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“His lordship requested a bath be drawn,” Bhadra informed. “I shall assist m’lady with her toilette.”
Deana ceased gaping at her surroundings and replied gently and a little awkwardly for perhaps the maid thought her the wife of Lord Rockwell. “I am not of nobility. Miss Herwood will do.”
“Yes, m’lady,” Bhadra replied with understanding.
“This is my, er, first visit here.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
Sensing Bhadra was anxious to execute her responsibilities, Deana allowed the abigail to assist in undressing her.
Additional maidservants brought a bathtub, which was set before the fireplace, and poured in the steaming water. What a luxury to have a bath filled to the brim with hot water! Bhadra helped her settle in while others took her clothes—she supposed for cleaning. She blushed thinking that the quality of her garments was not likely what they were accustomed to handling.
The bath felt wonderful. She would not have minded relaxing hours in the tub, but Bhadra had grabbed a sponge and began scrubbing her with a soap that smelled of sandalwood and cinnamon. She meant to protest that she was capable of cleansing herself, but Bhadra was intent upon her task. The bath was over all too soon, but Deana felt incredibly refreshed. Her skin tingled from the cleansing. Bhadra next applied a milky cream over her body. Again Deana felt awkward at having the hands of another woman touching her extensively, but she said nothing. She could only guess what protocol, if any, existed at the Chateau.
“My portamanteau,” she said, though it had little to offer.
Bhadra shook her head and produced a loose blouse with short sleeves and a low neck that she topped over Deana’s head. She had Deana step into a layer of petticoat, then wrapped a long strip of silk dyed from safflower about the waist before draping it over the shoulder. Deana marveled at the comfort of the strange attire, though she found the air upon her naked back disconcerting. She felt half-clothed. And without stockings her legs were completely bare.
“My stays,” Deana remembered.
“A sari does not require stays, m’lady,” Bhadra replied as she slipped a pair of beaded cloth slippers upon Deana, then gestured for her to take a seat at the vanity, which had a full complement of accessories to assist in one’s toilette.
Bhadra braided her wet hair, coiled it atop her head, and added a jasmine sprig.
“Does m’lady require anything else?”
Deana stared at herself in the mirror, feeling quite out of place. She considered asking Bhadra what she knew of the Chateau but decided not to keep the maid. “No, thank you.”
After Bhadra left, Deana ran her hands down her sari and admired the intricate weave of the fabric. Did the women of India wear this in public? She stood and looked once more about the room. It contained none of the implements of pain that she had expected—no whips, crops or sticks. A closer examination of the tapestries revealed elephants, tigers, a man playing a reed, a woman and a man...
She leaned in closer and saw a man and a woman in tight embrace, her legs wrapped around the hips of the man. The images below all contained naked couples. One had the woman sitting upon a prone man, facing away from him, his hands upon her breasts. Another featured a woman bent in half, her hands upon the ground, while the man stood behind her, gripping her waist. Deana felt warmth in her cheeks and a stirring in her groin.
“They are depictions of an ancient Hindu text.”
Whirling around, she saw the Baron Rockwell standing at the door.
“Ah,” was all she could think to say. “You have read this text?”
He went to stand beside her before the tapestry. “I have not studied Sanskrit literature, but it was explained to me by my aman that Hindus believe life holds three purposes: dharma, artha, and kama. Kama is sensual pleasure.”
Her mind reeled at the outlandish thought. How strange and wondrous. She considered her own innate desires and responses of the flesh. Would the Hindus celebrate the carnal?
Feeling his gaze upon her, she decided to switch to a calmer topic. “Did you specify that I should be attired in this ‘sorry’?”
“Sari.”
“I had packed my own clothes.”
“Do you not like it?”
“It’s beautiful but...a little indecent, I should think.”
“The Indian subcontinent can be quite hot and humid,” he replied with an appraising sweep from her feet to her head.
“Turn around.”
Unaccustomed to being directed as if she were a servant or child, she paused at first but then complied as there was no gain to be had from objecting. He made no sound, but she felt his hand at her shoulder blades. Her breath caught when his hand slid down the middle of her back to her waist. She had not thought her back to be so sensitive and stimulating.
