The door to my chamber flies open. Mr. Steele, swinging a basket, enters with six footmen carrying pails of hot water.
“A bath, Your Grace, as you ordered per Lady Hampton’s instruction.”
“Well, it seems Katherinecanbe useful.” I pull my robe to me and ease my feet to the edge. My restless legs feel wobbly and fatigued.
Then I see a cat in the basket. I question nothing.
Scarlett stands. She frowns stiffly. “But my husband doesn’t think this is a good idea.”
“He’s not here,” I say as gently as possible. “Besides, he smells good and was nicely dressed the last time I remember seeing him. I’ll not face eternity unclean.”
She runs around the bed and steadies me as I sit up. “You’ve had trouble with your vision and weakness in your limbs from past crises, and the heavy use of laudanum has made you frail. We should wait. Shouldn’t we wait?”
Mr. Steele comes closer. “Your left eye was a little cloudy, sir, the last time you were ill. Can you see well enough—”
“For a bath? Of course. I’m delighted by the concern, but I shall have a nice soak. Steele, pick something from my closet. I want shiny brass buttons and lots of folds and starch.”
“Very well, Your Grace.” Mr. Steele bows and backs into my treasured closet, the place of my waistcoats and cravats. The cat basket remains on the floor. The cute little thing yawns at me. I ignore it. A daft fool won’t get a bath.
Scarlett waves her hand in front of my face. “Your irises aren’t red. Can you see out both eyes?”
I smile at her. “Da. I’m good.” I point to the warm water being poured into my tub. “I see steam and smell lavender. You do, too?”
“Yes. Of course.” She folds her arms. “This is worrisome.”
Scarlett doesn’t mention the cat, so I won’t.
“Your Grace,” she says, touching my hot cheek. “We should wait for Stephen.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be alive by the time he returns, but I will be clean.”
The footmen finish filling the ornate tub that sits on brawny lion paws.
Red in the face, Scarlett paces but avoids the basket. “Your Grace, I insist that you not be alone while you attempt this.”
“He won’t be.” Katherine stands at the threshold wearing Scarlett’s long white apron. The jet gown underneath is a maid’s uniform complete with white slippers—not coal dusted boots. “You go get a few hours of sleep. I’ll take care of the duke.”
My mouth drops open when she enters, looking ridiculous and enchanting. My true maids come into my chambers and quickly strip the bed as much as they can with me seated on the mattress. They place a pile of fresh linen near me. This is Katia’s doing. She remembers how I love fresh sheets after a bath.
I gaze at her, my confident rusalka with the scrub brush. She stoops and pets the cat.
“So the cat is real! It’s real, not a figment of the weed-tea dream.”
The maids leave, but Scarlett and the cat and Katherine remain. “Are you sure of this, Your Grace? My husband—”
“I’m attending my former one.” Katherine comes closer, breathing hard, focused … beautiful. “He won a bet. The d’yavol must have his due.”
“Madame Carew, I believe Lady Hampton will not drown me. Go rest. We will read more about Darcy. He must impress this Elizabeth at the upcoming ball. I’ll have Mr. Steele or my new maid—”
“Hired mistress paying off my debts,” Katherine’s voice booms. “I’ll take care of him.” She virtually pushes Scarlett out the door. Once Scarlett’s gone, she turns to me. “I’m here to serve, Your Grace.”
Her tone is sultry. She claps her hands. My footmen snap to attention. “Guide the duke to the tub.”
She doesn’t turn and continues to glare at me.
I don’t dwell on her. I save my energy to walk. I raise my arms, and my men help me up and take me to the tub. I am as weak as I thought. My balance is nonexistent without help. Fully clothed, I’m lifted into the water, which flows about my calves. My robe and nightshirt become wet as the men help me sit.
“This is how I like my baths, with or without a woman attending me, nice and hot.”
