The Plain Bride by Chasity Bowlin
CHAPTER NINE
Althea awoke to the bustling of several maids striding into the room, each one carrying buckets of steaming water. One by one, they disappeared behind an ornate chinoiserie screen. They filed out of the room in the same manner, leaving only one of their ilk behind. The girl, dressed in a simple black gown with a white apron and white mob cap, bobbed a curtsy. “Your bath, my lady.”
My lady.That was her, Althea realized. It was something she wasn’t certain she’d ever grow used to. “Thank you…Sarah?”
The girl nodded. “Yes, ma’am. The Countess of Winburne will be arriving in just over an hour. She’s to take you to her shop and get you properly outfitted today, per his lordship’s instructions. His lordship said that, rather than dine here tonight, you will be dining with the Earl and Countess at their home.”
The initial gut-clenching rebellion she felt at that pronouncement was quickly tamped down. No, he hadn’t told her when they would address her wardrobe, but he had told her it would occur, and it only made sense to do so sooner rather than later. Perhaps the real issue was that the brief accord they’d reached after the debacle on the last night of their journey seemed to have made no lasting change in how they would get on. He’d avoided her entirely since they’d reached London. He’d brought her into his townhouse, introduced her to the servants, and promptly vanished.
She’d felt the pitying gazes of the footmen last night as each dish had been served to her, alone in the massive, formal dining room, wearing the only slightly formal gown she owned. It had looked shabby and out of place even to her. In turn, she had also appeared shabby and out of place.
Still, it wasn’t the maid’s fault that the man who was her husband could barely be bothered to speak to her. Pushing back the bedclothes, she rose and crossed the expanse of the room. The fire had already been built up. Even beneath her bare feet, the rug was soft, and when she stepped onto the wooden floor, there was no chill there to take her breath away.
The small luxuries, the things others took for granted, were the very things that made her aware of just how different her current life was from her prior one. Even with the humiliation of her husband’s complete disinterest, no one was shouting at her. No one struck her when the floor wasn’t scrubbed to perfection or when she dared to say something that was considered impertinent. There was no shouting—well, very little shouting. No one hurled insults at her and told her she was ugly and stupid, though there were moments when she certainly felt both of those things to the depths of her soul.
Make the best of it, Althea.
With those cautioning words reverberating in her mind, Althea stepped behind the screen, and the sight that greeted her made everything else vanish. The copper tub was large and deep. It was also full to brimming with water she had not heated and carried herself. Pleasant-smelling soaps rested in a silver dish on a small tray next to the tub, and drying cloths were draped carefully over a nearby chair. Even from a distance, she could see that they were soft and fine.
Whatever his reasons for allowing Rosedale to molder and ruin, they did not apply to the townhouse. Curious, Althea asked, “When did his lordship acquire this house, Sarah?”
“He bought it a few years ago, my lady, just before the previous Lord Mayville passed on. But he’s not been here much in the past years. He keeps more in the north,” the girl said.
He had purchased it. It had not been inherited from his father. It was a significant detail, Althea thought as she shed her night rail and stepped into the steaming tub of water. She hissed out a breath.
“Is it too hot, my lady?” Sarah asked, immediately concerned.
“It feels like heaven! Except, it feels so sinful, it surely cannot be,” she admitted, sinking down into the water. All the aches and pains of the journey that she’d thought would simply linger for days seemed to dissipate in an instant.
Sarah made short work of washing and rinsing her hair. She then draped the mass of it over the edge of the tub and began combing it through so that it would dry before the fire.
Mindful not to get her hair in the water and undo all of Sarah’s work, Althea washed carefully while the maid stepped out into the room and began readying her clothing for the day. She could hear the girl clucking disapprovingly at the sad state of her wardrobe. When even the servants found it lacking, there was certainly reason to worry.
Eventually, the water began to cool. No sooner had she acknowledged that sad fact before Sarah returned. She quickly looped Althea’s hair into a loose knot and wrapped a cloth about it to hold it in place before spreading one of the larger drying cloths out for her.
Althea rose and wrapped the soft fabric about her before following Sarah out of the bathing nook and into her bedchamber proper. Laid out on the bed was the plum-colored traveling gown from the day before.
“It’s not a day dress, my lady, I’m aware, but if you’ll pardon me for saying, it’s much finer than anything else and will be much easier to face down some of the folk what will be trying to get a look at you.”
“Who would be trying to get a look at me?”
Sarah looked away, swallowing convulsively. “It were in the scandal sheets, my lady.”
A feeling of dread washed through her. “What, precisely, was in the scandal sheets, Sarah?”
She turned fully away from her then, clearly feeling that simply avoiding eye contact was not enough of a separation when imparting such terrible news. “It’s all over London that his lordship has taken a vicar’s daughter to wife.”
“That hardly seems worthy of such scandal and gossip. Sarah, you need not try to spare my feelings. I’d far prefer to have the unvarnished truth,” Althea insisted.
The maid let out a terrible sigh, one tinged with deep regret. “They said you was a very plain vicar’s daughter and hinted that perhaps you were some sort of adventuress, set off to catch a title by any means necessary. But you’re not plain, even if you were made to dress plain. So, this gown will see that rumor put to rest, at least.”
“I am actually rather plain. Not an adventuress. I cannot fathom how I can be both a plain spinster and some wicked female, intent on selfish gain through the use of my feminine wiles, all at the same time,” Althea mused. “They have made it impossible to win in either direction. If I continue to dress drably, then I prove I am indeed plain and make everyone question what circumstances could have led to our marriage. If I remake myself into something more glamorous, more fitting with the image of the wife of a peer, then surely I am the adventuress all claim me to be.”
The maid’s lips firmed, and her eyes were flashing with righteous indignation. “They’ll talk one way or another, my lady. I see no reason that you ought not to look nice while they do it. A pretty gown or two won’t hurt a thing, and clearly his lordship is quite pleased to provide them for you.”
Althea nodded. “You are quite right, Sarah. I won’t be extravagant, but there is no reason that I should be an embarrassment to him when we go out. Let’s do something with this hair, shall we?”
Mayville wasin his study when Sabine and Gray arrived. Sabine was shown to the drawing room to await Althea, while Gray closeted himself inside the masculine domain. There was no hesitation on the part of his oldest friend. Gray simply walked in, settled himself in the chair opposite him, and demanded, “What the devil happened?”
“A terrible lapse in judgement…and in my sense of direction,” Mayville admitted.
“That results in getting lost. It does not result in getting oneself leg-shackled,” Gray insisted. “She’s not a bad sort. I’ve always found her very pleasant, if quiet and shy. Her father’s a bit of an arse.”
“More than a bit. He’s an abusive bastard,” Mayville replied. “Not that I have room to call anyone else’s character into question. But it’s done now. There is, however, another matter on which I would seek your counsel.”
Gray steepled his hands and nodded. “Of course.”
“I do not want a wife. I jested about pursuing Helena just to make Blakemore miserable, but we both know I never would have.”
“So, are you thinking divorce or annulment?”
“Neither,” Mayville admitted. “My bride has offered a proposition. She will agree to completely separate lives, separate households. I will provide a generous allowance and will provide her with a child, and she will leave me alone to rot along with Rosedale Manor.”
“That is what you want?” Gray demanded. “I know that you’ve taken this ridiculous vow to destroy all that your father and grandfather built, including Rosedale. But there is no reason, even if you want to let the house go to ruin, that you must go with it.”
“I have been too many years on my own and too devoted to my many vices to make a good husband. And she is not inclined to like or trust men, something I cannot blame her for. It solves a problem and potentially leaves an heir to the title. While my father and grandfather deserve my disdain, their predecessors do not. There is no reason the title itself should fall into extinction,” Mayville stated.
“Then, it sounds as if your decision is made.”
“I suppose it is,” he mused. “It’s more a matter of asking something else. To this point, there has been no one else in my life who required looking after. If something were to happen to me, I should like to know that you would act as a trustee of sorts for her and the child, if there is one.”
“You know that I would. But what on earth might happen to you? You’re not on the verge of doing something reckless, are you?”
“No. But we both know that I have enemies. I have made it a point to make them over the years, in fact. For once in my life, I’m electing to proceed with caution.”
Gray shrugged. “Then, so far as I can tell, the vicar’s daughter has had a remarkably positive effect on you. I hope you will consider not banishing her from your life.”
“It will not be immediate. After all, we want gossip to die down, rather than be stirred to a frenzy. But we will part ways. No woman should have to tolerate the vagaries of my mood.”
“You may find that having a wife will improve your mood sufficiently—if she is the correct wife.”
Mayville laughed. “I would never be so lucky as to stumble, on accident no less, into the bedchamber of the one woman in all of England who could make it worth my while to reform myself. This is not a fairy story for children, my friend.”
“Come. Let’s go to the club and be certain that your lovely bride is not in the betting book. I’m not nearly so fond of dueling as you are.”
