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Chapter Six
SEATED AT THE vanity in only her shift and stays, Mildred did not know whether to laugh or cry. She must have looked a ridiculous sight to Alastair with her gravy-soaked dress. After all that effort to escape the dining hall, he had found her, on hands and knees, hiding behind a sofa. How sadly undignified! She shook her head. The whimsical hand of Fate could not have contrived a more aggravating, unsettling coincidence. Yet, despite the disconcerting appearance of her cousin, she would rather see her time at the château through. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, to indulge her most wanton cravings, to allow those dark urges the light of day before they were condemned to darkness for the remainder of time.
But could such a thing come to pass now that Alastair was here?
His overbearing manner had riled her, yet she regretted having been so impertinent with him. His intentions were honorable. Nevertheless, she could not help but deem him hypocritical. He, of all people, should applaud a woman coming to Château Follet. That she should be his cousin ought have no bearing on the matter.
She put her head in her hands. What an impression she must have made to the guests at the dinner table! Especially to Lord Devon. He must think her a blundering idiot. What if no one wished to partner with her? How embarrassed would she be to have that happen in front of Alastair? Oh, this was turning into quite a mess! Perhaps she should leave the château with him.
But if she should be fated to become Mrs. Haversham, this was her last chance to know the pleasures of the flesh, to understand that look of rapture upon Lady Katherine’s countenance when she recalled her past at Château Follet. Lady Katherine had facilitated a rare and precious occasion and would be disappointed if such a gift were not made use of. Not seeing her time through here would disappoint Lady Katherine.
As Bhadra dressed her, Mildred reasoned that Alastair would soon forget her in favor of other company, such as the beauty who had sat beside him at the table. His roguish nature would prevail, and he would tend to his own interests. He could commend himself for making an attempt at propriety, but what more could he do? He would not wish to oppose Madame Follet.
Mollified, Mildred turned her thoughts to Lord Devon. Did she dare hope that he would choose her for a partner? She marveled that he seemed to have taken an interest in her, but would his attentions last beyond dinner, especially after he had had the chance to converse with other, lovelier women?
Mildred studied herself in the mirror. She was not striking, but neither was she homely. And she possessed other qualities that must improve her presence, even if her countenance and figure were of middling beauty.
What was it that Alastair had said? That no man would pair with her? In the past, his bluntness rarely ruffled her, but this one hurt. It was her own worst fear made verbal. And while it was a good possibility that no man would take an interest in her beyond making polite conversation at the dinner table, Alastair need not have been so cruel.
Upset that her thoughts had turned once again to her cousin, Mildred started pacing before Bhadra had finished fixing her coiffure.
Lady Katherine had seemed confident that she would find a partner. Perhaps her ladyship had made an arrangement with Madame Follet? But what if she had not?
Mildred reviewed herself in the looking glass. Perhaps if she applied a little more rouge, her appearance would be improved enough to interest the likes of Lord Devon?
No, she needed more than rouge. She needed a lovelier gown, but she had soiled her best dress.
Realizing she was thirsty gave her an idea. She would dampen her gown. The women at the French courts had started such a practice. No man could fail to take notice.
“Remove all but one of the petticoats,” she told Bhadra, hardly believing what she was about to do. She wondered what her cousin would think, then reminded herself it mattered not. She did not require his approval, nor would he wish to be bothered for it. His vehemence had surprised her.
“Pay him no heed,” she told herself, then told Bhadra of her wishes.
She shivered after water had been applied to the whole of the gown. It was not the most comfortable of sensations, but the effect was provocative, even upon an imperfect form.
“You look lovely, miss,” Bhadra said.
“Thank you.”
Mildred drew in a fortifying breath, though her nerves, dancing erratically within her, could not be easily calmed. When she felt she had enough command of herself, she headed back down to the dining hall.
