South Landers: Wenna Part 4

"Off to get a mattress."

"Then I'll go with you." Nick stumbled slightly onto the path and righted himself. Years of practice, no doubt.

"Good. I was wondering how I would carry it home."

"It?" Nick gave him a strange glance. "We didn't have a chance to talk yesterday before I was removed from the field. I hear you've been in Adelaide for a couple of years." He began strolling alongside Dev. An unwary woman approached, glanced at Nick and, open-mouthed, walked into a lamp-post. He had that effect on females, though he didn't seem to notice, or he'd had years of practice in not noticing. "Your father's idea?"

Dev nodded. "He thought a couple of years in France would do me well. Then, no sooner than I began to take an interest in the growing of wheat on the home farm, he decided I should come out here with the governor's retinue. As you can see, I didn't return."

"How long will you get away with that?"

"Not much longer. I'm booked to return on the Hougoumont, which will be here in June." Dev stopped, swooping an arm in the direction of a narrow doorway. "In here. This is the place where I plan to buy a mattress."

Nick glanced around, frowning. "A mattress? I thought you said a mistress. I was interested to see where you would get one you had to carry home. I keep mine in her own house. So much more convenient." He stepped back. "I'll leave you with your mattress."

Dev put his fists on his hips. "If you've nothing better to do, you can help me carry it back to my lodgings."

"Through the streets?"

"Are you about to perform your dainty act?"

Nick gave a twisted smile, Dev paid, and Nick reluctantly a.s.sisted him in moving the mattress to the foyer of Dev's lodgings.

"We'll keep your business as your business," Nick said. "I've forgotten about your lofty relations, if that would suit you better."

"It would." Dev watched his formerly carefree friend leave, somewhat rea.s.sured that Nick couldn't mention the t.i.tle, since he appeared to know nothing about Dev's brother's demise. Dev dragged the mattress upstairs, with its proposed occupant in mind.

Wenna stood in the doorway of the spare bedroom. Twists of curls escaped the confines of her net, and wanton tendrils clung to the sweaty skin of her face and neck. From the moment he had met her, he had wanted to bed her. Seeing her with her hair loose and flying around her head had brought back memories of love and sunshine, laughter and happiness. He wanted those carefree days back.

However, those days would never return. Jenny was lost to him and Wenna was single-minded, opinionated, and a handful. She challenged him, but a diversion in his duty-filled life wouldn't go astray. "Did the bed arrive?"

"Just in time for the mattress," she said with the first real smile he'd seen from her. Her momentary happiness transformed her face. With her hair loosened, she looked younger, softer, and infinitely desirable She stood aside so that he could wrestle the mattress onto the frame.

The room had changed in the time he'd been away. The grimy lace curtain had disappeared, and the hot afternoon sun twinkled on the motes streaming in with the light. She'd covered a couple of boxes with a fancy tablecloth beside the bed. Black skirts and bodices lay across the other couple behind the door.

"The mattress is horsehair. I couldn't find anything else on the spur of the moment, but I have a couple of feather comforters in my room, under the bed, I think. You can use one."

"Do you also have spare sheets and pillows?"

"I do." He turned on his heel and grabbed a pillow off his bed and clean sheets from his bottom drawer.

"Your father sent you quite a trousseau," she said when he returned. "You could have been living comfortably if you'd deigned to look."

"That's my girl. Back to your usual critical self. Now, what's your next job for me?"

"Take those two boxes downstairs and then you can please yourself."

Judging by the distracted look on her face, he doubted she would let him please himself, and in lieu of bouncing her onto his bed, he resignedly hefted the two large heavy boxes to the kitchen.

Having worked as a maid most of her life, Wenna quickly made up her bed using the finest linen she had ever seen, monogrammed with the letter M twisted with flowers. Mr. Courtney disappeared into his uncomfortable little sitting room when he returned from downstairs. The story that his aunt had been the governor's wife might be true, judging by the quality of the goods his father had sent. The boxes had also contained silver candlesticks, crystal bowls, and flatware. Wenna had him move the tableware down to the kitchen, leaving her a nice room once she'd draped another lace tablecloth over the rod above the window. The dirty lace curtains could be washed tomorrow.

She hummed while she worked. This was the first time since her father died that she'd had a s.p.a.ce she could imagine was hers. If Mr. Courtney wasn't interested in the kitchen either, and he wouldn't be, she could make that hers, too, even if only for a few weeks. In the meantime, she wondered about her meals. Surely he would pay, since he had lost her three months' wages. Perhaps not, given that she'd already cost him a new bed and a mattress.

"Meals," she said, hovering in the doorway of the sitting room. "Do you have food in the kitchen?"

He sat at the desk minus his jacket and, with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to expose his sinewy golden tanned forearms, he looked more approachable and entirely male. Without a doubt, he was the most attractive man she had ever met, physically. Mentally, he left a lot to be desired, being irresponsible and entirely too casual about money and possessions. If he had spent part of his life with nothing, like she had, he might have been more careful.

He lifted his gaze from the stack of papers in front of him. "Normally, I eat out."

She sighed. "As I thought. I'm sure you'll never run out of gullible women."

"Unfortunately, I don't have a gullible woman awaiting me tonight," he said with overdone politeness. "I thought I would eat at The Pig and Whistle across the street, instead."

Hearing no invitation in his tone, she dropped her gaze. She must remember not to be so critical. At least she'd had a pie today. She wouldn't starve, and tomorrow she could buy food to keep in her room. Eventually she would have to break into the ten shillings she'd picked up with her clothes at the Brooks' house, but she would hold off as long as possible. "Do you mind if I use this sitting room when you're not here?"

He looked surprised. "Of course not. Use any room you like. Sit with me for a moment, because we need to talk about our situation."

She moved into the room, not knowing what to a.s.sume about him. "If we're going to be living together for a couple more weeks, we should try to get along. I'll keep the place tidy, because I can see you don't, and I'll cook meals if you pay for the food. I think that should work." She sat in an over-padded armchair, after moving a pile of papers onto the floor.

"Isn't that rather one-sided?" He had turned his chair to face her.

"You'll have me cooking and cleaning for you," she said, offended. "That should more than pay my way."

"It does pay your way. But should you pay your way when you're in this position because of me? Seems to me ... I should keep my mouth shut. I have a very good deal. A paragon like you-why is it that you are not married?"

"I don't need a man," she said, her jaw tight. Her father had wanted a houseful of boys. He had only been given a girl, who had from the start done her best to match up to his expectations. Then he died, and all his dreams for her and her dreams for herself had been put on hold while she worked with her mother to survive. "I'm perfectly self-sufficient."

"Though, as you said, you might not be able to get the job you want." He kept his eyes focused on hers. "When the story of last night is retold, and if I know Patricia it will be, you won't be described by name. You'll simply be 'the redheaded maid.' On the other hand, my name will be told, but my part in the whole thing will be glossed over. The chaps will wink and nudge me, and the ladies will pretend to be deaf." He meshed his fingers across his flat belly, his gaze a challenge.

She pressed her lips into a straight line. "And I'll be seen as the immoral one, not you, if Miss Patricia tells. I don't suppose a redheaded lady's maid will be employed for months." She kept her tone waspish.

"You could dye your hair black."

"Very amusing."

"Or you could marry me. I did offer to take you to Cornwall with a promise of more money and comfort than you've ever known."

She let her head fall forward, wearied by his ridiculous proposition. "Yes, you did say that."

"Now will you listen?"

She laughed wryly. "You might think me being unemployable is a joke-"

"I don't. I'm offering reparation. Would you grant me the honor of your hand in marriage?"

"It would serve you right if I said yes." She crossed her arms.

"It might serve us both right if you said yes. The fact of the matter is that I want a wife and child."

"The one usually follows the other, but if you want a wife, I'm sure you won't have any difficulty finding one amongst your own cla.s.s."

"I need a very special wife. One who wants to live in Cornwall. The red hair ..." His expression looked annoyingly charming. "Well, that's a bonus. I should tell you from the start that I wouldn't be marrying a woman who didn't have the first attribute. That's an essential. And the child. My family needs an heir."

"You are serious?" She stared at him, knowing he could find a hundred women who would snap up the chance.

"I'm proposing a marriage of convenience, you might say, but as convenient for you as for me. We'll both have what we want."

"I wouldn't be the only woman in South Australia who wouldn't mind living in Cornwall. It seems to me, you're s.n.a.t.c.hing at someone who would be a poor match for you."

"It seems to me that you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth."

She tried to read his face, but saw nothing but a man waiting for an answer. "When something seems too good to be true, it usually is."

His gaze remained unwavering. "You only need to ask yourself if you could...ah ... do the conceiving with me."

He sounded slightly hesitant; an act, no doubt. Any woman who wanted a baby would happily do the conceiving with him. Since her first sight of him, she'd been undeniably attracted, but not even close to losing her head. He was nothing but a credible rogue with an open-hearted smile that could charm the birds right out of the trees-the sort of man to keep at a distance.

"I think it's the conceiving act that interests you most." She must have looked suspicious, because he gave her a harmless smile. If he was speaking the truth...but of course he wasn't. Golden G.o.ds like him didn't marry scrawny spinsters like her. She rubbed the side of her neck and still couldn't think of a credible objection.

"What do you have to lose? Oh. Are you a virgin?"

She pressed her lips together. "I'm twenty-six."

"And truthful."

She gave him a quelling glance.

His shoulders rose and his mouth hitched up on one corner. "I want to bed you, Wenna."

"But you really don't want a wife."

"I really want a child. Legitimate."

She stared at him, puzzled. "An heir. To what?"

"My family estates in Cornwall." He tapped his fingers on the arms of his chair.

"So, you want to marry me, poke me, give me a baby, and take me off to Cornwall to live as happy as a pig among the daffodils?"

"Daffodils?"

She waved a hand casually. "Everywhere. Up the hills and down the dales. Green pastures full of daffodils and violets."

He laughed, filling the entire room with a joyous sound that somewhat fuddled her brain. "In private gardens, perhaps."

She didn't know what to make of him. He'd been kind since the carriage trip to town. He might not be rich, and he might not be moral, but he had certain qualities, one of which was optimism. She wouldn't mind if he spread some into her life. For years she'd thought she would be able to elevate herself and, despite only being a daughter, replace the successful son her father had hoped for, but this latest setback put that dream out of her foreseeable future.

"When are you planning this wedding?" she said, realizing a marriage of convenience would suit her, too. Love matches were only for the fanciful.

"I'll have to see about a special license first. Don't think me unenthusiastic, but it's been quite a day so far. I'd rather rest for a while and see what I can do tomorrow."

"Then, should I make a cup of tea?"

"The perfect way to pa.s.s time. The stove will be cold, though." He angled a query at her.

With another sigh, she rose to her feet. Having a task to perform gave her some direction. Now with a more immediate aim in her mind, she could mull his sincerity about marriage. She took the stairs down to the kitchen and entered a small room with another two doors in the far wall. A woodstove had been set against the wall between a working bench built with an indoor tap and a set of shelves containing a small pile of tumbled wood and a basket of kindling. Against the wall in common with the building next door sat a small wooden table with two chairs.

She stacked the kindling beneath the hob and lit a small fire. As soon as she'd added four thick twigs to the flare, she filled and placed the blackened kettle onto the hob. In a slatted food cupboard above the working bench, she found five chipped mugs, a brown teapot, a tin of tea, and a bag of sugar. Mr. Courtney had said he bathed, unlike the poorer people who didn't have the opportunity to do anything other than wash. Pleased, she opened the first of the two extra doors, built adjacent to the laneway at the back of the building. Here she found a hipbath, a large bucket, and a floor drain. Another tap would have been nice, but she'd spent her younger days in the country and knew how to cope with the bare necessities.

Behind the second door was nothing but a shelved storage area holding only the two boxes Mr. Courtney had moved from her bedroom and a few pots and pans. She removed a big black pot, which she put on the hob beside the kettle and filled with water. She hadn't had a bath in a week, but the water would take some time to heat. The kettle boiled, she made the tea, filled the two mugs and, with the basin of sugar balanced on top, took one mug upstairs.

"I put water on to heat so that I could take a bath. You don't mind, do you?"

He raised his gaze from his papers. "If you're heating water, I wouldn't mind a bath. This morning I had nothing but a cold wash." He accepted the tea and raised a palm at the sugar.

"I'll put on a second pan for you." She hoped he understood that she wouldn't use his bathwater.

He nodded. "The towels are with the sheets in the bottom drawer in my bedroom." His gaze went back to his papers, so she a.s.sumed she had permission to go into his bedroom for a towel.

When she opened his bottom drawer, she found his shoes resting on the towels and the sheets. Having agreed to work for her board, she opened each of his drawers to find a more suitable place. Shirts had been scrambled with trousers, and his trousers had been folded incorrectly. With an impatient click of her tongue, she occupied her time taking out his clothes, refolding, shifting his shirts, socks, and underwear to the higher drawers and his trousers and jackets to the lower. She found more clean sheets and towels scattered among his clothes. After piling the linen onto the bed, she decided his six pairs of handmade leather shoes should be in the lowest drawer, and the towels in the bathroom. She carried the linen into her small room for storage.

a.s.suming that by now her water would be boiling, she grabbed her clean underwear and towels, and hiked off down the stairs again. She spotted her cold mug of tea and drank the lot in a few gulps. The big pot of water was enough for her bath with the addition of another pot of cold water. Puffing after the exertion, she put a second pot on the hob. Making sure the door was tightly shut, she undressed, took his bar of soap from the window sill, and settled into the bath. Glorious. Somehow she wriggled right down and soaped up her hair.

And then she completely lost track of time. She opened her eyes to the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and had barely hauled herself out of the water before hearing a rapping on the door. She s.n.a.t.c.hed up her towel, covered herself, and opened the room to Mr. Courtney. "I would have called you when I had finished."

"I've never known anyone to take a bath for a full hour. I thought you might have drowned, either that or run off with my silver." He looked amused.

She flicked her dripping hair back from her face. "Call me a fool," she said, with the glimmer of a smile, "but given the choice of a bath or struggling under a box of silver, I would rather have a bath."

"I can't fault you for that." His face softened. "With your hair like that, dripping wet, you look like a mermaid."

She smiled cynically. He tried-she had to give him credit for that, at least, but she didn't look any better wet than she looked dry. "Give me time to dress. Then I'll prepare your bath for you."

"Wrap yourself tightly in that towel, take your clothes, and go upstairs to dress. I'll empty your cold water and prepare my own bath."

Since he'd already seen almost all of her, dressing modestly to leave the room would be a waste of her time, and so immodestly dressed, she did as he said.

After donning her blue gown again, and toweling dry her hair, she sat on her new bed, thinking. Now she'd left service, she didn't need to keep wearing her neat braid, or netting her hair. She'd invented a dozen different styles for three different ladies, but she'd never done anything interesting with her own hair. She tried a complicated knot on the back of her neck, but didn't know how she looked. She hadn't heard him return, so she went to his room to use the mirror.

She tried Miss Patricia's bigger hairdo, but her hair stuck out at the back and sides like a dry mop. Giving in, she combed her hair, plaited a braid, and gave herself a figure- eight knot at the nape of her neck-slightly different but not exciting.

She didn't hear him pad up the stairs. She almost leaped out of her skin when he suddenly appeared in his doorway dressed in nothing but a towel. In clothes, he was a golden G.o.d. In a towel, he was a Greek G.o.d. She glanced away. "I needed to use your mirror."

He dropped his clothes on the bed. "Don't let me scare you away. I know you won't look at me while I'm naked, and so I'm feeling quite safe."

"I don't feel at all safe while you're naked. I'll come back when you're dressed."