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Chapter Twelve
The miserable have no other medicine but onlyhope.
—Shakespeare,Measure for Measure
Catherine clawed towardthe warmth. Her body resisted, trying to nestle deeper into delicious slumber, but the glow beyond her eyelids beckoned. Blinking awake, she squinted until her eyes adjusted. Glorious rays basked the room in effulgent light. It must surely be the refraction from her heart. She rolled away from the beams to gaze at…emptiness.
Her joy plummeted. Had she imagined Nicholas? She grabbed the pillow and held it to her face.Please let it be real. Don’t let it have been a dream.She inhaled deeply, fighting a rising sob. Pulling the pillow back, she stared at it and then pressed it back into her face, inhaling deeply once again. He had definitely been here. She hugged the soft down tightly to her chest.
Pushing aside the clutter of sleep and panic, she began an inventory. No clothes. With the sheet clutched to her chest, she rolled over and scanned the floor. A silken cocoon of fabric lay on the carpet. She flopped onto her back and slid her hand down her body until she reached her inner thighs. She could not fight the grin, although she felt entirely foolish sharing it with the ceiling. It certainly had been no dream.
Nicholas had loved her last night. Passionately. He’d come to her on their wedding night. He must have found some forgiveness. She was not so naive as to think all was forgotten. They must talk and sort through his hurt so that he might fully accept her as his wife. She knew him too well to believe he no longer held some amount of anger. Buthehad offered the olive branch. Oh, how she loved him.
A tentative tap at the door pulled her from her romantic reverie. Was it Nicholas begging admittance from the sitting room?
“Yes?”
“’Tis Sadie, my lady.”
She fought disappointment. Why would he knock at his wife’s door? This was his house. He did not need permission to go where he pleased. Sunshine filled the windows, washing the room in light. It was late morning. Likely, he was taking care of estate business. Lord knew it had held no interest for Daniel.
She sat up and pulled at the coverlet. “Come, Sadie.”
Catherine sighed as chocolate wafted her way. When was the last time she’d greeted the morning with such a treat? Nicholas must have remembered her fondness for the addicting bitter brew of hot chocolate.
Sadie settled the tray on the nightstand, poured a cup, and handed it to Catherine. She raised it, sniffing, relishing the memories it brought forth: sitting in the kitchen with Nan when the boys had ostracized her from their circle; Nicholas taking her to Nan to have some minor wound tended to—usually one she’d gotten trying to keep up with the boys; in the later years, stealing alone time with Nicholas in the kitchen, sitting beside him, sipping the warm liquid, while Nan knitted endlessly on the other side of the fire.
She laughed at Sadie’s curled-up nose.
“Cook says you adore the stuff.” Sadie sniffed and shook her head disbelievingly. “Said it would start your day off with a smile.”
“And she was correct. Please thank Nan for me,” Catherine said, hiding her disappointment. Nan had remembered. Not Nicholas. Two disappointments in as many minutes. No need to mind. Nicholas was a busy man with an estate to attend. Such attention to detail was trivial. Fighting the lure of self-pity, she sipped, swallowing over the newfound lump in her throat. She tried to relish the sweet edge given to the bitter brew. Good old Nan had even remembered to mellow it with sugar. Nan knew how to soften everything.
Sadie flitted about the room, chattering while she straightened here, rearranged there, although the room was perfectly tidy. She paused at the discarded nightgown, then bent to pick it up. Her sharp intake of breath at the rent in the fabric made Catherine cringe. Did she think Nicholas had had to use violence to seduce his new bride?
“Sadie,” she began, stumbling, not knowing what to say. She owed the girl no explanation. She was a married woman, and what happened behind these doors was no one’s business. Still, staff did gossip. “Sadie…”
“Oh, my lady, it is truly sad I am for this beautiful dressing gown.”
She held it up as embarrassment began a quick journey up Catherine’s neck, reaching her cheeks in a heated flush.
“I don’t think it can be saved.” She threw it over her arm and grinned with no sign of the embarrassment from the night before in the her twinkling eyes. “My lord must have been right anxious for his wedding night.”
Catherine raised a hand to her own burning cheeks, grateful Sadie could no longer see them. The girl had entered the dressing room with the torn garment. Catherine sipped her chocolate, contemplating the maid’s words. Anxious? Not so impatient that he’d stayed the day with her. Nor come home to share dinner or the evening. Still, she had felt his need. Felt his want and desire mingle with her own. He’d come to her last night. That had been no fantasy. Her tender womanhood was testimony to that fact. It was a beginning. A step. A place from where they could start to rebuild their relationship.
There was another tap at the door, and before she could respond, Sadie flew from the dressing room.
“A minute, sirs!” She sailed over, grabbed the cup, and put it on the nightstand, then unceremoniously, yanked the bedding over Catherine’s shoulders. “You may enter.”
She was impressed with Sadie’s command of the men as they marched in with buckets of steaming water before disappearing into her dressing room. It has been the right decision to bring the girl with her. She was clearly already comfortable with her position, and her familiar company was appreciated.
After the men disappeared, Sadie ushered Catherine to the rear of the dressing room. The large bath was positioned far enough back from the expansive window, for privacy. Catherine sank into the tub, her muscles relaxing in the warmth.
Sadie swirled the water with her hands. “Is it temperate enough, my lady?”
“It is absolutely perfect.”
Sadie turned off the spigot that was spewing cold water. “They say the other one will bring hot water but it’s not yet perfected. Can you imagine it, Miss Baring? Oh! Please forgive me.”
