicate lace or shimmery gauze, were far too opulent and daring for the public room of a country inn.She would look like a peacock set among the pigeons if she wore any of them.
Just this once, she decided with a jaw-cracking yawn, she’d compromise with one of her simpler day dresses and perhaps dress it up slightly with a shawl.That should keep her from looking too terribly out of place without requiring too much effort.
An hour later, Gemma’s buttery yellow silk Jacquard shawl with the embroidered paisley border lay forgotten over the back of one of the armchairs flanking the fire, and Gemma found she had forgotten most of her aches and weariness as well.
“There’s such a crowd tonight!”Lucy beamed at her from where she sat perched on a high stool beside Hal, who was expertly drawing yet another pint from the cask of ale on the oak bar.
Gemma glanced around the warmly lit room, her spirts borne aloft on the waves of talk and laughter and clinking glasses.Like her father, she had always been one to take delight in company, but it was only by the exuberant happiness she felt bubbling up inside her at the sight of the full pub that she was able to truly understand how low her spirits had been since his death.
She needed this, the inchoate energy of a large group of people, to feel truly alive.This crowd was certainly different from the one she was used to in London, but she was surprised to admit to herself that the feeling she got from being a part of it was much the same.
She recognized quite a few of the farmers from the rogation party, some of them in pairs or alone, some with their wives and small children sitting on their knees or listing sleepily onto a shoulder.
In the dancing light of the fire from the hearth and the flickering candles set on overturned barrels and tables dotted about the room, the place looked softer.More welcoming.It smelled deliciously of the tender spring leeks Lucy had gathered for Bess to melt into her chicken and mushroom pies, layered over with the sour tang of the local cider and the mellow honeyed malt of the ale Hal had poured into a tall mug and set on the bar between them.
“No, thank you,” she told him.If she had a drink, she was likely to get sleepy again, and it was far too early to go to bed.
“It’s not for you, your ladyship.”Hal laughed at her, his eyes bright with something like fondness.His smile was a flash of even, white teeth against the darkness of his short, silky beard.
She knew it was silky, because she’d rubbed her cheeks, her lips, across the close-cropped grain of that beard and barely had a red mark to show for it.All she’d gotten was a tingling thrill that shot straight to her core, and that same thrill warmed her now as she stared into his deep green eyes.
“It’s for Bess,” he was saying when she managed to drag her focus back to the conversation.“She’s just now come from the kitchen to check on the tables and take her break.”
“I’ll take it to her,” Gemma offered, her gaze searching out the tall, trim form of the inn’s cook where she stood chatting with a family seated near the kitchen door.“It’s the least I can do, considering I got to have a nap while she was busy cooking these scrumptious chicken and leek pies!”
“I’m sure you earned it.”Hal cocked his head.“I heard you learned to use the mangle all by yourself.Now that would be a sight to see.”
Gemma flushed, partly from embarrassment and partly due to pure pleasure at the praise.“It was not a pretty picture, I assure you.But the sheets are pressed and I managed not to lose a finger in the process nor catch my hair between the rollers, so I would judge that a successful day’s work.I never could have managed it without Bess to show me how, though.It’s shocking, really, how little a lady is taught to do.Makes one feel quite helpless.”
Hal’s large hand closed around her wrist when she reached for the mug.His voice was as warm as the clasp of his fingers.“You’re not helpless, Gemma.Far from it.Because you’re willing to admit what you don’t know, and you’re quick to learn.That’s more than most can claim.”
“It’s odd, you know.I never would have considered learning how to do my own laundry before coming here.And I can’t exactly say I enjoyed the experience while it was happening!It isn’t fun in any sense of the word.But I’m glad to have done it.It feels good to know how to do things.”
She peaked up at him to see if he was laughing at her, almost expecting him to mock her silly forays into domestic competence, but Hal’s full lips were a serious line behind his beard.
“I wasn’t taught much as a child,” he said slowly.“My father was often gone from home, and my mother…died when I was quite young.I learned most of what I do now at a fairly advanced age.It was the people here who taught me: Mr.Cartwright, the blacksmith, showed me how to shoe a horse; I thatched my first roof under the watchful eye of Mr.Mulgrave; our local lambing expert is Mr.Kent, over there.”
Gemma felt her heart squeeze as if pressed between the rollers of the mangle she’d wrestled with all day.“I’m sorry about your mother,” she said softly, recognizing the momentary shadow of long-held grief that darkened his green-gold eyes.She saw the same look in her mother and sister’s gazes when they spoke of Father.She felt it in herself, the mere mention of Hal’s loss reminding her of her own.
“It was a long time ago,” Hal said gruffly.“Get along with you, take Bess that ale before it goes flat.And keep your chin up.You’re better at all this than I ever would have predicted.”
“Of course I am,” Gemma retorted, tossing her curls and swiping the mug of ale from the bar before marching off before he could see the pink of her cheeks and know what his words meant to her.
