Page 82 of His Illegitimate Duchess
“If you hadn’t gone around shooting people, you wouldn’t need my help to get dressed,” she huffed, feigning more annoyance than she truly felt. “And where has Stevenson run off to again?”
“He’s out,” Colin said and met her eyes unapologetically. “And I only go around shooting people, as you have so succinctly put it, if they insult my wife.”
“Oh, please,” Elizabeth frowned at him. “Your actions dishonoured me way more than my cousin’s words.”
Colin contritely averted his eyes.
He looked almost dangerous with his too-long hair, rather attractive beard, and his right arm in a sling around his neck.
“You need to shave,” she said sternly in order to hide the desire that had suddenly welled up inside her.
“I shall wait for Stevenson to return,” he said softly, and then looked up at her. “Unless you…?”
That is how Elizabeth found herself in front of a silver basin and two pots of hot water, preparing the soap to lather his face.
“Do I need to sharpen the razor?” She asked.
“No, Stevenson keeps it sharp,” Colin replied,
There was a tension in the air that felt familiar.
It reminded Elizabeth of the thrill of waiting for Colin to knock on her door during those first few nights in Norwich.
She gently combed his hair with his heavy ivory comb and then tipped his head back gently.
The way he looked up at her from where he sat was…
Elizabeth took a step back.
She lathered up his face with the soft brush and then started slowly and methodically shaving him. She ran her fingertips over his stubbled jaw and his Adam’s apple slightly more than necessary, and she could see his heart beating in his throat. Her own breathing quickened.
“What if I cut you?” She murmured to distract herself. “Perhaps I should scar you slightly, just a bit, to make sure you never ask for my help shaving again.”
When she lifted the blade from his face, he grabbed her hand with his left and kissed her palm.
“It would be a mark of honour and I would cherish it.”
She pulled her hand out of his and turned to the water-filled basin, more flustered by a kiss on the palm than a married woman should be.
“I think that’s good enough. Stevenson can go over any parts I’ve missed,” she said and hurried out of the room.
On the way downstairs, she met Stevenson.
“Where have you been all day?” she asked, somewhat crossly.
“First, I had to deliver a parcel to the Cleveland Street poorhouse. Then, I was sent to pick up new shirts for His Grace, ones that make it easier to get his arm in.”
“Why not send someone else? Anyone can deliver parcels or pick up his shirts, but not everyone can shave and dress him!”
The usually stoic man smiled in a way that could only be described as mischievous.
“Tonight after dinner, I am to search his study for a book by Aristotle that we both know is on his desk,” he said and then halted, as if debating himself whether to forge ahead with what he wanted to say.
“Madam, I dare say His Grace does this intentionally because he enjoys creating opportunities to be alone with you and to be taken care of by you.”
Elizabeth didn’t know how to respond to Stevenson’s uncharacteristic openness.
“I’ll get the book from his study after dinner. You help him dress for bed,” she said, gave him a brusque nod and all but ran down the stairs, not wanting to examine what exactly she was running from.
*
“How does it feel? On the inside?” Elizabeth asked after having felt a delicate fluttering under the hand that rested on Mary’s stomach as they sat side by side in the smaller parlour.
“Rather boring, mostly. When she doesn’t move, I almost forget she’s in there sometimes. And then, out of nowhere, she’ll hit me, like I’ve offended her with my carelessness,” Mary explained with her usual wit.
“She?” Lizzie smiled at her friend, who shrugged.
“I’m hoping and praying for my child to come into this world alive, whole, healthy, and safe, but I’m also praying for a girl, since I’ve always dreamt of having one.”
“What does Robert think of it?”
“Don’t ask. I’ve been so annoyed by him lately. Ma says it’s the babe. We shall see.”
“Poor Robert,” Lizzie felt for the kind man, but also knew that he was perfectly capable of handling whatever her fiery friend could rain on him.
“Poor I,” Mary retorted indignantly, but then they both burst out laughing, and Lizzie felt something in her chest ease. “Speaking of poor, tortured men, how’s your husband?”
It was Lizzie’s turn to feign indignation. Her husband was many things, but surely not poor and tortured. He was a villain, a scoundrel!
“That foolish man,” she said, feeling like she’d exhausted all she had to tell her friend about him.
“I like him more now than I did before,” Mary said seriously, “he’s becoming worthy of you.”
Elizabeth stared at the tiny pearls on the decorative pillow she’d been working on, trying not to cry.
Mary had always been unwavering in her earnest conviction that Lizzie was all that was good and dear and interesting in the world, and had always told her that any man would be blessed to have her for a wife.
Lizzie was surprised to find herself doubting her friend’s opinion less than ever before. How did that happen?
Mary sensed the change in her, so she nonchalantly added, “But if you want to leave him and scandalously abscond with my brother, I shall help you. I remember how you used to follow Thomas around,” she teased.
Red-faced with childish embarrassment, Lizzie fisted her hands and protested, “I did not!”
“Oh, but you did. For a while, at least.” Mary seemed on the verge of saying something else, but stopped herself.
Lizzie had always suspected that Mister Ed and Thomas had confided in their family about the events of that dreadful day in the Park, but none of the Barlows had ever directly spoken to her about it, and she was beyond grateful for that kindness.
It was as if they could sense the pain and shame the memory held for her and respected her need to keep it buried, lest it bury her. But ever since she’d confided in Colin about it, it felt like she’d drained an infected boil and had finally found some relief from the constant pain.
“You know why I stopped,” she found herself saying and looked up at her friend, who looked stricken.
“I do,” Mary nodded. “And I hope you don’t mind me saying that your Pa was a pig.”
The laugh that broke from Lizzie’s chest took her by surprise, and Mary grinned proudly.
Now that she had two people she cared about acknowledge that she had been wronged by her father, Elizabeth could start believing it herself, instead of always doubting whether she had somehow caused him to turn away from her.
“That, he was,” Lizzie agreed, and they went back to their needlework.
*
That night, after dinner, Elizabeth went into the library for the first time since the night before the duel.
As she remembered walking that hallway with Colin that night, a silly superstition struck her, and she started worrying that another horrible thing would happen after her visit, like it had last time.
She told herself she’d do things differently tonight, just in case. She kept her head down to avoid looking at the paintings and immediately went and sat down at Colin’s desk, which was surprisingly disordered.
“Aristotle,” she muttered to herself as she looked through everything.
On the desk, were three books (travel, logic, history), several pens and two silver inkwells, and several sheets of paper that looked like an unfinished letter, filled with writing that had been almost violently crossed out in several places.
Parts of the letter were completely blacked out.
He’d clearly been very frustrated while composing this.
Elizabeth couldn’t help herself; she felt she had to peek through this window into her husband’s mind. She quickly leafed through the papers, afraid someone would come in.
Dear Lord Speaker,
esteemed members of Parliament,
… horrifying conditions … gruesome injuries … under 9 years of age
misery & degradation … I am forever unable to look away
I implore you to vote for a Special Commission Inquiry … tour factories & mines
Reduce their hours and improve conditions
The fact that we, as a society, are used to something doesn’t make it morally right. Immanuel Kant argued that…
ALL CHILDREN DESERVE A CHILDHOOD
The last sentence was written in capital letters and underlined three times, like Colin was reminding himself as well as everyone else, like he wanted to scream that often forgotten truth out into the cold, unfeeling world.
Elizabeth had trouble breathing through her nose from all the crying.
She ran out of the study, Aristotle and her husband’s book long forgotten.
She retired to her bedroom without even wishing Colin a good night.
She was certain her face would betray what she had seen.
She cried herself to sleep, all the while thinking:
All children deserve a childhood.