The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok #3) - Alice Coldbreath Page 0,65
guests for supper?”
“No, no,” she hastened to assure him. “’Tis only …” Her words trailed off.
“What?” he asked. “Tell me.”
“Well,”—Una, fussed with the pleats at her beaded waistband—“’tis only that tonight will be the first night that we take supper with our whole household in the great chamber.”
“Whole household?” Armand asked, with a lift of his eyebrows.
“Otho hired Peter, Mr. Beverley, Mrs. Brickenden, and Janet today.”
“I have met Peter,” Armand said, “but who are the others?”
“Mr. Beverley is the cook.”
“Ah yes, I have heard of him,” Armand said dryly, turning back to the basin of water and scrubbing his neck with a cloth. “His reputation precedes him. Or should I say ill fame?”
“He is cooking for us tonight in any case,” Una informed him. “Mrs. Brickenden apparently will not be joining us until the end of the week, but Janet our new maid will be there.”
“Oh yes?” Armand did not sound particularly interested. “So, I am expected to put on a clean outfit to impress our servants, am I?” Una did not answer, and after a moment he turned to survey her. “Una?”
“No, of course not,” she said quietly and started to walk toward the door. She wasn’t sure how it happened, but somehow, suddenly Armand was stood in front of her, blocking her way. She blinked at him with surprise, for he moved with surprising rapidity for such a large male. He caught her wrist and held her arm out, surveying her dress of rich gold brocade.
Suddenly, Una felt foolish for putting on such a fancy gown. Was she making a spectacle of herself? She couldn’t quite meet his eye.
“Very nice,” he said slowly. “Well, if my wife is to be so fine, I can hardly appear below stairs in these old things, now can I?” She caught her breath and raised her gaze to his. He smiled. “Whatever you want me to wear, I will wear it.”
Una felt a rush of gratitude so strong, she could have kissed him. Then it flashed into her head that after what he had said that morning, she very likely should. Before she could change her mind, she surged forward and bestowed an impulsive peck on his lips, stepped back and would have hurried to fetch him a clean tunic, before realizing he still had a firm hold of her.
Una looked toward him questioningly, and he tugged her toward him. “Just a minute,” he said, drawing her closer and lightly clasping her waist. “I don’t want to get you dusty, but I need to know what that was for?”
“For … for giving me pleasure,” Una stammered, feeing she was on uncertain ground. “Is that not what you said I ought to do?”
He stared at her enigmatically a moment, before clearing his throat. “I suppose it was,” he said, sounding a little unsure himself.
“What about the burgundy tunic I made you?” Una asked eagerly. “With the matching chauses?” For a moment, she thought a look of displeasure flashed across his face, but it was gone so fast, she thought she must have been mistaken.
“Was not the gold legging ripped of that pair?” he asked.
“I mended it this afternoon.”
“Oh,” he swallowed. “Then yes, of course.” He smiled and Una felt reassured. He released her with a show of reluctance that was highly flattering and then started stripping off his black tunic and breeches.
Una crossed to the trunk and retrieved her handiwork, laying it lovingly on the bed for him, then hurried downstairs to see that Rose had set out the candlesticks they had retrieved from storage as she had bade her.
She need not have worried, for Rose seemed fully aware of the momentous occasion, or perhaps she just liked to see the room illuminated by candlelight, for by the time Una descended the staircase, the great hall had a blazing fire in its grate and at least fifty candles lit along the high table.
“Oh, you look beautiful,” Rose breathed, coming toward her, and taking her hands in what was no doubt a breach of etiquette, but Una found she did not mind at all. “What a lovely, lovely gown.”
“I made it myself,” Una told her, and Rose gasped with gratifying astonishment, encouraging her to turn full circle. Una happily complied.
“I so admire the sleeves,” Rose marveled, gazing at the long tips, which extended down to her knees. “And the matching cap. It all drapes so beautifully to show your figure to advantage. You must be extraordinarily talented with a needle.”