Page 12 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

“Peters, Miss Josephine Martin and Nicolas will be our house guests for a while,” the viscount said. “Please see that they each have a room in the guest wing. Have a bath prepared for Miss Martin right away and see that she has a wardrobe. I believe Caroline’s clothing will suit for now. Let my mother know that we will be having our midday meal in the formal parlor. Have Cook prepare a splendid feast. There will be no boxing or sparring.” He grinned. “At least not today. We are all quite exhausted. Until then, see that our guests have tea, fruit, and bread delivered to their rooms.”

“Do ye have oranges?” Josie asked.

Apparently, that was not a polite question because Nicolas glared at her, and she didn’t miss that Peters’ eyes briefly widened.

“See to it that Miss Martin has oranges,” Lord Davenport said.

“Yes, sir,” Peters said.

“I ain’t Miss Martin. I’m Josie or Josephine. Coach calls me JoJo. But don’t nobody else call me that. And who is Caroline? If I’m gonna wear her clothes, I’d like to know who she is.”

Nicolas huffed.

“Caroline is my sister,” the viscount said. “She married and moved to the country with her husband about a year ago.”

Josie shrugged. “Guess I ain’t got a problem with that.”

Meddlesome rolled his eyes.

The man rolled his eyes a lot. Perhaps she should blacken them for good measure. She lunged into his space hoping he’d back away like a coward. Instead, he sighed and stood his ground.

“Now, now, children. Play nice,” the viscount said. “I am sure we will all feel better after a bite to eat and a couple hours of sleep.”

The viscount departed, leaving the butler—at least she thought Peters was the butler—to show them to their chambers.

After dropping Meddlesome off at the room beside hers, Peters ushered her into her chamber.

“I will see to your bath, clothing, and oranges.” Peters closed the door and left her to herself for the first time in hours.

The tear that trickled down her cheek was most likely from exhaustion and had nothing to do with the beautiful chamber because she was not missish or superficial. The walls were painted a light green, and hand-painted pink roses adorned every wall. The gilded headboard was higher than she was tall, and a dozen pillows and a soft blanket covered the bed. She toed off her slippers, digging her toes into the thick carpeting.

Was it wrong of her to be delighted with how lovely her chamber was? Perhaps, but she could enjoy it for a few moments. Couldn’t she?

“Yes,” she whispered.

She dashed across the room and leaped onto the bed. She bounced and then sunk into the plush bedding.

She was still giggling when someone knocked on the door. Before she could answer, a woman about her age entered, her arms full of colorful dresses.

“Miss, I am Diana. I’m to be your lady’s maid during your stay.”

Two other maids followed her, their arms also full of shoes, ribbons, and other accouterments. Within seconds, the peaceful chamber was a dizzying buzz. Two footmen lugged a tub beneath the window. She lost track of how many men carried water. Someone placed a tray of tea, bread, butter, and oranges on her dressing table.

Having never had a person attend to her bathing, Josie had no idea what to do with a lady’s maid, so she sent Diana away.

Once she was alone, Josie peeled off her shapeless round gown and chemise. She unwrapped her breasts, moaning her relief as they bounced free of their tight bindings. Grabbing an orange, she carried it to the tub. Fruit in hand, she sunk into the steamy bathwater.

Although she did not believe in miracles, she decided she might just change her tune because this was sublime magic.

Chapter Six

Since Nicolas wastoo stressed to rest, he borrowed Davenport’s carriage and retrieved his belongings, which included his precious journal, from the inn at which he’d been lodging. He’d had to quickly wash and change into clean clothing in order to make it to the midday meal on time.

Hiding his exhaustion behind a smile and a lively step, he entered the dining parlor.

Davenport sat at the head of the table, looking well-rested. The lucky blighter had probably drifted off to sleep like a content infant.

“Hello, old chap. Hope your chamber is to your liking,” Davenport said.