Carnal Gift (22 page)

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Authors: Pamela Clare

Tags: #Historical Romance

BOOK: Carnal Gift
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Brighid was so taken aback she sat for a moment, mouth agape, unsure what to say. She hadn’t expected to be waited on by English servants. And though a sharp retort was the first thing to come into her head, she had no grudge against this girl, who was about her age. “What is your name?”
The servant girl looked surprised, stepped farther into the room, curtsied. “Heddy, if you please, miss. I’m to serve you as your lady’s maid, though I ain’t never been a lady’s maid before.”
A lady’s maid?
The very idea almost made Brighid laugh.
“Heddy, do you know what’s become of my clothes?” “Aye, miss. Master Blakewell had me fetch them and take them to be laundered and mended. He said you’d made a frightful long journey, and I wasn’t to wake you.” Brighid felt her temper rise, tried not to take it out on Heddy. So, he thought her gown dirty and tattered. “Is His
Lordship
after me paradin’ around naked?” “Oh, no, miss! If you please, there be a trunk of gowns for you sitting in the hallway. I ain’t dragged it in yet, as they told me not to wake you. I thought you might want to eat first.”
Brighid
was
hungry. “That’s thoughtful of you, Heddy.” “Shall I bring your breakfast tray, then, miss? And will you be having tea?”
“Aye, thank you, Heddy. Oh, and, Heddy, what day is it?”
“Tis the day before Christmas Eve of course.” The servant curtsied, closed the door behind her.
Christmas.
Brighid had completely forgotten about Christmas.
Jamie swallowed the last of his tea, set the cup down on the dining table. He’d just spent the past two hours explaining to Matthew and Elizabeth what had happened over the course of the past six weeks. They sat in silence now, finishing their breakfasts and digesting his tale. Jamie had risen early this morning. He’d immediately sent two dispatches, one to Sheff’s London residence and one to Ireland, informing Sheff that Brighid was with him in London and that she and her family were under his protection. He’d hoped it would divert Sheff s attention from Fionn and the others to England, where Jamie could meet him on more equal footing.
Matthew spoke, drew Jamie out of his meaningless musings. “This does complicate matters. He can make things hell for you in Lords. Though far from being the most influential nobleman in England, he is not without friends.”
Jamie nodded. He’d known this. “I expect he could do even worse.”
Matthew’s silver brows furrowed. “Are you saying you think he’ll go so far as to try to steal her away even though she’s under our protection?”
Jamie turned this over in his mind for a moment, met Matthew’s concerned gaze. “I believe him capable of almost anything.”
“The filthy goat!” Elizabeth frowned. “I never did like him.”
Jamie laughed. “You just didn’t approve of my coming home legless drunk every time I went out on the town with him.”
Elizabeth had been like a second mother to him growing up. He’d been placed under Matthew’s supervision during his college years. More than once she’d scolded him, warned him that Sheffield Tate might be the son of an earl but he was also an ill-mannered brat. “That was part of it.” She leveled a stern gaze at him.
“I also felt he was cruel to the young women he pretended to court in hopes of lifting their skirts.” For a moment, no one spoke.
“I’ll increase the watch immediately, of course.” Matthew rubbed his thigh absentmindedly. He’d lost his leg in the battle of Malplaquet more than forty years before, and Jamie knew it still pained him.
Jamie pushed his chair away from the table, stood. “I’ve thought through it a thousand times, and I just don’t see what else I could have done.”
Matthew shook his head. “Nor I. You took the only honorable course available to you—and at great risk to yourself.”
“To think how close we came to losing you.” Elizabeth covered her mouth with one elegant hand. Though the years were telling on her face, she was still a beautiful woman. “My dear boy, I’m so glad you’re home. We couldn’t ask for a better Christmas gift.” “We owe this young woman of yours a great debt of thanks. How do you say her name?”
Jamie pronounced Brighid’s full name slowly and carefully until both Matthew and Elizabeth could say it reasonably well. “But she’s not
my
young woman.” Matthew and Elizabeth exchanged a guarded glance.
“What did that mean?” Jamie glared at them. “What, dear?” Elizabeth looked at him with wide, innocent eyes.
“You know. That glance the two of you just shared.” “It meant nothing.” Elizabeth smoothed her skirts. “Oh, my, look at the time. It’s half past nine already, and there’s so much to do with Christmas upon us.” “When do we get to meet Brighid?” Matthew took up his cane, stood, his wooden leg tapping the floor.
“Well, I for one intend to meet her right now.” Elizabeth turned in a swish of skirts and walked away from the dining table.
“Be careful.” Jamie’s mood had suddenly grown sour.
“She can be a hellion.”
Brighid didn’t know when she’d had a better breakfast. Heddy had arrived with a tray laden with eggs, bacon, toast, strawberry jam, and tea, and it had been all Brighid could do not to gobble it down all at once. She’d felt so lonely she’d asked Heddy to stay while she ate, and soon the two of them had fallen into a conversation about their brothers, Heddy sitting next to her on the giant bed. Heddy had four brothers, and from her tales of them they were each more ill-behaved than Rhuaidhri. “So, not to be outdone, John tied a dead fish to the underside of Father’s chair!”
Brighid gasped, laughed.
“Every time Father sat in it, he’d say, ‘Oh, Lord, what is that stench? What in God’s—‘” The door opened.
A tall, elegant older woman entered. “Heddy, can you excuse us, please?”
Heddy, eyes round, leapt from the bed, picked up the empty breakfast tray, curtsied, and fled the room. The woman shut the door behind her.
Suddenly self-conscious, Brighid pulled the coverlet up over her breasts. It took all her determination to meet the woman’s measuring gaze.
“You must be Brighid, dear.” Though her dark hair had turned mostly silver and her face now bore the lines of age, the woman had obviously been quite beautiful once. Her blue eyes sparkled with kindness.
Brighid nodded, more than a little astonished to hear a strange Englishwoman pronounce her name correctly. “I’m Elizabeth Kenleigh Hastings, Brighid. I am so pleased to make your acquaintance. We have much to talk about. But first why don’t we make you comfortable?” In no time, a large copper tub had been placed before the fire and filled with steaming water. Brighid had been left to bathe in private, though Heddy had been sent in to wrap her in a blue velvet dressing gown and help her style her hair. While Brighid would have been content just to braid it, Heddy insisted on coiling it and twisting it into a style the likes of which Brighid had never seen before.
“Oh, you’ve got lovely tresses, miss. Why, if I had hair like yours, I’d wear it fancy every day.” At first the whole experience reminded her of the night at the
iarla’s
house. But with Heddy’s cheerful chatter and bright winter sunshine streaming through the windows, the sick feeling in Brighid’s stomach quickly faded away. It was a new experience for her to be waited on hand and foot. She felt silly, kept expecting someone to realize she was just a poor Irish girl and, instead of waiting on her, send her to work in the kitchens peeling potatoes. Just as Heddy finished applying a small amount of rouge to her cheeks, Elizabeth returned carrying a pile of folded, white undergarments. “Why, Brighid, you are breathtaking!”
Brighid didn’t know what to say. Heddy helped Brighid don a fresh chemise, clean petticoats, and, to Brighid’s dismay, a corset, while Elizabeth removed the gowns one by one from the trunk and draped them across the bed. There were so many gowns in so many colors, Brighid felt bedazzled—soft green, lavender, light blue, deep blue, white with embroidered rosebuds, rosy pink, deep claret.
“They belonged to my youngest daughter,” Elizabeth explained. “Which would you like to try?” Brighid stood, ran her hands over the soft material of her petticoats. “I don’t know. They’re all so lovely.” She reached her hand out, touched the lavender cloth. Soft it was, like butter. “Is this silk?”
“Aye, it is. If I might make a suggestion, I think the sapphire blue would look lovely on you; it would complement your eyes.”
Brighid nodded.
Heddy helped Brighid lift the gown over her head and lowered it into place.
When Elizabeth was satisfied, she took Brighid by the hand and walked her over to the mirror. “You’re such a tiny thing. We’ll need to take in the waist a bit and have the hems raised.”
But Brighid hadn’t heard. She gaped in astonishment at her own reflection. Who was this woman in the mirror? Certainly, this was no poor Irish girl. The same eyes stared back at her, the same features she’d seen earlier this morning. But something had changed. This woman was elegant, graceful, even beautiful.
Elizabeth watched Brighid stare in wonder into the mirror, and smiled.
The girl was simply stunning. Elizabeth could easily understand why Jamie had been drawn to her in the crowd. Not only was she beautiful, she had a sense of innocence and vulnerability about her, a feminine sweetness that tugged at the heartstrings. Those qualities, combined with her charming Irish accent, were enough to intoxicate any man.
Yet there was a sadness about Brighid, shadows that never left her eyes. Jamie had told them over breakfast about the girl’s parents, how her mother had died in a famine and her father had been sold into slavery. He’d also told them what had happened the night he’d met her, how Sheff had tried to . . .
The very thought made Elizabeth’s blood steam. And now the poor child had been taken from her family, from the only home she’d ever known. From what Jamie had told them—and Elizabeth was certain he’d omitted certain details—his acquaintance with Brighid hadn’t been an easy one.
It was a rough road that lay ahead of Jamie, but he had chosen well. Elizabeth had watched him grow from a boy of four years into a man and thought of him as a son. Nothing would please her more than to see him happily settled with a woman who loved him and a handful of children to keep him busy.
Jamie might not realize it yet, but he was besotted with Brighid. And from the way Brighid went out of her way not to mention Jamie or even acknowledge his existence, Elizabeth was pretty certain Brighid was besotted with him, as well.
Chapter Eighteen
Jamie stared unseeing out the window of Matthew’s study, listened while Matthew spoke.
“You needn’t worry that you’ve missed your window of opportunity. Parliament got off to a late start, and thanks to Prime Minister Newcastle’s incompetence… ” There came a knock on the study door. “Come.”
Elizabeth stuck her head in. “I’m sorry to disturb you, gentlemen, but I need a favor from you, Jamie.” “Of course.” He needed something to distract him, to keep his mind off his mission—and Brighid. “I promised Brighid a tour of the manor and the grounds, but I find myself caught up in other matters. She’s waiting for me in the drawing room. Could you see to it she learns her way around?”
Jamie stopped abruptly, cast Elizabeth a withering look. It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse. Elizabeth smiled sympathetically. “You can’t avoid her forever, Jamie.”
“I can bloody well try.” Jamie turned on his heel, strode down the hall, his restlessness becoming temper. Jamie didn’t like being manipulated. He knew Elizabeth meant well, but her meddling infuriated him. He didn’t need a mediator. He didn’t need a matchmaker. He certainly didn’t need to spend more time with Brighid. The less he saw of her—
He rounded the comer into the drawing room, stopped still.
She stood looking out the window, her face cast in delicate profile. Her long hair had been fashioned into an elegant twist, baring the slender grace of her neck to his view. She wore a gown the color of sapphire, ivory lace tumbling gracefully from the sleeves. Cut after the French fashion of several years before, it enhanced the curve of her hip, the slender hollow of her waist, the creamy swell of her breasts.
Her loveliness cut him to the quick, made it hard for him to think or breathe. Her deep femininity enticed him, ensnared him. The sexual need he’d tried for weeks to ignore roared to life in his veins.
Why had he wanted to avoid her? Clearly, he’d been a fool.
She glanced toward the door, and Jamie heard her quick intake of breath when she saw him. She turned to face him, a look of surprise or dismay on her face, one hand raised protectively to the tiny cross at her throat. Clearly, she had wanted to avoid him, as well.
Jamie took a step toward her, felt oddly like a schoolboy. “Elizabeth asked me to show you the manor and grounds. I trust she has treated you well.” Brighid stared in amazement at the man who stood before her. His long curls had been washed, combed, and pulled back with a black velvet ribbon. Over his broad shoulders he wore a frock coat of deep forest-green velvet. An embroidered waistcoat of forest-green silk covered his muscular chest, cream-colored lace at his throat and wrists. Breeches of forest-green velvet sheathed his corded thighs, cream-colored stockings his well-built calves. Brass buckles decorated his polished black shoes. She’d gotten used to seeing him dressed in his shirtsleeves and breeches—and dirty up to his elbows in peat like any Irish peasant. Standing there, he looked so fine, every inch the landed gentleman. Yet she could feel his physical power, the vigor beneath his well-dressed surface. “Aye.” She struggled to remember his question. “Elizabeth has been most kind.”

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