Page 28 of The Spy and His Lady Love
Once settled inside the black carriage with the Newbury ducal crest, Penelope’s new husband draped a soft blanket over her lap. “I realized today that you have never seen Newbury House.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“It’s close to Wentworth Manor on Piccadilly. During the past several years, since becoming duke, I’ve spent little time looking at or thinking about the décor. My housekeeper, Mrs. Mere, will be the first to say the house needs updating. Just say the word and I will have the house inundated with decorators and carpenters.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“See, we have arrived.”
Indeed, they had, and her eyes widened at the home. Even in the shadow of darkness she got the impression of a large, stately manor. It would be nice to see it in the light of day.
“What is your first impression?”
“Large.”
Deep throaty laughter bounced around the carriage. “That it is.” The driver opened the door, let down the steps. He held out his hand to Newbury, and he waved him off. “I can manage myself.” Penelope tried not to worry that even one misstep would have him tumbling to the crushed stone granite of the drive. She sighed with relief when he landed, turned toward her and held up his hand. “Your Grace.”
Their hands touched, both covered with gloves, and yet it was as though the contact was bare skin to bare skin. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Would you like an introduction to the staff tonight or in the morning when you’re refreshed from sleep?”
Sleep? Would she be able to sleep? “The morning would be wonderful.”
“Morning it is.”
After removing his overcoat, hat, and gloves, helping her with her cloak and hat, Newbury escorted her up a beautiful wooden staircase with intricate wrought-iron railings. At the top it curved, veering off in two directions. They headed to the right and near the end of the hallway he opened a large wooden door with a curved top. “These are your rooms. I hope they’re to your liking. I believe your maid has arrived and unpacked your things. I’ve ordered a small tray to be sent up in an hour. I hope that’s sufficient time before I join you?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will leave you to your privacy.”
Penelope entered the room, and Newbury closed the door after her. The room glowed under the candlelight, highlighting the shades of blue and cream. It wasn’t overly feminine, nor masculine. Somewhere in the middle and Penelope found she liked it. There was an enormous tester bed in mahogany against a wall with small tables on each side. There was a rather extensive wardrobe and a perfect-sized writing desk, which would serve as her dressing table as well. Clarisse had already placed her brush and hand-held mirror on the polished wood. In the far corner stood a privacy screen. On the back wall, a brick fireplace roared with flames. The room had the chill and dampness indicative of being closed up for far too long.
She was just about to explore her sitting room behind the French doors when her maid entered carrying a box. “I’ve brought you a gift from the Duchess of Wentworth.” She placed the box on the blue and cream paisley coverlet.
Penelope’s fingers gently removed the cover, spread the tissue paper to the side, and she gasped. With trembling hands, she removed a thin, nearly see-through pale yellow night rail and matching robe. The linen fabric was the softest she’d ever felt. There was only one problem, she would be nearly naked wearing it. Newbury would be able to see…everything. Obviously, Emma’s plan. What a naughty sister-in-law she had. Tears sprang to her eyes. She missed her already. How would she ever survive living here without her newfound-family? She drew her strength from them on a daily basis.
“Your Grace.” Clarisse handed her one of her monogrammed handkerchiefs. “May I assist you in preparing for bed?”
Penelope couldn’t find her voice as tears clogged her throat. Ever since she first became betrothed to Newbury, she’d become a watering pot. And she didn’t like it one bit. “If you’ll undo the back of my gown, I can manage the rest and you may retire for the evening.”
Clarisse began the tedious task of unbuttoning all the tiny seed pearl buttons. “There, every last one unbuttoned. There is fresh, warm water, soap and towels behind the screen.” She curtsied. “Good night, Your Grace.”
“Good night.” Her time of reckoning had come. She removed her lovely wedding dress and painstakingly hung it up in her wardrobe. She removed her petticoat, chemise, and pantaloons, draped them on a chair and hurried behind the screen to wash up. “Drat, I left my night clothes on the bed,” she said out loud. Wrapped in a towel she made her way to the bed and quickly slid the night rail over her head, did up the laces and swore she’d felt nothing finer against her naked skin. Next came the beautiful robe. It had a string that tied at the neck. She moved to the full-length mirror, her eyes bugging out of her head. “This won’t do,” she murmured. “My nipples are showing and the patch of hair between my legs.” She walked to the wardrobe, threw open the doors, and grabbed a white wrap. She swung it around her shoulders, letting one side hang longer than the other. She looked into the mirror again. “Better.”
“What’s better, my dear?”
Startled, she spun around and found her husband standing in the doorway grinning at her. He’d changed as well. Wore trousers and a loose-fitting shirt that went over the head and tied in the front. Only the top of his shirt wasn’t tied closed, it was open, showing his chest, sprinkled with dark hair. She swallowed when she glimpsed his bare feet. Using his cane, he hobbled her way. “I ask again. What’s better?”
“Nothing.” She stood there not knowing what to do with her hands, or any other part of her body.
“A tray has arrived. It’s in my sitting room.” He pointed his cane. “Please join me.”
“I was just about to undress my hair.”
His one eye narrowed, and he looked inquisitively at her. “Allow me.”
Penelope sat at her dressing table and stared into the reflection in the looking glass as one by one Newbury pulled the real flowers from her hair. Each slightly wilted petal made its way to his nose where he inhaled. When the flowers were gone, he plucked the pins. His hands were surprisingly gentle and adept. When her hair fell to her waist, he spread his fingers through it, seeking any pins he’d missed. The whole time he worked, her head tingled. Her eyes followed every move his large hands made. When he declared he’d gotten all the pins out, he picked up her brush and ever-so-gently stroked it through her hair. Her eyes were riveted to his hands as he worked the tangles out of her hair and then brushed it to a lovely sheen.
