“Oh, dear.” Rosamund looked down at her plain woolen dress after the housekeeper had hurried from the room. “All my things are in Dennis’ carriage.”
“Well,” Lord Wetherby said with a grin, “I shall not expect you to dress formally for dinner, Mrs. Hunter.”
She gazed ruefully at her half-boots, which she still wore, and thought of comfortable slippers and warm nightgowns and hairbrushes and shawls in her trunk.
“I do have a trunk of ladies’ clothes with me,” the earl said. He smiled when Rosamund looked up at him in astonishment. “They belong to my, ah, sister. She was supposed to be accompanying me here but had to remain behind with a severe cold at the last moment. She is, I believe, almost your exact size.”
Rosamund frowned. Why would Mr. Halliday’s sister send her trunk with him if she was not coming herself?
“I took up her trunk the day before our departure,” the earl said, “as she was not to be at home the night before. She, ah, stayed with her aunt. Withouraunt, that is.”
“I could not use her things,” Rosamund said.
“I do assure you she will not mind at all,” he said. “I will have Reeves take the trunks back into your bedchamber.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I will not use much, you know. Mainly just a nightgown.” She felt herself flushing and wished she could recall the words.
She was too busy with her own discomfort to notice the earl grimace and close his eyes briefly.
“Will you pour?” he asked, indicating the tray.
Rosamund jumped to her feet and crossed to the table, where she made a great to-do about pouring two cups of tea.
The Earl of Wetherby sat in the sitting room after Mrs. Reeves had removed the tray and then returned to show Rosamund to her room. He wished he could have the last half-hour back again.
Mrs. Reeves would doubtless have been able to lend her a few things—slippers, a nightgown, whatever else were necessities for women. Had he had to open his mouth and offer her the trunk of clothes he had bought for Jude? He had wished to bite his tongue out just a few moments after the words had escaped him—as soon as she had mentioned a nightgown, in fact.
Oh, Lord, a nightgown. There were two in the trunk. If they could be called nightgowns, that was. And the other clothes, though not nearly as indecent as those nightgowns, were far more the type of garment one would buy for one’s mistress than for one’s sister.
Well, the damage was done now, he thought as he crossed the room to pour himself another glass of brandy. And he was not going to lose any sleep over it. She might think what she would. It really did not matter to him, except that he would not wish deliberately to embarrass her.
She was deuced pretty. About the same size as Jude, it was true, though not as curvaceous, perhaps. No less attractive, though. Slenderness could be just as alluring as more generous curves. There was no other similarity between the two women except height. Jude was auburn-haired and green-eyed. Mrs. Hunter had dark hair and dark eyes. Glossy hair and long. She wore it in coils at the back of her head.
She was not only pretty, but also animated, her face eager and mobile when she talked. Damnation! Why could she not look like a horse and bray when she laughed? He did not particularly want to be snowbound with a pretty, animated woman. Oh, correction: he did, he did. But not with a lady. He wanted Jude. The situation would have been perfect. No Price. No Price’s ladybird. Snow outside to prevent them from either going out or receiving unexpected callers. Nothing to do all day and all night except make love.
The thing was that he had planned it all out to be a last fling of freedom—one last grand orgy of uninhibited sex and pleasure. And the weather had cooperated beautifully with those plans. Except that the plans had gone awry. He was stuck with the wrong lady—ladybeing the operative word.
Damn! If she weren’t so deuced attractive.
Rosamund abovestairs in the main bedchamber, warmed by a roaring fire, unpacked the trunk carefully, examining each garment with curiosity. Mr. Halliday’s sister liked bright colors, it seemed. And she favored silks and gauzes and muslins even though it was only the end of January. Fortunately there were a few warm shawls. The sister also favored low necklines. She must have a good bosom, Rosamund concluded.
The sister’s feet were one size larger than her own, but that would be no major problem. Rosamund pulled off her boots thankfully and slipped her feet into a pair of soft blue kid slippers.
There were several jars of perfume, all with soft, seductive scents. Rosamund closed her eyes as she sniffed at one of them. Very feminine. Very alluring. Leonard would have liked it. Leonard had liked her to wear perfume. There was a diamond-studded bracelet in a velvet box in the middle of the trunk.
She felt almost as if she were prying—prying into someone else’s life. Mr. Halliday’s sister must be very lovely, she guessed, and very feminine. She must like to attract gentlemen . . . But, then, what woman did not?
Finally she drew out a nightgown and held it up in front of her. It would not do for winter, she thought as soon as she lifted it from the trunk. It was too light and flimsy. A moment later, when it was hanging straight in front of her, held at arms’ length, she looked at it quite disbelievingly. It was sheer white lace, and she could see the bed and the wall opposite through it without any difficulty at all.
My goodness gracious me, she thought and felt herself flush, it must be an overdress. There must be something to go underneath it. Goodness, one would not wish even one’s maid to see one in that. Certainly not one’s husband. But then Mr. Halliday’s sister was doubtless not married.
She put the nightgown aside and refused to look back at it. But at the very bottom of the trunk she found another, one that made the white one look prim enough to belong to a spinster aunt. This one was of black lace and appeared to have no back and not a great deal of front, either. And when Rosamund held it against herself in some disbelief, she found that it reached barely to her knees.
Goodness gracious! Did Mr. Halliday know? she wondered. She folded both nightgowns and replaced them in the trunk. The other clothes she put away in drawers or hung in the wardrobe. The orange silk she would wear to dinner, she decided, with the paisley shawl and the white slippers. All the clothes, she noticed suddenly and frowned, appeared to be perfectly new.
She would be most interested to meet Miss Halliday. She wondered if Mr. Halliday had some trouble with the girl. Perhaps he was her guardian and had planned to bring her into the country to try to talk some sense into her. She hoped for his sake that the cold had not been a ruse and the girl now rushing all over London being indiscreet.
Poor Mr. Halliday!
