through those doors.
* * * *
She entered her rooms, and found Rosalind’s maid waiting. Josie Lloyd’s slight figure and dark coloring gave her Welsh ancestry away almost as much as her surname. She’d been in Rosalind’s service for five years now, and knew all about the affair with Thomas. When Rosalind wished to send messages to her lover, it was the maid who took them. Like Alice and the dressmaker, Mrs. Fowler, Josie was the illicit lovers’ accomplice. All three assisted in the tangle that was making a cuckold of Sir Dane Marchwood.
Josie curtsied. “My lady.”
“Josie.” Kathryn surveyed her surroundings. She was in a little blue-and-white drawing room. The blue velvet curtains were drawn at windows she knew faced over the terraced gardens and the meadows of the little River March to the south of the castle, and candlelight shone softly over elegant but feminine chairs and sofas upholstered in floral tapestry. Through a doorway she could see the lemon and gray bedroom Rosalind used when she slept alone, and just visible through an archway beyond that was the dressing room.
Like everything else in the castle, Kathryn was immediately acquainted with the rooms and their contents. She knew what was in every drawer and trinket box, and what gowns and other accessories were to be found in the dressing room wardrobes. But it wasn’t her own apartment that interested her; she was more concerned with what lay on the other side of the folding doors.
She turned to the maid. “Is Sir Dane in his apartment?”
“Yes, my lady, I heard him enter a minute or so before you came in.” Josie took a lighted candle through to the dressing room, and soon Kathryn heard the chink of porcelain as water was poured from a large jug into a bowl. The thought of being attended by a maid was strange, but Kathryn knew she must proceed as Rosalind would, so after a minute or so she followed Josie into the dressing room.
The maid unhooked the delicate emerald silk gown, and for the first time Kathryn realized she wasn’t wearing any undergarments. It simply hadn’t occurred to her before, but the moment the gown slithered to the floor, she found herself standing completely naked. She was startled. Rosalind didn’t even wear the proverbial stays? How very shocking of her. Or was it? She seemed to recall having read something about Regency ladies dampening their gowns to make them cling to their legs, but even so, it seemed a little daring to go out with only a gown to spare one’s modesty. Unless, of course, Rosalind had gone out that night prepared for her assignation with Thomas... Yes, that was more likely the truth. How convenient and time-saving to slip out of a gown and get down to business with only Thomas knowing about the absence of undergarments.
As she washed her face and hands she became aware that something very important about Rosalind was being withheld from her. She sensed it more than actually knew it, and the feeling was unsettling. Just as had happened earlier in the evening, when she didn’t know what vital thing Rosalind had told Thomas, she was conscious of another mysterious blank in her knowledge, although this one came unbidden and unprompted. What was it? Another skipped chapter or switched channel?
Josie brought a lace-trimmed cream silk nightgown and slipped it over Kathryn’s head, but as the maid began to tie the little pink ribbons at the throat, Kathryn shook her head. “I’ll finish things myself now, Josie. You may go.”
“But your hair, my lady ...”
“I’ll attend to it.” Kathryn knew the real Rosalind wouldn’t do her own hair, but every minute now was prolonging the wait before she could go through those folding doors to Dane.
Clearly taken aback, Josie curtsied. “Very well, my lady. Good night.”
“Good night, Josie.”
The maid went to the doorway, but then hesitated. “About tomorrow night, my lady. Do you still wish to wear the plowman’s gauze gown if Mrs. Fowler
* * * *
She entered her rooms, and found Rosalind’s maid waiting. Josie Lloyd’s slight figure and dark coloring gave her Welsh ancestry away almost as much as her surname. She’d been in Rosalind’s service for five years now, and knew all about the affair with Thomas. When Rosalind wished to send messages to her lover, it was the maid who took them. Like Alice and the dressmaker, Mrs. Fowler, Josie was the illicit lovers’ accomplice. All three assisted in the tangle that was making a cuckold of Sir Dane Marchwood.
Josie curtsied. “My lady.”
“Josie.” Kathryn surveyed her surroundings. She was in a little blue-and-white drawing room. The blue velvet curtains were drawn at windows she knew faced over the terraced gardens and the meadows of the little River March to the south of the castle, and candlelight shone softly over elegant but feminine chairs and sofas upholstered in floral tapestry. Through a doorway she could see the lemon and gray bedroom Rosalind used when she slept alone, and just visible through an archway beyond that was the dressing room.
Like everything else in the castle, Kathryn was immediately acquainted with the rooms and their contents. She knew what was in every drawer and trinket box, and what gowns and other accessories were to be found in the dressing room wardrobes. But it wasn’t her own apartment that interested her; she was more concerned with what lay on the other side of the folding doors.
She turned to the maid. “Is Sir Dane in his apartment?”
“Yes, my lady, I heard him enter a minute or so before you came in.” Josie took a lighted candle through to the dressing room, and soon Kathryn heard the chink of porcelain as water was poured from a large jug into a bowl. The thought of being attended by a maid was strange, but Kathryn knew she must proceed as Rosalind would, so after a minute or so she followed Josie into the dressing room.
The maid unhooked the delicate emerald silk gown, and for the first time Kathryn realized she wasn’t wearing any undergarments. It simply hadn’t occurred to her before, but the moment the gown slithered to the floor, she found herself standing completely naked. She was startled. Rosalind didn’t even wear the proverbial stays? How very shocking of her. Or was it? She seemed to recall having read something about Regency ladies dampening their gowns to make them cling to their legs, but even so, it seemed a little daring to go out with only a gown to spare one’s modesty. Unless, of course, Rosalind had gone out that night prepared for her assignation with Thomas... Yes, that was more likely the truth. How convenient and time-saving to slip out of a gown and get down to business with only Thomas knowing about the absence of undergarments.
As she washed her face and hands she became aware that something very important about Rosalind was being withheld from her. She sensed it more than actually knew it, and the feeling was unsettling. Just as had happened earlier in the evening, when she didn’t know what vital thing Rosalind had told Thomas, she was conscious of another mysterious blank in her knowledge, although this one came unbidden and unprompted. What was it? Another skipped chapter or switched channel?
Josie brought a lace-trimmed cream silk nightgown and slipped it over Kathryn’s head, but as the maid began to tie the little pink ribbons at the throat, Kathryn shook her head. “I’ll finish things myself now, Josie. You may go.”
“But your hair, my lady ...”
“I’ll attend to it.” Kathryn knew the real Rosalind wouldn’t do her own hair, but every minute now was prolonging the wait before she could go through those folding doors to Dane.
Clearly taken aback, Josie curtsied. “Very well, my lady. Good night.”
“Good night, Josie.”
The maid went to the doorway, but then hesitated. “About tomorrow night, my lady. Do you still wish to wear the plowman’s gauze gown if Mrs. Fowler
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