Page 73 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
Chapter 15
Abarrelof a man with his sleeves rolled up—the innkeeper surely—was smiling at her. “Ach. Here is the lass,” he said.
She heard rustling and saw Mabel and Jenny and Johnny crowd in behind her.
“Who gives this woman?” the innkeeper asked.
“I do.”
The words had come from Kincaid. She had no time to be startled though, because he was handing her off to Mr. Gibson, and the look in her groom’s eyes all but melted her.
The rest was a whirlwind of breathless promises, hearty good wishes, and brimming toasts that included their servants and those of the inn. But no other inn guests, as there seemed tobenone.
She had no time to ask questions though. This time it was Mabel and Jenny who whisked her away to a chamber where a huge bed held center stage and a hot bath had been drawn.
Mabel took the tartan cloth from her, and Jenny started on her lacings.
“Do stop a-trembling, Polly.” Mabel folded the cloth. “T’isn’t cold in this chamber. A body would think you were nervous.” She laughed and traced a finger on the intersecting colors. “This plaid is lovely.”
“Mr. Kincaid’s gift. His family tartan.”
“Is it then? It’s very Scots, don’t you think?”
“It is.” She pulled the bodice down and stepped out of the gown. “Help me out of these stays. I so need a bath. Where is your chamber? You must have them bring you hot water—”
“Never you mind, miss.” Jenny unrolled Paulette’s stockings. “Now off with the chemise and into the water. I’ll take your things to be brushed and Mabel will do the rest.”
“Go with her, Mabel.”
“I’m not scared, miss. Mr. Kincaid promised we’ll all be safe here.”
The door closed on her and Paulette sank into the water, letting it ease her trembles.
Mabel unpinned her hair, pulled it over the side, and began to brush it. “Rest a minute while I untangle this.”
Paulette closed her eyes, but no restfulness came. “Hurry.”
“We’ll wash you up thoroughly, including your hair.”
“It will be wet when—”
“It smells a bit, Polly. I’ve brought the rosewater. And we’ll add a log to the fire in the grate if need be.”
There was indeed a low fire burning. No wonder the room felt so cozy.
When she’d been thoroughly washed, Mabel held up a lacy white gown. “Lady Hackwell sent this nightrail along. Said she’s never worn it.”
Paulette fingered the sheer silky fabric. “It’s very dear.”
Mabel grinned, her face reddening. “She said his lordship orders them by the dozen.”
Oh. Her face must be flaming also. She slipped the nightrail over her head and swept a hand over the lace. It was scandalous.
“Here is the robe.” Mabel helped her into the matching white silk and unwrapped her hair. “Now, over to the fire to dry off. Jenny and I will bring up the dinner, and then we’ll sendhimselfup.”
She nodded and let herself be led to a chair.
“Polly.”
