“I asked cook to see to it tea would be ready upon your return. Styles has finally come back from town—”
“Was there any mail?”
He shook his head. “No coaches have come into town from any direction in the past two days.”
Disappointment settled over Angelika, but she tried hard not to let it show. “Well, then we shan’t expect Father and Robert for a few more days, then,” she said brightly, feigning nonchalance. “Do you suppose Styles and Thompkins can collect a yule log? Some greens?” Although it was still another week before Christmas Eve—the day they would normally bring in evergreens with which to make the wreaths and sprays that would decorate the front hall and the parlor—she worried the weather might prevent them from doing so.
“They have already seen to cutting a tree, my lady. And some greenery. They have the branches stored in a bucket of water in the stable.”
“It’s probably frozen by now,” she remarked, allowing him to help with her redingote.
“Do you want them to bring the greens inside?”he asked, worry evident on his face.
“Oh, no,” she answered quickly. “They’ll be fine where they are until the twenty-fourth.” If it wasn’t considered bad luck to bring them in early, she would welcome the opportunity to work on wreaths and sprays, if for no other reason than it would help counteract the boredom she had experienced since a week after her father’s departure.
Although she loved reading books, even reading would become a chore if there was nothing else to do. Besides, she had finished all the novels and was now having to read books on botany, animal husbandry, and modern farming techniques.
Her thoughts briefly went back to the Duke of Suffolk. If the man never stepped foot outside of Dunfey Park, then he must have a good number of projects to keep him occupied.
Could running a dukedom require his attention all of the time, though? What else might a recluse do all day besides read books and eat? Write letters and read newspapers?
Make love.
Angelika blinked.
From where had that thought come?
She knew, actually, but that didn’t mean she wanted anyone else in the household to know she had discovered her father’s books on the subject. That she had spent the day before pouring over pages of explicit descriptions and illustrations that had her wincing as much as they had her excited.
Sure her face was bright red, and not only because of the cold, she made her way through the hall and up the marble stairs to the parlor. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and she rushed over to warm her hands.
Bronson soon joined her, setting the tea tray on the low table next to her favorite chair. “Will there be anything else, my lady?”
“No, Bronson. I shall wrap myself in a blanket and read until it’s time for dinner,” she replied. “And I shan’t be dressing for dinner tonight,” she added, deciding the practice made no sense when she would be the only one at the dinner table.
She briefly thought of her younger brother. He was no doubt upstairs with his nurse, either playing with his wooden toys or learning to read. “I think Richard should join me for dinner tonight.” The young boy rarely had a chance to eat in the dining room, but he needed to learn his dining manners at some point.
“Very good, my lady.”
She watched the servant depart, then reached under the upholstered chair cushion. She pulled out a French book on the topic of sexual congress.
She could read the French text, of course, but she planned to spend the time studying the color plates in the middle. The scandalous paintings would warm her up faster than standing in front of the fire.
Pulling the blanket around her shoulders, she settled into the chair and opened the book to the center, where page after page displayed paintings depicting men and women in various positions. Although most couples were shown atop a bed, some were set in other rooms of a house, including a library, and one was even in a folly—in broad daylight.
The thought of being out-of-doors, mostly naked, shocked her more than the strange positions shown in any of the other paintings.
Most shocking of all, though, was imagining what it might be like to make love to a man so disfigured, he was considered a beast. Angelika was almost relieved when Bronson appeared to announce dinner was served.
Tucking the book back under the cushion, she made her way downstairs in a daze, well aware it was once again snowing.
Dressed in his best clothes, Richard stood at the bottom of the stairs, his huge grin making it appear as if a pugilist had knocked out his front teeth.
“Good evening, Sister,” he said before she was even halfway down the flight of stairs.
“Good evening to you, Richard. You look terribly happy.” She felt a twinge of guilt at not have changed for dinner, but the boy didn’t seem to notice.
“That’s because I am,” he said, holding out his elbow as high as he could when she joined him. “Nurse says Christmas is in a week.”
