Secrets of Midnight (18 page)

"Corie?"

"So mean! Bess . . ."

He couldn't tell if she was awake or dreaming, her
words coming in half-whispers that sounded hoarse, distressed. Sliding closer,
he laid his head down close to hers and prodded gently, "The housemaid,
Corie? Bess, the housemaid?"

In answer, she clutched her pillow more tightly, a
broken sigh slipping from her lips. It sounded so
sad,
Donovan couldn't help but move closer, drawing her into his arms. He held his
breath, but she didn't resist, instead pressing her cheek against his shoulder.

"What did she say, Corie?" he whispered,
freeing one hand so he could stroke her silky hair. A second ragged sigh broke
from her throat, this one even more heartwrenching than the last.

"Ugly . . ."

He tensed, anger filling him. "Bess said you're
ugly?"

"Scar . . ."

Her voice had sunk to a whisper and, as she pressed
even closer, Donovan could feel a warm wetness where her face was buried
against his shoulder.

". . . ugly. So cruel. They don't know
don't know. . ."

He said nothing as her voice trailed away, her
breathing so deep and regular he knew she was fast asleep. While he
lay
there, his throat so tight that he could barely breathe.
But he didn't want to move, not right now. He didn't want to wake her.

Instead he gathered her close and rocked her gently, as
a father might cradle a hurting child.

***

Corisande half opened her eyes, a blurred shadow
passing in front of her. Groaning at the dull throbbing in her head, she was
barely aware that the indistinct shape had stopped and now hovered over her.

"Oh, you poor, poor dear. To be sick on your
wedding night? Such a shame. Nerves will sometimes do that to a bride. But I've
tea for you, and a nice hot bath is ready, my lady. Shall I help you to sit up?"

Corisande recognized the brisk, capable tones of Ellen
Biddle even before she could focus clearly upon the housekeeper's kindly face.
What was that the woman had said about nerves? About her being sick? She tried
to speak, but nothing came out except a hoarse croak, her tongue as dry as wool
and practically useless.

"Oh, my, yes indeed, you need tea, my lady. Here,
if you'll raise yourself just a bit—that's right, now I'll plump these pillows
for you. There."

Corisande was amazed; one moment she'd been lying flat
on her back feeling wretchedly helpless and disoriented, and now she was
comfortably reclining while Ellen poured her a steaming cup of tea from a white
china pot decorated with tiny blue flowers. Comfortable at least, but for the painful
ache above her right temple, Corisande flushed with chagrin as fuzzy memories
came rushing back at her.

Oh, dear, had she really tripped and fallen headlong
into that wardrobe? And now that she thought about it, she vaguely remembered
becoming ill but little else after . . .

"Sugar? Cream?"

Corisande shook her head, to which the housekeeper gave
a concurring smile.

"Plain is how I like my tea too. Well steeped,
hot, just the thing to start the day. Here you go, my lady."

Corisande no sooner accepted the teacup and took her
first sip than the housekeeper was bustling across the room, her plain black
dress and starched apron rustling efficiently. A spare middle-aged woman with
premature gray hair beneath her neat white ruffled cap, Ellen Biddle had to be
one of the most energetic souls Corisande had ever seen.

"A pity, but it seems the sunshine has left us
today." With firm no-nonsense tugs, Ellen drew aside the forest-green
velvet curtains at the windows flanking the balcony doors and tied them back
with thick gold-braid ropes. "The fog broke a short while ago, but I fear
not the clouds. It looks certain to rain, maybe even storm. Wretched weather
for traveling, but there it is. At least you had a fine day for your wedding,
my lady."

"Traveling?" Relieved that she had regained
the use of her voice, Corisande stared in confusion as Ellen came back around
the bed. "I don't recall anyone saying—"

"Oh, my, no, I didn't mean you, my lady, or His
Lordship." The housekeeper's face drew into a sudden frown. "Good
riddance,
is what I say. Those two girls were a handful of
trouble. Well, not so much Meg, although she followed along after Bess like a
silly milk cow. A pity too. She was a good worker. But His Lordship said that
she and Bess must go this very
morning,
and Fanny too.
I warned the girl her loose tongue would bring her trouble, but—"

"Lord Donovan . . . I—I mean, my husband sent them
away?" Incredulous, Corisande had to believe it must be so when Ellen
firmly nodded.

"Oh, yes, indeed. His Lordship came to see me
before the sun was up, quite angry he looked too. Said he'd have no servants in
this house speaking ill of you, my lady. Said those three must be gone before
you opened your eyes this morning, and so they were, sent to catch the
mail-coach in Helston just after dawn. Meg and Bess bound for Weymouth and Fanny
back to Arundale Hall where she'll have to explain herself to His Grace, no
doubt. I believe Lord Donovan sent along a sealed letter."

Corisande leaned her head back against the pillow as
Ellen paused to refill her teacup; memories swam before her now, fresh and
vivid. The unsettling conversation she'd overheard between the housemaids, Bess
discussing her so callously, and how furious Donovan had been, threatening
Henry Gilbert with injury to life and limb until Corisande had told him that
Fanny

"I must apologize for those girls, my lady."

Corisande looked at Ellen, but the woman seemed
reluctant to meet her eyes as she set the china pot back upon the tray.

"I don't know what all was said between the three
of them, but . . . well, it troubles me to no end to think your upset last
night might have been caused . . ."

Ellen didn't finish, instead glancing down
uncomfortably at her hands, which led Corisande to guess that the housekeeper
had probably heard—Ogden and the other remaining servants as well, for that
matter—much of Fanny's gossip on their way to Cornwall. But something told her
that she would never have heard a word of such talk from this woman's mouth.
Ellen Biddle had a strong air of decency about her that made Corisande doubt,
too, that she could possibly have agreed to be a spy. But Corisande supposed
she could never be sure.

"It was a simple case of nerves, Ellen, nothing
more," she said, deciding it was a good time to show that if she'd
overheard anything, she'd granted it little credence. "Certainly no reason
to trouble yourself. All the excitement, the long day. I'm sure you understand."

"Oh, yes, of course, my lady."

"So it's not worth discussing any further. Have
you seen my husband?"

Ellen at once looked relieved that their conversation
had taken a swift turn although her clear gray eyes held a touch of what
Corisande could swear, to her dismay, was pity.

"In the library, my lady. But I believe he plans
to leave shortly with Mr. Gilbert. His Lordship said he wouldn't be home for
luncheon—he mentioned something about business at the mine, but surely by
supper—"

"Oh, dear, I have to wait to see him until supper?"
Corisande broke in with mock alarm, hoping to show the housekeeper, too, that
her wifely devotion to Donovan had not been shaken. "You must go to him,
Ellen, right this minute, and tell him I'll be downstairs as soon as I can to
say good-bye." She set her teacup with a clatter onto the tray. "Did
you say I've a bath ready?"

"Yes, my lady, in your bedchamber. I've also hung
up your clothes in the wardrobe, but your wedding dress . . ." The
housekeeper cleared her throat delicately. "I fear your wedding dress is
beyond repair."

Her face suddenly burning, Corisande chose to skip over
that subject altogether. She threw aside the covers and rose somewhat shakily,
not surprised when Ellen caught her arm to steady her. But she didn't want the
woman's help, however well-meaning, this business of having servants constantly
hovering around her quite unsettling. And now she had to contend with them feeling
sorry for her too; Lady Donovan, the poor little country simpleton, so naïve,
so trusting, so blind. Oh, she couldn't wait to have her normal life back
again!

"I'll be fine, Ellen. Really. You don't have to
stay to wait upon me. And I'd be so disappointed if I miss my husband . . ."

"Oh, yes, of course. I'll see to it right away."
Having swallowed the cue, Ellen hustled away only to pause at the door. "If
you need anything, my lady, there's a bell pull in your chamber. Someone will
come straightaway, well, at least we'll do our best. We're rather shorthanded
now. If you know any local girls who might wish for employment here at the
house, I'd welcome your recommendation."

Corisande sighed to herself as the housekeeper
disappeared, thinking that there were many women in the parish who would leap
for joy to have steady work to help their families. But to give someone a job
that would last only a few weeks? Maybe days, if she got her wish and that
inheritance came soon from Dorset. It would be cruel to build such hopes. Ah,
but she couldn't think of it now. She had to hurry if she was going to catch
Donovan. She had a few things to say to him, and they
didn't
include a pleasant good-bye.

Corisande felt her cheeks growing hot again as she
hastened from his bedchamber and into her own without a backward glance,
grateful to be gone from the place. Grateful, too, in a way that she had become
ill. Oh, she hoped she'd retched and retched. That must have repulsed him and
kept him far, far away from her! Maybe she should drink a good strong dose of
sherry every night.

A sharp queasiness in her stomach made Corisande
quickly abandon the idea, the high-backed metal tub placed before a freshly
stoked fire looking quite inviting as her knees suddenly felt a bit wobbly too.
Within a moment, she had stripped out of her nightgown and settled with a long sigh
into the steaming bathwater that smelled heavily of lavender oil.

Which she supposed made sense, considering that the
fragrant herb was well-known as a restorative for hysterical women. Ellen
Biddle must have poured a whole bottleful into this tub, probably believing
that Corisande hadn't been stricken with nerves as much as a frenzied fit after
discovering she'd become an overnight bride simply to serve as brood mare for
the heir to the dukedom of Arundale.

Nerves! Had Donovan told the woman that? It was a
perfect excuse to explain why she'd been ill, though. Lord, if the housekeeper,
and Donovan for that matter, only knew the truth—

"Miss Biddle said you wanted to see me, wife?"

Chapter 16

Corisande shrieked and covered her breasts with her
hands, water splashing onto the floor as she sank as low as she could into the
tub. It was only then that she realized Donovan had spoken from behind her, and
she craned her neck to glare at him.

"How—how dare you! Get out! Get out, I tell you—"

"Enough, Corie." He gave her no indication
that he intended to go anywhere as he continued to lean against the doorjamb to
the sitting room, his arms crossed casually over his chest although he looked
taut with tension. "There may be fewer servants in the house now, but that
doesn't mean you can raise the rooftop with your infernal shouting."

"Then don't creep up like . . . like a bloody
snake behind me!" she sputtered, incensed. "Having to sleep together
in the same bed to make things look cozy and proper between us is quite another
thing than you standing there watching me bathe. Now please leave!"

With that she faced front and sank down further to her
chin, which, to her chagrin, only made her knees
rise
higher, the tub too small to accommodate her long legs. But bare white knees
were better than her breasts bobbing in plain
view,
no
matter that Donovan was standing well behind her. She closed her eyes and
counted to twenty, then hazarded a glance over her shoulder to discover he had
gone.

Oh, Lord, that made her wonder if he had stormed from
their suite altogether, and here she wanted to talk to him! Corisande grabbed
one of the thick cotton towels hanging over a wooden rack and wound it around
herself as she climbed from the tub, water splattering the rug as she raced to
the wardrobe. It was such a relief to see some of
her own
familiar clothes again. She didn't bother to dry herself fully but shrugged
into a thin linen shift first, then one of her wool dresses, followed by plain
white stockings and her sturdy walking shoes.

Her first thought as she hastily gathered her hair into
a loose bun was to run downstairs to catch him, but she supposed she should
check the other rooms first. He might not have left. She flew into the sitting
room, stopping short as Donovan turned dark brooding eyes upon her from where
he stood by a tall window.

He didn't look happy at all, and she imagined that was
due to her shrewish outburst. Even if he had interrupted her at her bath, she
shouldn't have shouted at him like a fishwife and called him a snake. That hadn't
been wise, no, not with servants lurking around. In fact, she felt a bit guilty
about it, but he had startled her so badly

"I see you're feeling none the worse for last
night."

He didn't sound very happy either, no, not at all,
Corisande thought with some apprehension, swiping a damp tendril from her face.
"Actually my stomach feels a little odd. I'd never have imagined one could
become so ill after bumping one's head."

"Helped along by a glass of champagne, of course."

Corisande looked at him uncertainly, his tone having
grown even
more brusque
. "Well, yes, I suppose I
shouldn't have drunk it so quickly—"