He grinned. “I was. I am. But I remembered in all the bustle of getting the house ready for the guests that you might not have everything you need.”
“I’m sure—”
“Let me see your dresses,” he interrupted. “All of them.”
My flush turned from one of desire to one of embarrassment. Though I knew that Mr. Markham had exchanged letters with Wickes and knew the precise details of my impoverishment, something about laying out my three outdated dresses was especially humiliating.
Seeming to understand the source of my hesitation, he said, “This is not to shame you. But in a few days, we will have many guests. There will be dinners and picnics and long evenings in the parlor—maybe even some dancing. You are under my care, and your material goods reflect on me. If we need to order you new dresses, then that’s what shall happen.”
There seemed no point to arguing the matter. Either he would see them now or he would see them when I wore them after the guests arrived. I brought out the three dresses—one nice black silk that I had worn to Thomas’s funeral, the faded green lawn, and a calico that I’d inherited from the curate’s sister back home. These, in addition to the dress I wore, were the only things I owned.
Mr. Markham surveyed the clothes. “Could your brother truly not afford to keep you better outfitted than this?”
As always, I felt the need to defend Thomas. “He was often traveling on business, and I didn’t like to bother him with such petty requests.”
“You mean he was away gambling and carousing.” Mr. Markham didn’t wait for me to respond. “I know all about your brother’s habits. Needless to say, if you had been in my care, I would have never so neglected your company or your upkeep. But regardless, you are in my care now, and I will see this rectified. Expect the seamstress tomorrow.”
He stood and I moved in front of him before he could walk to the door. “Mr. Markham. You have already been beyond generous by inviting me to stay with you. You know I can’t importune you any further, as I don’t foresee any way that I could ever hope to pay you back. If my wardrobe is an object of ridicule among your guests, then that is my problem, not yours. I assure you, I’m used to being poor.”
“It is my problem,” he said, “because you are under my roof and I have accepted responsibility for you.” He rubbed at his forehead, more agitated than he’d let on. “Under what domain will you allow me to contribute? We are family, are we not, through marriage? Or perhaps simply as your benefactor? I don’t care what you have to tell yourself to accept them, but you are wearing the dresses I order for you, if I have to come up here and lace you into them myself.”
“I’d like to see you try,” I shot back.
“Oh, wouldn’t you like that, wildcat? If I had to come up here every night and strip you down?” His hands found my arms. “If I had to wrestle you until you were subdued and willing?”
My breath was coming faster now, imagining how such a scenario would end—with bites and moans and sweat. “Who’s to say I wouldn’t win? Perhaps you’d be the one subdued, Mr. Markham.”
“We’ll never find out unless we try,” he said, a touch mischievously.
There was a moment that consisted only of us breathing, looking at one another, both thinking the same wicked thoughts.
Then he removed his hands from my arms. “Will it make you feel better,” he asked with a sigh, “to know that the expense of the dresses will barely be noticeable in my ledger? I kept Violet clothed in all the latest and finest while we were engaged—several new purchases a month—and even that was easily affordable to me. As a widowed man without children, I have much more money than I know what to do with. So please. It will cost nothing to me and it will make me immensely happy to help you.”
I could not even conceive of a wealth so vast that the purchase of several dresses a month would seem like a drop in the ocean. I saw his point, and yet… “It is only that I don’t like to be indebted to people,” I said. “And
I am already so much in your debt.”
His green eyes were dark, almost black, in the lamplight. “Then we will have to work out a way for you to pay me back.”
I liked that idea very much.
The seamstress indeed came the next day, all the way from Scarborough. She took my measurements, warning me that only two or three dresses would be done by the time the guests arrived, but that she would rush the rest of the order and hopefully get more to me next week.
“And exactly how many dresses are in the order?”
“Twenty-three,” she said without batting an eye.
I was staggered. That was double the number of dresses I’d owned in my entire life.
“Mr. Markham has picked the patterns and fabrics himself,” she continued, wrapping a tape around my waist and then scribbling on a scrap of paper. “You will be quite pleased.” If the seamstress knew of my impoverished state, she didn’t say anything, but when I shifted my feet to hide the holes in my stockings, she did mention that Mr. Markham had also thoughtfully ordered me new undergarments as well.
Later that morning, I accompanied Gareth once more to town, and when word got around the house that I had some experience gardening, I was pressed into service gathering fresh flowers and greenery to fill the guest rooms. Mr. Markham was absent—he’s gone away for business, Mrs. Brightmore had informed me curtly when I’d asked—and I felt as if the day were meaningless without him there, as if the possibility of talking to him was the only thing that kept me grounded in reality. Instead, I spent my spare time roaming the woods, swimming and daydreaming. Everywhere I walked, every place I swam, I harbored the secret wish that he would appear out of thin air as he had before.
He didn’t.
The next morning came, dawning warm and golden. I realized I’d been in the house almost a week. Such a paltry amount of time, and yet what had happened in that week. Meeting Mr. Markham, learning more about Violet, being touched in such new ways…
I decided to go swimming again, partly to cool off and partly because I hoped that by recreating the other morning, I could somehow conjure Mr. Markham from thin air. It didn’t work, but I felt refreshed and content as I emerged from the pool. The morning sun had burned off the fog and the day promised to be hot, although a line of dark clouds in the distance augured rain later. I gathered my things and went back up to the house, pausing in the gardens behind it to gaze at the blooming flowers and beating butterflies.
