dressing room. Your maid's chamber is just
beyond. She has already unpacked for you, and so I gave her leave to
go to dinner. If you want--"
"If I need Pammy, I'm sure I can ring. Which of these?" She
gestured at the line of bellpulls on the wall beside the entrance.
Mrs. Smith identified each of the six pulls. "Will there be
anything else, my lady?"
"Ah, yes, I have one more question. You said that is the
master bedchamber. But where is mine?"
"Why there, of course. The Ladies Guillemot have always
shared their lords' bed." She gave a regal nod as befitted her exalted
station, and departed.
Lisanor's knees gave way and she nearly missed the slipper
chair that was, conveniently, just behind her. She had assumed that
Lord Guillemot would not claim his conjugal rights until his health
had improved. While she knew that at some point they would
consummate their marriage, she had not expected it quite so soon. I am not ready. I don't know him. How can I possibly...
She sprawled there, unable to move while her thoughts
scampered like mice disturbed in their nest. But before she could
gather them into some sort of coherence, the door to the corridor
opened.
"Here ye, go, sor. We'll have ye comfortable in a trice."
Guillemot's man--Needles?--edged past Carleton, again half
carrying her husband. As soon as they were inside, the butler closed
the door and hurried across the room to an alcove Lisanor had not
noticed, half hidden as it was by shabby velvet draperies. "In here,
Mr. Nettles. My lord, I believe you will be most comfortable on this
chaise. You have overdone it somewhat. You must rest, but I
know--"
"You're right. I won't go to bed like an invalid." Guillemot
seemed to see Lisanor for the first time. "Good day, my dear. I see
you've made yourself comfortable."
She bit back the sarcastic response that leapt to her
lips.
Clarence was relieved to see Miss Hi-- his
wife --relaxing in the sitting room. There was much they must say to each
other, and the sooner it was done, the sooner they would begin to
rub along together smoothly. He contained his impatience while
Nettles saw him settled on the chaise, while Carleton fussed with the
tray holding the cordial they forced upon him twice daily, fetched a
glass from the breakfront cabinet, and unfolded the rug.
"That will be all," he said, as soon as he was established.
"Thank you."
"My lord--"
"Carleton, I admit to weakness in my leg and a certain
lightheadedness when I have been on my feet for too long, but I am
not ill. I am newly wedded, and my...my wife and I would like
to be alone. We will ring if we need you."
"But--"
"No, Nettles. I do not need you to stay with me. Miss...Lady
Guillemot is more than competent to cross the room and ring for you
or Carleton, should I need you." He forced himself to smile, despite
wanting nothing more than to relax into a semi-reclining position
and close his eyes.
"Yes, sor." Nettles turned to face Miss...
Damnation! She is my wife. Why can I not remember
that?
"You'll not let him get overtired, my lady?"
"I will take very good care of him, fear not. Thank you both."
There was no doubt that her words were a dismissal.
At least she knew how to deal with servants. Clarence had
wondered, coming as she did, from a farmhouse. Poor girl. She was in
for a difficult period of adjustment. While Guillemot was not one of
the great houses of England, it was one of the old ones, and it had its
traditions. Traditions he was determined to continue.
When the door closed behind Nettles and Carleton, he lay
back and let himself relax. The double vision that had plagued him
ever since he'd landed on his head when his horse was shot from
under him had finally reduced itself to a slight blurring when he
tired. He hoped the doctor was telling the truth, that it would
eventually disappear entirely. His left wrist and leg, while both still
weak, were slowly getting stronger. Only the still draining wound in
his right buttock remained a problem.
Brian Keene, J.F. Gonzalez