trousseau.
"Good morning," Olivia said brightly, expecting a smile and a comment on the day, the way the Cheltenham servants would have responded.
The maid stood and turned, bobbing warily. "Good morning, milady."
She was a nice-looking girl of perhaps seventeen. Olivia smiled to put her at her ease. "What is your name, please?"
The girl went entirely still. "I am called Petty, milady." Her voice was flat and her gaze was anything but friendly. "The housekeeper presented me to you yesterday."
Olivia faltered. "Well… thank you for the fresh coals, Petty." She gestured toward the now-blazing fire. "My room turned quite chilly overnight and I'm glad for a fire."
If possible, Petty became even more stiff. "That was the chambermaid, milady. We was instructed not to wake you any earlier. If you want your fire freshened before ten, milady, you must speak to Mrs. Huff, the housekeeper."
"Oh no." Olivia blinked. "I didn't mean…" She'd bungled it now. The girl would take anything she said as a criticism, it was clear. She gave up. "Ten will be fine. Er, carry on."
Olivia watched Petty from the corner of her eye as the maid briskly finished her task and left the room. It seemed Olivia's lord husband kept an entirely different class of help. Even Petty's black gabardine maid uniform was of fine quality—better, in fact, than much of what Olivia had worn in the past.
Walt would have managed to tease a smile from the girl, Olivia had no doubt, but she'd never had that knack for ease in all company.
Olivia could have used a bit of that talent during her excruciating debut. It wasn't so much that she was shy. It was more that she simply didn't seem to speak the language. In the last month of this Season, she'd watched in mystification as the other young women rendered the young men speechless with one coy flick of their fan or employed an adoring gaze to make a suitor plump up like a proud rooster.
She'd tried it a few times herself, but her flick of her fan had nearly put out one fellow's eye and her adoring gaze had prompted her dance partner to inquire if she was feeling the need to vomit.
Alone again, Olivia flopped back onto her mounded pillows in relief. She'd not needed any such devices to attach her own magnificent husband after all, had she? Why, that day in the river, she'd forgotten to employ even the slightest flirtation—and he'd asked for her anyway.
Yet if she hadn't flirted, nor truly even conversed with Dane before they wed, how was it that he had come to ask for her hand? He could have had one of any number of prettier, wealthier, more stylish young ladies. She sat up with a surprising thought.
Had he loved her from afar?
She quickly slipped from the cozy covers and padded across the room barefoot to the mirror over her vanity. Seating herself on the stool, she tucked her chilled toes beneath her hem and examined her own reflection.
Hmm. To her surprise, for she'd not so much as brushed her hair this morning, she was looking rather fine. Her cheeks were flushed becomingly and her tousled locks were messy but somehow suited her better than a sleek, restrained style. She smiled at herself, for she was justly proud of her good teeth. Dane must have liked her looks. He'd certainly approved of her bosom.
Perhaps… just perhaps… he'd admired her even as she'd admired him! It was a vain and outrageous thought, but what else could it be? Her life had taken on a dreamlike quality of late. Who was to say that dream might not include true love? That might be why he wed her so abruptly and why he'd spent so much time carefully wooing her—seducing her—last night.
The avid gleam that came into her gray eyes at the thought of last night only made her look better, she decided. Better than she'd ever looked in her life. But then, why not?
Love became her.
Joy rose in her. She stood and spun her way back across the room with arms outstretched. How fortunate she was! Lucky, lucky girl!
Smiling widely, she set
"Good morning," Olivia said brightly, expecting a smile and a comment on the day, the way the Cheltenham servants would have responded.
The maid stood and turned, bobbing warily. "Good morning, milady."
She was a nice-looking girl of perhaps seventeen. Olivia smiled to put her at her ease. "What is your name, please?"
The girl went entirely still. "I am called Petty, milady." Her voice was flat and her gaze was anything but friendly. "The housekeeper presented me to you yesterday."
Olivia faltered. "Well… thank you for the fresh coals, Petty." She gestured toward the now-blazing fire. "My room turned quite chilly overnight and I'm glad for a fire."
If possible, Petty became even more stiff. "That was the chambermaid, milady. We was instructed not to wake you any earlier. If you want your fire freshened before ten, milady, you must speak to Mrs. Huff, the housekeeper."
"Oh no." Olivia blinked. "I didn't mean…" She'd bungled it now. The girl would take anything she said as a criticism, it was clear. She gave up. "Ten will be fine. Er, carry on."
Olivia watched Petty from the corner of her eye as the maid briskly finished her task and left the room. It seemed Olivia's lord husband kept an entirely different class of help. Even Petty's black gabardine maid uniform was of fine quality—better, in fact, than much of what Olivia had worn in the past.
Walt would have managed to tease a smile from the girl, Olivia had no doubt, but she'd never had that knack for ease in all company.
Olivia could have used a bit of that talent during her excruciating debut. It wasn't so much that she was shy. It was more that she simply didn't seem to speak the language. In the last month of this Season, she'd watched in mystification as the other young women rendered the young men speechless with one coy flick of their fan or employed an adoring gaze to make a suitor plump up like a proud rooster.
She'd tried it a few times herself, but her flick of her fan had nearly put out one fellow's eye and her adoring gaze had prompted her dance partner to inquire if she was feeling the need to vomit.
Alone again, Olivia flopped back onto her mounded pillows in relief. She'd not needed any such devices to attach her own magnificent husband after all, had she? Why, that day in the river, she'd forgotten to employ even the slightest flirtation—and he'd asked for her anyway.
Yet if she hadn't flirted, nor truly even conversed with Dane before they wed, how was it that he had come to ask for her hand? He could have had one of any number of prettier, wealthier, more stylish young ladies. She sat up with a surprising thought.
Had he loved her from afar?
She quickly slipped from the cozy covers and padded across the room barefoot to the mirror over her vanity. Seating herself on the stool, she tucked her chilled toes beneath her hem and examined her own reflection.
Hmm. To her surprise, for she'd not so much as brushed her hair this morning, she was looking rather fine. Her cheeks were flushed becomingly and her tousled locks were messy but somehow suited her better than a sleek, restrained style. She smiled at herself, for she was justly proud of her good teeth. Dane must have liked her looks. He'd certainly approved of her bosom.
Perhaps… just perhaps… he'd admired her even as she'd admired him! It was a vain and outrageous thought, but what else could it be? Her life had taken on a dreamlike quality of late. Who was to say that dream might not include true love? That might be why he wed her so abruptly and why he'd spent so much time carefully wooing her—seducing her—last night.
The avid gleam that came into her gray eyes at the thought of last night only made her look better, she decided. Better than she'd ever looked in her life. But then, why not?
Love became her.
Joy rose in her. She stood and spun her way back across the room with arms outstretched. How fortunate she was! Lucky, lucky girl!
Smiling widely, she set
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