The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok #3) - Alice Coldbreath Page 0,51

put her back into it. To her delight, Una found the dresser was carved charmingly with intertwining leaves and flowers that were replicated on the matching trunk. The cabinet had beautifully painted doors with scenes of ladies walking beneath trees and embracing unicorns.

“Isn’t it lovely!” Rose had cried. “Why, I don’t remember ever seeing this before, though I suppose Granny must have shown it to me.”

“Where is your room, Rose?” Una asked.

“I took over my grandmother’s room in the servant’s quarters,” Rose told her happily. “It’s very comfortable, though not fancy like this one.” Una privately reflected that the housekeeper likely would have the best of the servant’s rooms, save perhaps for the steward.

“Do your parents live locally, Rose?”

Rose shook her head. “My mother and father died of a fever sickness when I was fifteen. I was only spared because I had left four weeks before to take up my post with Mrs. Gaventree. I have no one left now to me in all the world.”

When the mattress reappeared an hour or so later, it had been restuffed, and they set it on the bed and dressed it in the clean sheets. It looked so inviting to Una at this point, that she was tempted to simply fall onto it. Instead she sent Rose in search of a broom, and the twiggy threadbare thing she returned with was just about fit to sweep the mounds of dust out of the door and into the hallway.

Abelard was very disturbed by the appearance of the broom and Rose had to coax him out from under the dresser. “Poor little creature!” she exclaimed. “Why he’s trembling.”

“He has been very cruelly treated by his former owner, I’m afraid. He may likely have been struck with a broom,” Una reflected. “Perhaps you should take him up in your arms while I do this?”

Rose was happy to oblige and cooed and fussed over Abelard while Una finished sweeping. She had just finished when Armand strode back into the room carrying a steaming jug and basin, which he set down on the dresser.

“You, out,” Armand said briefly to Rose. “You can get down to the kitchen and start washing those pots.” Rose’s face crumpled, but she set Abelard down and fled after a quick curtsey in Una’s direction. “Well, you’ve worked miracles,” he said. “But now it’s time to wash and sleep.”

Una was frankly too tired to even think about disagreeing. When she fumbled with her lacing, he came over and helped her with an efficiency that made her wonder if it was not the first time he had helped a woman undress. She did not ponder it for long, however, as the hot water was too appealing. She washed with a thankful sigh, then crossed to climb into the high bed.

Abelard had curled up under one of the tall-back chairs and looked as comfortable as the nervous little dog ever did. She would have to make him a little blanket of his own, she thought, as she drew the covers up to her chin. Another item on her long list of things that needed to be done. Armand was now stripping, and she meant to wait for him to finish washing to inquire after Otho, but her head had no sooner hit the pillow, than she fell into a deep sleep.

When she woke, it was to the sight of Armand’s profile on the pillow next to her. He was fast asleep, his face relaxed in repose. Without his twinkling eyes on display and the smile that so frequently played about his mouth, he looked a good deal more daunting, despite his slumber. His jaw was firm and determined and covered now in dark stubble, for he had not bothered to shave. His brows were black and straight, and Una wondered she had not noticed these more formidable features before.

She suspected she had been distracted by those pretty eyes, which were some shifting shade between green and blue, like the ocean when the sun hit it on a summer’s day. Then too, there was that laughing mouth, she reflected, and the teasing quick words. When they were not in evidence, you noticed other things. Her gaze traveled over the expanse of his broad chest and the bulging muscles in those arms, one of which was tucked behind his head, the other resting beside her.

King Wymer had been right in thinking he was a fine figure of a man. She sighed and rolled on to her back, looking