Page 60 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine

Beaumarsh shook his head and walked over to her, taking her hands in his. “You are very kind and forgiving, and you do not know how grateful I am for that.”

“You are kind too, my lord, and patient, and I am grateful for that. I promise I will try my best to be a good countess, one you can be proud of, but I shall certainly be a good wife, that much I know,” she replied, gazing into eyes that immediately reminded her of the seaside at Little Valentine and made her feel entirely at home despite her surroundings.

“My name is Sylvester,” he reminded her, his voice soft. “You do not need to ‘my lord’ me when we are private. Or ever, if you do not wish to.”

She smiled, a little ruefully. “I know, I… I’m just struggling to call you that, but I shall try, Sylvester.”

He smiled and let out a breath. “Would you allow me to take you to our chambers now? Mrs Abbott will have prepared your bath, and then we can have a bite of supper if you wish and… and then—” He broke off, gazing into her eyes.

“And then?” she repeated, suddenly breathless.

He flashed a crooked grin, boyish and charming and utterly beguiling. “And then, we shall see,” he teased, pulling her towards the door. “Come along, lady wife. Duty has been done to the staff and my parent. Now we can please ourselves, and I fully intend to.”

He tugged her out and through a dizzying parade of rooms, each more fascinating than the last, but spared not a moment to allow her to look around. “You’ve got years and years to explore the house,” he said, laughing. “If you think I’m giving you a tour now, you are out of your mind.”

Up a vast, grand staircase and along a panelled corridor, Clementine hurried after him, almost running to keep up. She thought she heard giggling and turned her head to see a maid disappear behind a hidden door in the wainscoting, clearly hiding a servants’ staircase. Oh yes, she would certainly enjoy exploring, but not now.

Finally, he opened a set of double doors that led them into a luxurious living room. It was a lovely space, with large windows that would allow light to flood in but now showed the last traces of a glorious sunset, with the sky streaked with great swathes of orange and pink.

“What a beautiful room,” she said, looking around in delight.

Beaumarsh—Sylvester—looked pleased at her words. “I’m glad. Now, come and see your rooms. They’re extraordinarily pretty, as everything Mama has a hand in is, but you must feel free to make them your own. She won’t be offended, I promise. Indeed, if you want to make her happy, ask her for her opinion on colours or wall hangings. She’ll be thrilled.”

Clementine agreed she would and then gasped as saw the room that would be hers.

“Good gracious. I never saw anything so lovely in all my days. I wouldn’t change a thing!” she exclaimed, regarding a chamber that was entirely feminine. Done in shades of yellow and pale green, it was a sanctuary more than a room, a place that seemed to hug you the moment you stepped through the door. Clementine let out a breath. Thick, luxurious fabrics covered the furniture, and pillows and cushions were piled high on the bed and sofa.

Sylvester stood in the doorway, watching her. “My rooms are through that door,” he said, pointing across the living room to a door that mirrored her own. “But I would like it very much if we did not sleep in separate bedrooms. At least whilst we are still getting to know each other,” he added quickly, as if he believed she might not like the notion.

Clementine hid a smile, for she had no intention of having a separate room to her husband if she could help it. The idea seemed strange to her, though it was how the upper orders lived.

“I think that is an excellent idea,” she replied, crossing the room and going through another door. This chamber was smaller, and despite the warm weather, a fire burned in the hearth as steam rose from a large copper bath. The scent of roses pervaded the humid air, and Clementine gaped, overwhelmed by the sheer indulgence of having a bathing room for herself alone, and a bath awaiting her, brimming with hot water.

“Your dressing room is through that door,” he explained, pointing, “and your maid will attend you the moment you pull the bell. Mama chose her for you, but if she does not suit, you can find someone who does. I want you to be happy here, Clementine, so if there is anything that does not please you, I beg you will tell me at once.”

Clementine’s lips quirked despite the sincerity of his words. “I believe I am quite beside myself and can find fault with nothing at all. A strange circumstance, I assure you. I will do better tomorrow.”

He reached out and tweaked her chin before placing a kiss on her nose. “Wretch. Now, take your bath. I will order our supper for… an hour’s time?” he asked cautiously, though he did not look terribly sanguine about the delay.

“Half an hour,” Clementine amended, pleased when he let out a breath.

“Excellent. Half an hour it is,” he said with relief. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes. Just so you know,” he added with a wink, and hurried to his own rooms.

Chapter 17

The heart of a lioness.

Cavendish House, Kent. 1stAugust 1815.

“Oh, it’s ever so pretty, my lady!”

Susan, the new lady’s maid, gazed reverentially at the fine linen and lace ensemble Clementine had put on after indulging in the most decadent bath of her life. It was all so strange, this new way of being. She had her own maid to attend to her every need, and a bath scented with expensive oils. Moreover, there was no one calling through the door, demanding to know where this or that was or how long she would be.

It was heavenly.

And now, standing before a full-length looking glass, she regarded herself in one of the items Madame Auguste had provided for her hastily put together trousseau. The nightgown was of the finest linen, so delicate it was nigh on sheer, and gossamer lace adorned the neck, cuffs, and hem. The wrap was likewise exquisite, and Clementine felt almost naked as she thanked the maid for her help and bade her goodnight.

“Yes, my lady. Shall I wake you in the morning? Do you like a cup of chocolate, or—”