Page 49 of A Much Maligned Miss

“I told you it was ugly, so you can’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said, misinterpreting his reaction and picking up Remus to cradle him to her breast.

Gervaise washed and dressed while Caroline lolled in the bed with the cats. He spent far too much time contemplating the picture they made as he tied his cravat.

“Don’t feel like you need to venture out of our rooms, unless you really want to,” he heard himself suggest as he fastened his waistcoat. “Stay where it’s warm and entertain yourself.”

Caroline glanced around the bare room as though in search of some means to do so. “Alas, I did not even pack a book to bring with me,” she confessed.

“I’ll buy you some. Anything else?”

“A ball of yarn for the cats?” she suggested. “And perhaps a bigger mirror for the wall. You cannot even see your whole face to shave in the one we have.”

He did not intend they should remain in these four rooms for long but that was a subject to be broached another time. “What about sweets?” he asked instead. “Do you have a particular favorite?” When she looked blank, he guessed, “You do not have a sweet tooth. Perhaps then—”

“Oh, but I do!” she interrupted him. “Last Christmas the squire brought a box of crystallized fondant creams, and I was permitted to choose first from the box for a special treat. It tasted like absolute heaven. The most delicious thing I have ever tasted in my life. It had a sort of sugary shell on the outside and on the inside, it was fondant cream. Could you buy a box of those, do you suppose?”

She looked so excited by the prospect that his jealousy of the squire usurping his role dissolved in an instant. “Nothing could be simpler,” he replied, fighting down the instinct to demand to know why Squire Pebmarsh had wished to give her a “special treat.”

20

Disregarding Gervaise’s suggestion, Caroline did not stay in bed for long. She and the kittens grew bored with their surroundings, and she decided to get up. The only other gown she had with her was her burgundy day dress. She dressed with care, donning her chemisette, corded petticoat, corset, and woolen stockings.

Despite the rigidly plain style of the bodice and skirt, she liked this particular gown, for she’d always believed dark colors suited her best and she felt its dropped sleeves with epaulettes added a certain something to its otherwise plain appearance.

Alas, she had no adornment to complete the look, for she had left her pearl brooch and silver locket behind in her rush to escape Penarth. To compensate for this, she decided she would make a special effort with her hair. Whilst traveling she had been wearing it very neatly pinned in a coil at her nape.

Today, she would be more adventurous and sweep her hair up into a loose, “artistic” chignon. Mama was not here to call it slovenly and insist instead their maid Sophy pinned it high on her head or that she wore the sides tightly ringleted like some young miss, a thing Caroline detested and felt had not suited her since she passed one and twenty.

She would dispense with such missish styles altogether now. She was far too old and jaded for such hairstyles in any case. Feeling very daring, she eschewed the little sitting room and ventured downstairs with her new look. The kittens scrambled and leaped about the staircase as Caroline made her way down, empty teacup and saucer in hand.

At the foot of the stairs, she hesitated, waiting for the cats to catch her up. Then, ignoring the door to the scullery, she followed the hallway around until she reached the door leading out of the private quarters. It was not locked. Pushing it open, she let the cats precede her and then walked through into the wide and airy public rooms of The Citadel.

They struck her as no less awe-inspiring today than they had the day before. Gazing around her at the splendor, Caroline set her cup and saucer down on the bar and spent a good five minutes wandering around, inspecting the colored glass panels and etched glass. Everywhere she looked, something new and gorgeously decorated caught her eye.

Remembering the wall tiles she had wanted to take a closer look at the day before, she started toward the corridor leading to the billiard room when she heard the scrape of a key in a lock and heard a door swing open.

“Ever so sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Bailey,” she heard Effie apologize profusely. “Only we’re all at sixes and sevens today. Mr. Carstairs would be ever so cross if he knew I’d left you waiting on the step like that out in the cold.”

“Yes, well, it wouldn’t be the first time I have received such infamous treatment,” Caroline heard a deep voice reply. “I just hope you’ve brought along those models you promised. Carstairs was devilishly unimpressed with the two I brought along last time. Said they didn’t fit his blasted aesthetic. As if he had one! Jumped up little—”

“Ah there you are, Caroline luv!” Effie called out brightly. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down! Come over ’ere and let Mr. Bailey take a good look at you, then. My—er—other friend Violet should be here soon.” Effie turned and cast a desperate look out of one of the large bow windows. “Dunno what the ’ell she’s playin’ at!” she muttered in an aside.

Realizing the newcomer must be the artist she had heard about, Caroline started forward but found Remus winding his way insistently about her legs. Picking him up, she set him against her shoulder and took another two steps, only for Romulus to ambush her, tackling her ankles. Stooping down, she scooped him up too and approached the artist with both cats draped about her person.

Mr. Bailey was carrying several bags which he sat down squarely, narrowing his eyes at Caroline. “Step into the light,” he said sharply. “Now turn your head to the left. Now the right. Hmmm.”

He looked nothing like Caroline had always imagined an artist would look. Instead of looking vague and undernourished, he was a good-looking fellow with luxuriant whiskers and a tendency to embonpoint. His smart three-piece suit already looked a little too snug in the waistcoat area.

“Wot do you fink?” Effie asked anxiously. “Will she do, in a pinch?”

“The gown’s all wrong,” Bailey replied in clipped tones. “And I’d need to see the hair unbound. But there are possibilities. Distinct possibilities.”

“You think I look like the titaness Themis?” Caroline asked with interest.

“Themis?” the artist repeated. “Themis?” He snorted. “Certainly not! Whoever told you that?”

“No one, but that is how Ralph pictures The Citadel personified,” she explained. “He told me so himself.”

“Man’s a fool. Especially if he thinks you look like a titan,” he responded scathingly.