I hadn’t soaked in a tub up to my neck since Meredith House in Philadelphia the night before I boarded the Callisto. The sensation was heaven, even with one arm held aloft as I eyed the red welt that had appeared on the tender skin above my glove line. It still stung, though not so badly as when the young wretch first grabbed me. Blurred memories tumbled through my head of a pale dirty face, and the scrabble of small fingers up my arm.
I moved my arm closer and squinted at the mark. It looked like a burn of sorts, as though I had brushed the skin against a hot cauldron in my apothecary back home. Distracted by Henry, I hadn’t noticed a lantern or a coal box in the girl’s hands, or anything else capable of causing the wound. Stranger yet was the bitter cold that had accompanied her touch.
Confusion puckered my brow. “Impossible,” I breathed. Even if she had been carrying a handful of ice, frostbite would never have set in so quickly.
The door swung open, and Beth hustled in with a large towel draped over one arm. “Her ladyship asked that ye not dawdle for fear of upsetting the king.”
Nerves jolted me upright. Pushing to my feet, I stepped from the water, leaving all thoughts of the wretch behind.
Dressed in clean shift and stockings, I surveyed the various gowns that Beth had placed around the room at my request. Four were made of good silk and suitable for the occasion, if only they didn’t smell musty from being stored for so long in the bottom of my trunk. Four others were wool, much too informal for meeting the king, but having the distinct advantage of smelling much better.
I crossed the room to my favorite gown, ivory silk with a profusion of painted flowers. I sniffed one of the sleeves before dropping it in disgust. “Hang it all!” I huffed, “I’ve to choose between offending his majesty’s nose or his eyes!”
“This one’s not so bad,” Beth said, lifting a handful of rose silk. “I can sprinkle lavender water all over ye, and the king will think ye smell like a flower.”
I gave her a dark look. “More like a stink weed that has been left in the cellar for too long. Oh, very well, I’ve no other option. Bring it here and we’ll see what can be done.”
Beth was placing the last pins when someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” I called, my voice sounding as dispirited as I felt.
Cate appeared dressed in a coral silk gown, fitted over wide oval hoops. “Are you about ready?”
I nodded sullenly as Beth pushed in another pin. “Just this last bit, milady, and she’ll be done.”
With an appraising look, Cate crossed to where I stood. Mildew and lavender suffused the air around me, and I pretended not to notice when she leaned closer and wrinkled her delicate nose. “Gowns need time to air after being packed away for so long,” she said. “Not to mention a good pressing.”
I glanced down at my rumpled skirts. “Beth is still learning how to iron properly.” For once I thought Nora might have been right about my selection of maids.
“Hmmm.” Cate studied me as though I were part of an exhibit. Then she gave a mischievous smile. “He won’t like it, but I’m afraid desperate measures call for desperate actions. Come with me.” She turned, leaving me to follow in her wake as she marched down the hallway and into another room. Opening the door of an adjoining dressing room, she stepped inside, returning a moment later with her arms overflowing with gowns.
“Choose quickly,” she said, laying them out on the bed. “The king is not a patient man.”
There were five gowns in total, each one nicer than anything I currently—or had ever—owned. My pride bristled and I felt even more wrinkled, smelly, and just plain inadequate. Cate had already taken me into her home, the last thing I wanted was to wear her clothing. “You are very kind to offer one of your own gowns, but I should be able to find something of my own to wear. Maybe one of your maids can help Beth with the ironing.”
Cate laughed. “These are your gowns, Selah, not mine. Henry is sure to be cross with me for spoiling the surprise. He planned to show them to you himself this afternoon before he was called away.”
Dumbfounded, I looked at the pile of silk and brocade. “They can’t be mine,” I stammered. “Henry would know I couldn’t accept them yet.”
“Because such a gift is only appropriate for a wife?”
I nodded. No lady in her right mind would ever accept anything so intimate or expensive as clothing from a gentleman for the message it implied. “It’s not right. People will get the wrong impression.” They’ll think I’ve consented to be his mistress.
She placed a hand on my arm. “Selah, no one knows they are from Henry other than myself. He wrote down your measurements and the types of material to use and had me place the order under your name. He wanted you to be happy in London and not self-conscience while at court. I think he also enjoyed defying the king by doing something only a husband ought to do. It was a small way that he could begin preparing for your life together.”