Page 62 of An Earl for the Archeress

“Encounters?” Mariel snapped, growing agitated. “And what makes you think I should share my company with His Lairdship in private?” Of course, she knew why Alice thought that, but it didn’t mean the woman needed to make assumptions. “He’s made nary an indication that my attire offends him. Therefore, I shall keep my tunic and trews. Honestly, if more women were bold enough to try them on, they would see that the attire is much more suitable to all manners of labor and leisure.”

“Ah, that is the other thing, my lady. You must curb your Scottish tongue. Falsify an English accent. His Lordship has just suggested you’re talented in such endeavors. He wishes you to remain as secret as possible to outsiders for the next few days whilst he makes certain arrangements.”

Arrangements? “But I’ve already dined with some of his men. They know me to be Scottish,” Mariel said. “The secret is out.”

“Yes, but he has just instructed all the staff to keep your secret. Rumors about you abound, yes, but Lord Robert’s people are a loyal lot.”

“Even Wesley?” countered Mariel.

“I know not one woman that Wesley likes. The bolder the female, the more his dislike. But he knows where his salary comes from and certainly enjoys his prestigious role. For an accountant at Huntington holds much respect, and there is no wealthier household in England, aside from the Plantagenets.”

“Trust Alice,” a voice said.

Mariel turned around to find Charlotte by the door, waiting for the troop of children to file out and holding a billowing gown and basket of accessories. She pushed the port closed, so that it was only the three of them, and looked around with wonder at Robert’s chamber. Could it be she had never been in here?

“Trust Alice?” Mariel repeated.

“Yes, lady,” Charlotte replied, bringing her attention back to Mariel. Lovely. Mariel rolled her eyes, but Charlotte continued. “Robert’s men are loyal. They’ll keep your secret to themselves. Robert likes you. He wishes to help you and would love to see you happy.”

“Am I to think you set me up with Robert?” Lord no. Charlotte was a day late and a shilling short in that regard.

Charlotte draped the gown over another chair and folded her arms. “No one need help His Lordship concerning you. To say that he’s taken with you wouldn’t nearly do the sentiment justice. He cannot seem to keep his thoughts or his eyes off you. Goodness, he’s invited you into his bedchamber.” She gestured. “He never invited me in.” Mariel swallowed. Could it be no woman had lain in his bed? The former mistress walked an appraising circle around her. “The way he whispers in your ear, that mischievous twinkle in his eye… Clearly he adores you.”

“Then what does it matter, the clothing I wear, if he’s already so infatuated?” And though Robert had asked Charlotte for her help, why was Charlotte doing it? Robert had bedded Charlotte many times over. The very thought made her heart ache and her stomach flutter with a nervousness that could only be described as jealousy.

“He knows you’ve had a rough go of it and wants you to feel as beautiful as you are.” Charlotte is nice, Mariel thought, to her chagrin. “And you have been endowed with perhaps the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen. ’Tis a shame indeed that you don’t see fit to style it. Just think. You’d probably get a marriage offer from the man, if you did so, which is saying something, since no one, not even I, could get him to the altar.”

Again, Mariel had a nagging urge to tell the woman off, mainly for being right. Robert already awaited her answer to his proposal.

“And that is just the gown to please a man,” Alice interjected, coming to take the garment out of Charlotte’s hand. “Assuming it is dressed upon a pleasing woman. Come now. Strip those old rags for the laundry and put this gown on so our seamstress can make some adjustments. No doubt it will need to be taken in considerably due to your…stature.”

There it was again, Alice’s sarcasm.

“I’m nay fishing for a marriage proposal,” Mariel retorted. “I’ve no desire to tolerate the man for the rest of my God-given life.” Liar, she scolded herself. Robert’s proposal had thrilled her…and scared her.

Charlotte scoffed. “How can you not see the good in him?”

“Clearly he’s never attempted to embarrass you the way he has me.” Mariel frowned.

“If only he would tease me like he does you,” Charlotte said, looking into the hearth fire. “But regardless, I wish to see him happy and consider him a friend. He requested I help you, being one of only two noblewomen here aside from yourself, and lo he is annoyed by Lady Anna’s pestering. Alice is right. Your clothing is atrocious and your gown, dreary and pathetic.”

“You must promise to give these claes—clothes—back,” Mariel replied, holding the trousers by the leg.

“Unfortunately, I’ll do as you bid and see them returned. With mending done,” Alice said, seeing the gown dropped over her head for a hasty fitting before being stripped away again. “Now get into the tub, my lady.”

Mariel stepped over the rim, feeling vulnerable. Certainly she had stripped many times in front of maids or other ladies helping her, but never had she revealed herself to the former lover of the man she was growing to care for, laying her body bare for the other woman to draw comparisons or contrasts between the two of them. And having Alice, of all people, help was simply annoying, for she knew the woman was identifying every flaw. She was too thin. Her muscles were too defined. She was uncouth. She smelled like the men coming back from a journey. Of course, she had come back from the same journey as them without a chance to do much but refresh her face at the stream, but apparently, she was supposed to smell like roses and lavender, regardless.

However, as she sank down into the scalding water, all annoyances dissolved. The heat was heavenly. She hadn’t realized her very bones ached until she submerged herself. How long had it been since she had soaked in a hot bath?

Alice untied her braid, pulling loose her cords of hair, and bid her tip her head back so that she could pour water through the tresses. Even if Alice was too rough, the feeling of the woman’s fingers kneading her scalp and working through her tangles felt sinful. And taking the cake of perfumed soap made with various floral elements, she rubbed it over her arms and the whole of her skin, basking in a luxury she had forgotten while living on the run. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it.

…

Mariel remembered to freshen her teeth and walked down the stairs, her stomach so tight she could barely suck in air. Both the corset and her nerves threatened to suffocate her. The gown Charlotte had selected was a beautiful creation of fabric, soft cream and gentle rose-petal pink to match the natural blush on her cheeks. Gold threading decorated the low neck, scooping wide across each shoulder with a delicate design, and a long belt of the same gold threading hung across her hips and down the length of one leg. The seamstresses had delivered both fast and astounding results.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had worn something so fine. Even though her father had money and had insisted she dress well, these materials were imported from France and Italy. Her gowns in Scotland, though finely combed, dyed, and embroidered, had been made of Scottish wool.

And her hair! She had never felt so beautiful. It had been woven over each ear in the style popular on the Continent and braided down her back with ribbons of the same soft pink and flecks of gold so as to make her honey-barley hair catch fire in the torchlight. Her neck sat empty, for she had no riches in her possession to decorate the expanse of skin, but Charlotte had borrowed a pair of golden bobbles from the castle vaults to place on her ears. And though Alice clicked her tongue disapprovingly at the dusting of tiny freckles across Mariel’s nose and cheekbones, a result of too much time in the natural elements, Charlotte worked magic with paste for her lips and a soft dusting of color on her eyes.