Stephens showed her the way as the servants disassembled to begin unloading the trunks. She was brought to a large expanse of open green to the west of the manor house, and she unclipped Henry’s lead.
“Have at it, boy,” she said, scratching his head.
He took off the instant he realized he was free, streaking out across the green lawn. He circled her several times until he fell at her feet panting. Stephens brought him a dish of water that he lapped up immediately.
“Thank you, Stephens,” she said.
The air whipped at her as she stood there, and her eyes drifted toward the blackness she’d seen from the carriage.
“Is that the ocean over there?” she asked the butler.
“Indeed, it is, Your Grace.” He seemed not at all perplexed by her question.
“I’ve never seen the ocean,” she nearly whispered, her eyes mesmerized by the darkness, hoping to form some sort of shape out of its inky blackness.
Stephens said nothing, and she called to Henry to follow her.
Ashbourne Manor was not at all what she’d expected. She’d heard rumors that houses located along the shore were fraught with mold and moisture, but Ashbourne Manor was resplendent in marbles and gilded metals. Sconces were lit along the length of the vestibule, illuminating the vast expense of the central staircase that swept up to the balcony of the upper floor. Rooms dissolved to her left and right, and the corridors disappeared into darkness.
There was no sign of Ashbourne.
She turned to Mrs. Donnelly who stood waiting to take her things.
“I should like a tour in the morning,” she said.
Mrs. Donnelly hesitated the barest of degrees, and had Eliza not been looking directly at her, she may have missed it.
“Yes, of course, Your Grace,” the small woman said.
Ashbourne should have been the one to guide his wife about the estate, and he should also have been the one to introduce her to his servants. It needn’t matter. She was looking forward to a long soak and a good meal.
Henry trotted along beside her as Mrs. Donnelly took her up to her rooms.
“These are not typically the duchess’s rooms, but His Grace said to give you a suite facing the ocean,” Mrs. Donnelly explained.
Eliza started at the mention of Ashbourne, but Mrs. Donnelly was already opening a door and disappearing inside.
Eliza stepped in behind her to find herself ensconced in luxury. The floors were covered with thick colorful rugs, the walls hung with a delicate cream paper, and opposite the door, the wall was alive with windows. They were dark now and most had their drapes drawn, but she knew what she would find come daylight.
She paused just inside the door to take it in, anticipation tingling at her fingertips. The light here would be resplendent, and there was a beautiful desk pressed just under the windows in one corner. She could set up her watercolors there. A sofa was already positioned in front of the fire, and Henry sniffed it out dubiously before deeming it acceptable and scampering up onto it.
“Excuse us, Your Grace.”
She jumped at the voice behind her and tripped aside as a parade of footmen carried in a great copper tub and steaming buckets of water. Mrs. Donnelly placed a stool and some fluffy towels beside the fire to warm, just within reach of the copper tub.
“I shall return momentarily with your supper,” she said as she followed the footmen out.
The door closed softly, and finally, Eliza was alone again.
She sighed in relief, reaching up to tug at her bonnet’s bow. She was shed of her clothes within minutes and gingerly tested the bath water with a single toe. Finding it more than comfortable, she slipped inside the great tub, allowing it to swallow her up. She laid her head back, closing her eyes against the exhaustion.
She soaked for some minutes before turning to scoop up the pad of soap Mrs. Donnelly had left. Carefully, she tugged at the remaining ribbon in her hair, letting the mass dip into her bath water as she began scrubbing the road dust from her person.
When the sharp knock came minutes later, she didn’t hesitate, anticipating what delicious food Mrs. Donnelly had hopefully brought.
“Enter,” she called, passing the pad of soap up her arms and inhaling the scent of roses.
“I do hope you’re hungry. Mrs. Donnelly has sent up a reputable feast.”
She shrieked and dropped the soap at her husband’s voice. She scrambled to both sink in the water and cover herself at the same time.
Henry bounded off the sofa at her scream and trotted over to Ashbourne with a soft growl.
“Ah, yes, Sir Henry. I had concern you had not been fed as well.” Ashbourne ignored her completely, scooping up a rounded pottery dish from the tray and placing it on the floor. “The stable lad assures me this is the best combination for a healthy hound. I do believe there’s even a duck bill in there, old boy.”
Henry pounced on the bowl of food before Ashbourne had it set fully on the floor.
Finally, he straightened and turned, bestowing her with an innocent smile.
“Shall I help you finish your bath before we sup?”
He had every intention of making this as enjoyable for her as possible, but the moment he saw her in the tub, soap clinging to her bare shoulders, her waves of lush hair loose about her, he realized he’d made a grave mistake.
He turned to the tray of supper he’d brought up for them, hoping to distract himself.
“I believe Cook has prepared an entire hen for us. Her gravy is remarkable. I really have had nothing like it.” He kept his voice as even as possible, though the last thing he was thinking of was gravy.
He wondered how soft Eliza’s skin must be. What it would be like to trail the soap along that same bare shoulder, take in the deep scent of her as he washed her hair. He straightened away from the table.
There was no reason why he shouldn’t after all.
He went to rolling up his sleeves and made his way over to where she sat frozen in the tub. He’d discarded his outer garments upon his arrival. He was lucky he’d made it there so far ahead of her and the carriage. He’d had time to instruct Cook on what to prepare for their supper and to have the footmen carry up the sofa from the sewing room below. It was the most generous sofa in the house, and he hoped Henry enjoyed it.
He bent beside the tub, fisting his hands along the side when all he wished to do was wrest her from the tub and carry her to bed.
Her eyes were wide, and small rivulets of water made their way down either side of her face.
He reached up, unable to help himself, and pushed back a lock of hair. He didn’t miss her nearly imperceptible flinch.
He paused for a moment and then carefully extracted his hand.
“Are you able to see or would you like me to fetch your spectacles?”
He thought the question would soothe her, but she reared back in the tub.
“I can see. It’s things far away that are out of focus.”
He studied her face. He hadn’t been this close to her in the light, and he enjoyed being able to drink her in. Her eyes were just a touch too small for her face, and her nose came to a gentle hook. Her lips were overly thin, but he recalled all too clearly how they tasted.
He reached behind him for the pitcher Mrs. Donnelly had likely left.
“Shall I help you rinse your hair?”
She shook her head so violently sprays of water shot from her head.