Page 94
He set the package by her side.
She scowled. “That’s my present!”
“And you may open the package in just a moment. First, let me help set you to rights.”
“Very well.” She agreed, but not with enthusiasm. “Find my pins?”
He scanned the floor, picking them up where he found them, and collecting his coat and cravat along the way. He shook out each article of clothing as she shifted her skirts around.
“Oh dear.” She stood. She gathered up her dress, glanced over her shoulder, frantically examined her dress. “Oh dear.”
His alarm spiked. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s blood on my chemise.”
The deuce. “I should have remembered that sometimes happens.”
“I’m checking my dress for spots.” She exhaled and dropped her skirts. “None, thank heavens. Only my shift stained.”
He jerked back. “Is that better?”
She looked at him as if he were thick. “Young ladies’ undergarments are frequently marred with blood.”
He frowned. “Because...”
“Monthlies?” she suggested.
“Oh!” He felt his face heat.
She smiled, little by little. “Now, who is the keeper of esoteric knowledge?” She leaned forward. “Fortitude, Simon. I suspect you’ll become very familiar with ladies’ concerns.”
“You’re right.” Reluctantly, he smiled. “Although during these past few years, I’ve already become far too acquainted with ladies’ concerns.”
Her grin widened. “We’re in the habit of discussing all manner of things amongst ourselves.”
“I am aware,” he said dryly as he handed over her pins.
She tied her hair with remarkable efficiency, considering the room lacked any sort of looking glass. “Will you help me?”
He nodded. Feeling bewilderingly domestic, he fitted the pins carefully around her curls. Inch by inch the tresses he loved disappeared into one another. A shame. He’d have to wait a long time before seeing them completely loose again.
“May I have my gift now?”
“Yes.” He kissed her forehead. “You’ve been very patient.”
She sat back down and retrieved her packet, excitedly pulling the brown string. “Stationery?” She sounded confused. “Oh!” A broad grin broke over her face. “Stationery!” She replied in an entirely different tone. “You want me to write to you when we’re apart.”
His throat closed unexpectedly. He nodded.
“Won’t that put us at risk of discovery?”
“Sheaves of mail arrive at Asquith Park. As you know, my mother is a wide and enthusiastic correspondent. Address the letter to her.”
“What if she opens it?”
“The paper has a bluish tint—unusual but not so rare as to be noted. I plan to have the porter hold back any correspondence on paper of the kind for my personal review.”
“Brilliant.” She stood up and kissed him.
