get away to do that. Best to wait until all was signed and sealed and he was sure of the cottage that would be their home.
If he could get her to Derbyshire.
James gave him a look, and Ethan realized he was standing stock still with a handful of forks. Hastily, he began setting them out.
He hadn’t told Lucy about his idea of trying to bring their master and mistress together. Partly, he worried she’d object, and it was the only plan he had. Partly, he had no notion how he was going to manage it, and he didn’t want a rash of unanswerable questions. She’d just disbelieve him then. He’d do it, somehow, because he had to. He’d figure out the details some other time.
For now, he just wanted to think of them married and snug in their new home. Then they wouldn’t have to crouch on a rickety garden bench, fearing the sound of an opening door. Ethan lost himself in memories of their kisses, the feel of her body under his hands. He wanted her as he’d never wanted anything in his life.
“Watch it,” said James.
Ethan had nearly walked right into him. With a mighty act of will, he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand.
***
Charlotte, Tess, and Lucy did get the curtains hung before Sir Alexander arrived. He didn’t see them, however, as he went directly to the locked room at the back of the house that had been Henry’s domain. Lagging behind, Charlotte heard the key turn. Even more than the main floor, she’d been ignoring Henry’s bedchamber as she transformed the house. It let her pretend he’d never existed. Today, she would have to think of him again.
Of course she was curious, and acutely aware of how strange it was—never to have seen the inside of her husband’s bedchamber. But facing the open door, she mainly felt the sinking sickness that had plagued her so often over the last year. Ingrained habit told her that she would be publicly humiliated if she attempted to enter that room.
Charlotte shook herself and stepped forward. It was dim inside. Sir Alexander pushed back draperies on the back window and then the side, and Charlotte gaped. It was as if she’d left her home, her country, even her time, and been transported to a distant realm.
Against the inner wall stood a small bed that looked more like a table; she recognized the Roman style from a book Henry had once shown her. A carved wooden chair occupied the near corner, a huge terra-cotta urn the far one. But most amazing were the murals. In faded reds and blues and yellows, on every wall and the ceiling, they showed scenes of Roman life—men in togas, vineyards and olive trees, vistas of ancient streets. Each panel was set off by painted columns and arches that mimicked the architecture of another sort of building altogether. The wooden floor had been tiled in a mosaic style showing sea creatures. The only modern element was the heavy draperies, of a red so dark as to be hardly red at all. Oddly, for all the color, the room seemed stark and cold.
“Where did he keep his things?” she wondered aloud. “There’s no wardrobe or…”
“Here,” said Sir Alexander.
Briefly, Charlotte was confused as to where he’d gone. Then she realized that the room was narrower than the one on the opposite side of the hall. She hadn’t noticed at first because the murals confused the eye, but part of it had been walled off.
A small door, painted like the walls, led to a narrow dressing room crowded with a wardrobe, chest, and shaving stand. The space was tasteless and strictly utilitarian. There was no window.
Sir Alexander had lit candles. One drawer sagged open. “Holcombe took some neckcloths,” he said.
Charlotte turned back to the Roman bedchamber. All of this must have been done before she arrived in the house. No wonder Henry had needed money. It must have been very expensive. She looked at the painted trees, the faked stonework. Here was Henry’s secret life, his sanctuary, she supposed. She felt no connection, no chord of sympathy. Why set your heart on a lost time and society, long past all warmth and life?
“We should go through the clothing, check the pockets,” said Sir Alexander.
Charlotte returned and opened the wardrobe. Here were Henry’s coats, dark and sober, hardly less stiff than when he’d worn them; the scent of him wafted out, and she almost felt faint. She