“Do with it what you like.” Noel heaved himself to standing, shucking his coat as he did so. He had never liked being dressed or undressed by a servant, so he proceeded to strip himself, handing his garments to Beale.
He padded into the bathing chamber. Dawn light crept through the curtain in the narrow window, and a low-burning lamp illuminated the steam rising up from his waiting bathwater.
“For God’s sake, Your Grace, don’t dally.” Beale pointed to the bath. “In you go.”
Noel grumbled, but he’d grown used to his valet’s high-handed ways. He stepped into the tub and sank down into the water with a groan. He ached everywhere—but the hot water couldn’t touch the hurt that burrowed deep in his chest.
“Bathe first,” Beale directed, “beefsteak after. Here.” He put a cake of soap into Noel’s hand.
Jess was everywhere. She surrounded him, engulfed him in her scent of honey and sunshine, and his heart leapt up with joy. Was she here?
“What the fuck is this?” he growled at the soap in his hand.
His valet paused as he straightened a stack of towels. “It’s from that farm you visited in Wiltshire. McGann? McGill?”
“McGale.” Noel lobbed the soap across the room. It hit the wall and slid to the floor. Yet the scent held to his hand, and he scrubbed at it. He lifted his hands to his face and inhaled. The smell of her clung to his skin. “Get me another goddamned soap.”
He never spoke to Beale so curtly, certainly not about something as inconsequential as soap, but anger and pain rose up as the scent held fast to him.
“Yes, Your Grace.” The valet opened a cabinet and pulled out another cake of soap. He held it out to Noel. “Will this do?”
Noel took the soap and breathed in its fragrance. It was his usual soap, purchased from a Bond Street shop, and perfumed with bergamot. “It’ll suffice.”
He worked up a lather and washed, his movements jerky and tight. Surely to Beale he seemed like the veriest madman, throwing tantrums over soap, but Noel was past the point of caring what anyone thought. He’d cared about Jess and her thoughts and feelings, and here he was, a wounded animal retreating to its lair to howl.
As he bathed, he made a silent vow. He’d gone through life carefully shielding himself from sycophants and flatterers, protecting himself from those that saw him as a resource to be exploited. He’d thought Jess different. Like a fool, he’d lowered his shields and failed to protect himself from both of them. And he paid the price.
Never again. He’d keep the world at arm’s distance, keeping everyone back. He had loved once, but he would not do so a second time.
He knew better now.
“Fred! It’s Jess! Come down at once,” Cynthia called up the stairs. She rushed forward as Jess took a weary step inside the house. “My dearest. What are you doing here? What has happened? Sit. You look fit to collapse.”
Her sister guided her to a chair at the kitchen’s long table. Jess lowered herself down into it, wincing at her stiffened joints. She’d jounced and bounced in the mail coach for hours, which wasn’t sprung nearly as well as Noel’s carriage. She had also been wedged between three other passengers on one side, her knees knocking against the passengers sitting opposite her.
The coach had driven past the entrance to Carriford. Jess’s head ached so badly she’d pressed a hand to where it throbbed. That pain continued here, in the kitchen she’d known her whole life.
“Have you eaten?” Cynthia asked.
Jess shook her head. “Not hungry.”
Her sister made a clicking sound with her tongue. “You’ll eat.” She bustled around the familiar kitchen, putting the kettle on the hob, pulling down a loaf of bread, and slicing cheese.
Heavy male footfalls sounded on the steps. Fred came into the kitchen wearing an expression of concern.
“What’s happened?” Fred knelt beside Jess’s chair and rested a hand on her head. “Oh, Jess, I’m sorry, but you look awful.”
Jess coughed up a weary laugh. “I feel awful, so you aren’t far off the mark.”
“Dearest, tell us.” Cynthia squeezed her hand.
Jess took a breath, and then related the whole story. Certain details were left out or alluded to. What happened between her and Noel in the bedroom—and conservatory, and larder—was secret. Yet she did tell her family that she’d been intimate with Noel, and that she’d taken his trust and ruined it with her machinations.