He lifted my hand and studied it. The skin was cracked and raw from the lye. Dirt was everywhere, especially under my nails. There was a long cut I didn’t even remember getting. Releasing the hand, he sighed.
“Hey, now. Don’t so sound so dejected,” I told him. “It’s nothing some moisturizer and a little soap—real soap, not that cursed stuff Mistress Marshall made—won’t fix. I’ll be back to my same old beautiful self in no time.”
He turned me to face him. The afternoon sun lit him up, turning his dark auburn hair to fire. “You’re already your same old beautiful self. Maybe even more so than when I first met you. I think about that day a lot, you know. I remember every detail. I remember that dress you wore—blue satin with rosebuds on the sleeves. And every curl perfectly arranged. I’d never seen anything like you. Lady Witmore, Countess of Rothford.” He sighed again. “And now look what I’ve brought you to. If I hadn’t darkened your doorway that day, where would you be now? Certainly not in the middle of nowhere, scrubbing some farmwife’s house while desperately hoping your heretic husband can scrape together enough money to buy us both out of suffocating contracts. You’d have been married in silk, on the arm of someone whose bloodline matched yours. You’re still like nothing I’ve ever seen, and you’re the first thing I think of when I wake up each morning . . . but sometimes, well, I’m just not sure if I’ve improved your life or made it worse.”
I looked him over. Like me, he was dirty and disarrayed, his workman’s clothes a far cry from the brocade vest and amber pin.
“You saved my life,” I told him. “And I don’t need silk.” I pulled him toward me, and we met in a kiss. The world around me was golden. I was warmed by the sun, his embrace, and the joy building up within me. There was no dirt or fear or complication—only this perfect moment with him. “Now,” I said. “Show me around your house.”
His house consisted of one room. A battered, tiny stove in the corner provided both heat and cooking, though he didn’t have much in the way of food. There were two chairs and a table about the width of a bookshelf. His bed was a hay-stuffed mattress on the floor—which was packed dirt, just like the Marshalls’. I tapped my foot on it.
“I know how to sweep this if you need help.”
He shook his head. “This whole place needs help. Do you want to see the rest of the property? I can even show you the basics of panning. I haven’t been able to do much with it while working on this place.”
I hesitated. I did want to jump in and start earning the money to pay back Warren. And desolate or not, this claim and its view were beautiful. I wouldn’t have minded exploring them.
“Mostly I just want a bath,” I blurted out. When he started laughing, I put my hands on my hips and attempted an affronted look. “Hey, some of us haven’t been able to sleep out in the rain. Apparently baths are only for Saturdays at the Marshall house.”
It was worth the teasing in his eyes to see the old, genuine smile back. He caught my hand again. “Come on. I think that can be arranged.”
“Is there a luxury bathhouse on your property?” I asked hopefully.
There wasn’t, but there was a small pool—more of a pond, really—not far from a bend in the Mathias River. It appeared to be fed by some underground source, which wasn’t surprising given the river’s meandering and branching nature. A few trees grew around the pond, offering a little shade on the increasingly hot day.
“I know it’s not what you’re used to,” Cedric said apologetically. “But given the circumstances, I figured—wait, what are you doing?”
What I was doing was stripping off my clothes. I didn’t care that I couldn’t see the bottom of the pond. I didn’t care that I had no soap. I didn’t care if the neighborly prospector came strolling by and saw. And I certainly didn’t care if Cedric saw.
I left my clothes in a pile on the thin grass and waded into the pond. The afternoon might be warm, but the water was still cool and welcome after days of grime and sweat. I didn’t stop until the water was just below my shoulders, and then I dunked my head under in a feeble effort to clean my hair. When I emerged, I pushed the tangled mess back and looked around. Cedric still stood on the grass, his back to me.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Come in here.”
“Adelaide! You’re—”
“—perfectly respectable, I swear.”
“Is that a creative definition of respectable?” But he dared a peek back, looking relieved that I was mostly submerged.
“Come in here,” I said again. “You could use a bath too. Besides, didn’t you see all this that day in the conservatory? Look, I’ll even turn around.” I did and waited until I heard the sound of splashing as he too entered the water.
“You know,” he said, “you keep bringing that up, but I actually didn’t see anything that day. I was so terrified that I pretty much looked everywhere but at you.”