Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (9 page)

"An hour, my lord," said Gorsham in answer to the marquess's question.

The marquess turned to Beth. "Perhaps you would like to go to your apartments, my dear, and meet my parents when you have refreshed yourself."

Apartments? Beth wanted a hidey-hole and agreed to his suggestion. Gorsham's raised finger brought forward one of a small group of maids standing ready.

"This is Redcliff, Miss Armitage," he said as the middle-aged woman curtsied. "If agreeable, she will show you to your room and act as your maid."

Beth nodded, and when the maid turned to lead the way, she followed. She needn't have bothered with the exercise at their last stop. They walked halfway down the hall and mounted wide stairs railed in gilded wrought iron which took them to the next floor. They then followed one wide carpeted corridor after another, all casually set with valuable sculptures and paintings, and dotted with elegant furnishings. They passed three powdered and liveried footman simply standing. It seemed at least ten minutes before the maid opened a door and stood back to allow an overwhelmed Beth to enter.

"Apartments" had apparently been exact. She was to be housed in a suite of rooms.

This first one was a large sitting room, comfortably appointed with velvet-upholstered chairs, small inlaid tables, and a zebrawood desk. There was a chaise to act as a daybed near which two vaguely Egyptian figures held hanging oil lamps for evening light. There was a fireplace with marble bas-relief decoration and a fire already cheerfully burning there, even though it was mild for April. Graciously arranged spring flowers were placed on two tables, and their sweet perfume floated through all this elegance.

With some trepidation, Beth stepped onto the beautiful silky carpet of jewel-like blues and yellows and went over to one of the two long windows hung with blue damask curtains. It gave a view from the back of the house down over breathtaking grounds to a river.

Beth turned to see the maid waiting by an adjoining door. It proved to lead into a dressing room. Quite modest, she supposed. Only twice as large as her bedroom, her only room, at Miss Mallory's.

This room was paneled in some rich, golden wood but was quite spartan in comparison to the other. The floor was bare apart from three small rugs, and the appointments consisted of two chairs, two large armoires, a washstand, a mirror, and a very large chest. There was a fireplace where yet another fire burned. How very wasteful this all seemed.

The maid must have noticed her frowning consideration, for she opened a panel above the fireplace to show a metal tank. "It's to keep the water warm for a bath, miss. The fires are only let out in the hottest weather. You could bathe now if you wish, miss."

The woman flipped back the lid of the chest to reveal a large bathtub ready and waiting. Beth couldn't resist going over to peer at this marvel—-it was even decorated with pictures of fish.

This was the first luxury of the day which tempted Beth. At Miss Mallory's a proper bath was a rare treat requiring much planning, and the thought of just being able to order a bath and have one was delicious. And tempting. She suspected, however, that the maid would want to be part of the process, and she was not ready for that as yet.

Beyond the dressing room was her bedroom. This was as stunning as the sitting room, with another rich carpet upon the floor, yellow silk hangings on the large tester bed and matching curtains at the windows. The walls were covered with panels of Chinese silk, picking up the yellow theme, and the paintings hung upon them were not known to Beth but had all the appearance of being Old Masters.

These rooms were not a hidey-hole, they were a gilded cage.

More than anything in the world at that moment, Beth wanted to be alone, yet she could think of no way to get rid of the maid.

"Has my trunk been brought up?" she asked, hoping the woman would go to find it, but at that moment there was a noise from the dressing room.

"That will be it now, miss," said Redcliff and bustled off but only as far as the next room where she supervised the footmen in the placing of the baggage. Beth had only managed to remove her bonnet before she was back.

Beth tried again. "I think I would like to wash, Redcliff," she said.

"Certainly, miss," replied the maid and disappeared. But again only as far as the dressing room where there was the sound of running water. Beth had forgotten the ever-ready tank.

In a moment the woman was back, indicating that Miss Armitage should join her. Beth obeyed. She was beginning to learn about the tyranny of servants.

Beth felt like a child. She managed to undo the buttons at the front of her long-sleeved spencer herself, but it was the maid who eased it off. It was the maid who undid the three buttons at the back of the bodice of her gown and loosened the laces which tightened the waist. In a moment the gown was off, and Beth was standing in her cambric petticoat. The maid's fingers started again, but Beth balked.

"That will be quite enough," she said, somewhat sharply. "Please unpack for me."

At least that got the woman a pace or two away.

Beth took up the thickly woven cotton square and the soap and began to wash what she could reach. If the maid would only leave she could go farther, but she had never undressed before another person since she was a child and could not bring herself to do so now.

The soap was sweetly perfumed and rich and smooth on her skin. The embroidered towel was soft.

As soon as she was finished she found the maid beside her offering an alabaster pot containing cream. "For your hands, miss."

Beth dipped her fingers in the unguent and smoothed it over her hands. It, too, was perfumed. Before she was finished she would smell like a spring garden.

"There is lotion for the face, too, if you would wish it, miss," said Redcliff.

Beth declined, and the maid turned back to the trunks. "Which gown would you wish to wear this evening, miss?"

Beth knew she had nothing appropriate for this setting and steadfastly refused to be concerned. It was a matter of pride, surely, not to have wasted a fortune on her back.

"There is a fawn peau de soie," she said. "I will wear that."

Then Beth was helped into her wrap and could escape to the sitting room and a moment's peace. She sat by a window, looking out at the sun-gilded heavenly estate. As far as her eye could see there were delightful prospects, and the deer picked their way across greensward with contented elegance. It was a fairy-tale setting where surely imperfection and suffering never invaded.

After a moment she lowered her head into her hands. A human might feel superior to a baboon, but it was still distressing to be forced into its milieu.

What was she going to do, she thought with panic, if her plan didn't work and the marquess went through with the marriage? She couldn't live in this place. It was impossible.

She took her hands from her face and forced herself to her feet. Panic would destroy her. Only strength would take her safely home again. She paced the room and rallied her flagging spirits. Belcraven was a building, nothing more, and its perfect grounds were just a stage set created with vast amounts of money.

The luxury surrounding her was doubtless just an indication of past and present corruption. After all, most of the aristocracy had gained their high estate by acts of violence or immorality in the service of similarly violent and immoral monarchs.

The duke, the duchess, and the marquess were just people, and no more worthy of awe than the simplest laborer. In fact, that laborer doubtless came by his daily bread more honestly.

By the time the maid indicated that the requested gown was ready, Beth had talked herself back into courage.

"Jewels, miss?" asked Redcliff.

"There is a gold locket in my reticule," said Beth, making no attempt at pretense. "It is all I have." Then she thought of her ring and looked down at the gaudy thing. It at least was in keeping with Belcraven, which only proved it had no place on her finger.

The maid found the locket and clasped it around Beth's neck.

Beth considered herself in the long mirror. Both she and Miss Mallory made their own gowns, but once a year they commissioned two formal outfits from the local dressmaker—a heavy one for winter and a light one for summer. This was the latter, and it fitted well and had a few stylish details—pin tucks in the bodice and braid around the hem. The style, however, was simple and modest, and Beth knew it would be eclipsed by anything the duchess might wear. Or other guests.

That thought almost swept her back into panic. She could face the family—this was all their fault, after all—but not strangers who would look and see only a homely, poorly dressed female, not a rebellious spirit.

If she had possessed a stunning, fashionable gown and a jewel box she would have used them then and be damned to egalitarian principles.

The maid went to work on her hair. "What pretty hair you have, miss," said Redcliff as she started to brush through the mass of chestnut curls.

Beth knew it. It was unfortunate hair for a schoolmistress who had to convince pupils and parents on a daily basis that she was of sober disposition. That was why she kept it short and hidden beneath caps.

When the maid was satisfied with her work, Beth said, "You will find a cap to match this gown in a box in the gray trunk." In the mirror she saw the protest tremble on the woman's lips. The maid was too well-trained to voice it, however, and found the cap.

Unfortunately for Beth's intentions, the cap was her prettiest, and this time she could hardly strip it of its decoration—rows of ruched ribbons and two silk roses designed to nestle on her left temple. Moreover, as this cap was designed to fit on the back of her head, it was quite impossible to hide all her glossy curls.

If only, she thought, this outfit were not so becoming. The bland color suited her pale skin, giving it delicacy and bringing out a hint of color in her cheeks and lips. The curls on her forehead softened the smooth oval of her face and those blasted roses drew attention to her eyes, which, while nothing out of the ordinary, were clear and surmounted by smooth dark brows.

She had chosen the outfit to be becoming, though, and succeeded all too well. She went about a little in Cheltenham with her aunt and had no desire to appear an antidote. In fact, she remembered with a rueful smile, when this outfit had been commissioned a few months ago she had entertained mild hopes of the interest of a local curate. He had turned out to be a rather stupid man.

Beth gave up the fruitless contemplation of her appearance. The marquess was doubtless acquainted with all the great beauties of the land. He was hardly likely to be overwhelmed by Beth Armitage in her Sunday Best.

The maid looked at the clock. "It is time for you to go down, miss."

Beth started. "I—I confess I have no idea of how to find 'down,' Redcliff. Or where I am supposed to be."

The maid looked mildly surprised and rang a small silver bell which stood on a table. A footman came smartly into the room.

"Miss Armitage is ready to go down, Thomas," said the maid.

The footman gave a little bow and stepped outside again. Redcliff stood by the door to close it when Beth had left. Beth left.

The footman set off at a stately pace and Beth followed, feeling a little like a lap dog being taken for a walk. The young man was tall and well-built. Beth had heard that sometimes footmen were chosen for their handsome appearance and supposed that to be the case here. Again, they passed other footmen just standing like statues. In their yellow liveries and powdered hair there was no easy way to tell them apart.

She followed her guide along corridors and down a different staircase, just as magnificent as the one she had come up. She could not deny the elegance and beauty of her surroundings, but how ridiculous, she told herself staunchly, to have this enormous building and all these servants for just three people.

They approached gilded double doors with panels painted with climbing roses. Beth's footman and another stationed there swung them open with smooth efficiency so she could sweep into the room without breaking step. I am likely to lose the use of my hands entirely, Beth thought, as she prepared to meet her persecutors.

She had expected to be overwhelmed by personal ostentation to match the house and was prepared to sneer. She found instead that the room she entered was small and not particularly grand, and the family was dressed like any people of good birth and comfortable circumstances.

The duke and the marquess were in elegant day dress, the duchess in a charming but simple blue-striped silk with only a delicate sapphire pendant and earrings for ornamentation. She was a tall, slender lady with the same handsome features as her son. The sweetly curved lips moved into a warm smile as she came forward.

"My dear Miss Armitage, welcome to Belcraven." Her voice carried the delicious flavor of her native France. "Thank you so much for coming." It was a statement quite suitable for the hearing of the footman standing by the wall, but Beth knew it said more. The duchess did not resent her arrival. The woman obviously accepted her husband's plan and there was to be no help from her quarter.

"I found it an opportunity quite impossible to resist, Your Grace," said Beth dryly.