Page 31 of Marry in Scandal
She tugged the shirt off over Lily’s head and stepped back. Lily stepped into the bath and sank gratefully into the steaming water. It was bliss.
Lily wet a washcloth and picked up the soap Mr. Galbraith had given her. A hint of sandalwood, the tang of lemon, the warm fragrance of cinnamon. Clean, spicy, exotic. Essence of Edward Galbraith.
She scrubbed herself first from top to toe with the rough-textured washcloth, determined to remove all trace of her noxious adventure, then knelt in the bath and lathered herself dreamily with Edward’s delicious soap. The scent surrounded her, like balm to her bruised spirits.
Betty bustled about, draping towels over a stand in front of the fire and chattering happily. “Ma’s the best cook in the village, so we’ll soon have you feeling fine and dandy. Better’n your poor maid, I’ll be bound.”
Lily blinked. “My maid?”
“Broke her leg in the accident, Ma said.”
Lily recalled the story Edward had told the landlady. “Oh, yes. It was terrible, poor girl.”
Betty gave her a critical look. “Washing your hair, eh? Then you’ll want some of Ma’s special rinse. Puts a nice shine on your hair, it does, and smells lovely.” She leaned forward and sniffed. “Though not as nice as that soap.”
“Thank you, but there’s no need—”
She broke off as Betty poked her head around the door and shouted, “Jimmy, fetch us up some of Ma’s hair rinse! She’ll know which one the young lady needs.”
A few moments later a small hand poked a corked bottle through to Betty. “Here you are, miss, Ma’s special rinse. Famous in the village she is for her rinses.”
Full of misgivings about the greenish-yellow contents of the bottle, Lily resolved to find some tactful way of refusing the offer. She soaped her hair, then stood to let Betty rinse off the suds from her hair and body with a pail of clean, hot water. She bent over, wrung out her hair and put her hand out. “Pass me a towel if you please, Betty.”
“Not yet, miss. There’s Ma’s rinse to go, remember?”
“Oh, but I don’t think—”
Betty emptied the bottle over Lily’s bent head, patting it thoroughly through the wet hair with enthusiasm. The liquid was cold and bracing and made Lily’s scalp tingle. While Betty fetched a towel from in front of the fire, Lily sniffed her dripping hair cautiously. “Is thatberriesI can smell?”
“That’s right, miss. Ma uses blackberry leaves for this one. Nice, isn’t it? Funny color, I know, but it smells like a breath of summer. Once your hair’s dry you won’t hardly be able to smell it, though, but your hair will be nice and shiny.”
Wrapping herself in towels that were threadbare but clean and beautifully warm from the fire, Lily stepped outof the bath and dried herself in front of the fire, then turned to try on the clothes that Betty had fetched. What if they didn’t fit? Betty was a strong and vigorous country girl, and the only thing plump about her was her bosom. Lily would be mortified if the clothes were too small.
The chemise and petticoat were loose and shapeless garments. Lily sucked in her stomach as Betty fastened a corset around her and laced it firmly. Then she tossed the dress over Lily’s head and tugged it down. “It’s me favorite go-to-church dress, but Ma insisted you have the best, you being gentry and all.” Made of vivid red linsey-woolsey, it was embellished with cream satin bows, pulled in with a drawstring under the bosom and flared out at the hips.
“There you are, miss, it’s perfect on you. Pretty as a picture, you are.”
There was no long looking glass in the inn, so Lily had to take her word for it. The dress was a little snug in the bosom, the design was far from fashionable and she’d never worn such a bright color. Again she mourned the beautiful dress Miss Chance had made for her, with the elegant layers of gauze that skimmed her curves lightly and made her feel... beautiful.
But there was no going back. Her poor dress lay abandoned in muddy ignominy, miles back, somewhere beside the road. She would have to face Edward Galbraith feeling—and no doubt looking—like a colorful cushion, tied in the middle.
Betty was watching her with an expectant expression.
Lily gave her a warm smile. “Thank you, Betty. It’s a very pretty dress, and it’s very generous of you to lend it to me.” She slipped her feet into the slippers Betty had brought. They were a bit too big, but that was better than too small. She folded the thick woolen stockings so they doubled over her foot and put the slippers back on. That was better.
Betty gave a brisk nod of satisfaction, then stuck her head out the door and let out a piercing whistle. “That’s to let the lads know to come and fetch away that water. Then I reckon you’ll be ready for your dinner, won’t you, miss?”
Lily was about to respond when her stomach did it forher, rumbling noisily. Betty laughed. “I reckon you are, and all. You keep drying your hair by the fire, miss, and I’ll let everyone know you’re ready for your dinner.”
• • •
Ned sat on a bench in the stone-flagged taproom, sipping the landlord’s very decent dark ale. He’d written a note to Cal Rutherford but, not knowing the messenger, had taken the precaution of writing, if not in code, then in a manner Cal would understand. After their wartime experiences, such discretion was second nature to both of them. It might not be wartime, but the potential for scandal was real. If it reached Cal, he’d be reassured, but if the note fell into the wrong hands it would appear innocuous, and no harm done.
He’d share the unsavory details with Rutherford later; no need to distress him or his family any more than necessary. The girl was safe and would be home late tomorrow night, God and the state of the roads willing. That was all they needed to know.
He spoke to Baines, the landlord, who produced what he claimed was a reliable man to deliver the message to London. Hoping the fellow was indeed reliable, he handed over the letter and enough money to cover the cost of hiring horses to enable him to ride through the night. He promised him a handsome sum on delivery and told him the receiver would pay him a bonus if he delivered it by the morning. He’d added a postscript to Cal to that effect.
It was all he could do. Even if the messenger proved feckless, or irresponsible, knowing he’d sent a message would at least relieve some of the worry in Lily’s mind. In any case, barring any unforeseen circumstances, she’d be back in the bosom of her family by tomorrow night.