The dining room at Brentworth’s house in Mayfair would suit a state dinner. Davina almost giggled when she and Brentworth took their places at the table with all those other chairs empty. Three footmen served them, which seemed two too many to her.
“The cook is from Milan,” Brentworth explained while she spooned some odd rice dish onto her plate. “He is full of fire and sends for ingredients from all over. Italy, Portugal, France. It was suggested to him by my father that the accounts had gotten out of hand. He threatened to leave. My father liked his food, so he stayed and I pay for things I can’t pronounce.”
“This is very good. Who would think rice could be so flavorful? And the joint tasted different from any other I have ever had. Am I supposed to supervise him, or will the housekeeper manage that?”
“No one supervises Marco Innocenti. You can try if you like, however. By all means, let him know what you want if you favor certain foods or preparations.”
She peppered him with some other questions about his expectations of her. He told her about the bills he was shepherding and hoped to see pass. She thought it noble of him to fight the continued use of slaves in the Indies. Great Britain had outlawed the slave trade, and its navy even interfered with ships engaged in it. To still allow slaves in the colonies was a terrible hypocrisy.
As the dinner wound down and the last of the wine had been drunk, he took her hand. “I am glad that soon you will have that new wardrobe, although in my mind I will always remember how lovely you appeared in your simpler garments.”
“I intend to keep them, so you may not have to rely on memories. There will be times I want to do something that might ruin those fine ensembles.”
“I would ask what activities you refer to, but I think I will wait for another day to learn that. I told you that I have some gifts for you. Several. The first I will give you now. A bill will be brought to Parliament, reinstating Teyhill to you. The king will let it be known he supports it. You will have fulfilled your mission.”
She should have been elated. She was happy, true, and she showed it, she hoped. She was getting what she thought her family deserved. But she had never found the proof that said it was in fact her family. She believed it was, but there would be those who always claimed she was a charlatan who only succeeded because she had turned Brentworth’s head.
She admitted it might only be half a loaf, but it was the better half and she would take it. Perhaps one day she would stumble upon the evidence she had been trying to find. She would prefer this were not a gift, but a right.
“There are other gifts?” she asked. “This news would be enough for one day.”
“There are several. Up in your chamber you will find two of them. I would like you to be wearing them when I visit tonight.”
“Do you expect me to sit here longer and talk, when I know surprises wait for me up there? That may be impossible. All I will do is try to get you to tell me what they are.”
“I expect you to run up and see them, so I can spend a very long night with you.” He raised and kissed her hand. “I have thought about little else all day and am half mad over it. Go now.”
She went to give him a kiss before scurrying out and up the stairs. In her chamber, her ladies’ maid had already prepared her bed and laid out a nightgown. A simple, practical one. After Brentworth had left today, after she assumed they were finished at Mrs. Dove’s, Amanda had insisted that some other items be commissioned to replace these serviceable ones.
Charlotte, her maid, stuck her head into the bedchamber from where she had been working in the dressing room. “His Grace’s valet brought something earlier. It is in here.”
Davina went into the dressing room. It was a sumptuous chamber, as large as the one with the bed, with a big fireplace and two damask-covered divans and a special spot for a tub that waited in a cupboard built into a corner. Charlotte pointed to one of the divans. Two packages, one small and one large, both wrapped in silk, rested on the cushion.
“Are you retiring, Your Grace? Should I prepare water for you to wash?”
“Please do.” She sat on the divan and pulled the ribbon on the little package. The cloth fell open to reveal a small wooden box. She pried that open to see the contents. Pearls. A string of them, perfectly matched. Beautiful. Priceless.
She called Charlotte over to see. She handed them to the maid, who ogled while she fingered the orbs. “Why, each one could keep a lady for a year,” she said.
“Leave it on the dressing table.” Davina opened the larger gift.
She recognized the shawl at once. It had caught her eye as soon as she entered that back chamber at Mrs. Dove’s shop. When she asked about buying it before she left, however, Mrs. Dove had informed her it was spoken for.
She lifted one corner high, and the thin silk fell like luminous water. The blue sprigs on the cream background would look perfect with a dress the color of primroses. She rose and draped it over the back of the divan. Of all the purchases made today, this one pleased her the most because Brentworth had seen it and thought she might like it.
Charlotte began her duties. Davina submitted, although having a maid take care of her would take some getting used to. The notion of lying abed until another woman came to get you out of bed struck her as a little stupid, and she doubted she would ever conform to that practice.
Face and body washed, hair brushed, clean and ready in her simple nightdress, she sent Charlotte away. She draped the shawl around her shoulders. The silk’s texture caressed her bare arms, but it looked silly with the muslin dress beneath it.
Feeling daring and naughty while she did it, she removed the dress and again draped the shawl. The silk created a wicked sensation on her whole body. She sat at the dressing table and began clasping the pearls around her neck.
Hands took it from her and finished. In her looking glass, she could see Brentworth’s brocade banyan and a V of his skin above where it was buttoned.
She ran her fingertips over the pearls. “It is perfect. Lovely. Thank you, and for this too.” She smoothed her hand over the shawl.
His hands followed, sliding down from her shoulders and over her breasts. “You are perfect. Jewels and silks are mere decoration.”
He caressed her like that, standing behind her, his strong hands visible in the looking glass while he touched her through that silk, and the fabric increased the sensuality. Watching that, feeling it, mesmerized her. Her head lolled back against him, but she did not close her eyes entirely. She kept watching.
