Page 65 of The Mad Baron's Bride
Leda paused outside the half-open door of the nursery, hearing the murmur of girlish voices within. Part of her hesitated to intrude on the happy circle, not certain she’d be welcomed. She’d come to ensure that Ellinore felt at home, that she’d been seen to and put at her ease. She also wanted to show Muriel that she cared about the girl for her own sake, and not because Leda was desperately fascinated with her father.
Yet she hardly felt she should be among innocent children after what she had just done downstairs with Jack. The indecency of her actions might be writ on her face, and they would perceive the signs her lust and not be innocent any longer.
Lust. Pleasure. Ecstasy, really. She felt flushed with it, her body languid and humming. She’d been a complete wanton, pushing herself at him, but she’d been seized with the powerful wish to erase, if she could, the self-loathing on his face. She couldn’t bear that he was not supremely confident in knowing, down to his fingertips, how wonderful he was, how fine his character, how noble his heart, how sound his intellect, how splendid—so very splendid—his body.
A kiss had seemed a logical way to show him all this. One kiss of reassurance. And instead, she had been transformed witha new knowledge of her body’s desires. He’d unleashed a side of her she’d never acknowledged, primal, full of passion.
And, heaven help her, now that she knew what pleasure was with him, she wanted it again. And again. And again.
“—doesn’t know?” Ellinore’s voice, hushed and curious. “Hant no one told her?”
“She’d leave my father flat.” This from Muriel. “She wouldn’t want him anymore. It’s why no one here does.”
Another noise followed, a creak as the wooden rocker shifted, then a sound between a sniffle and a hiss.
“Thought that’s what you wanted,” Ellinore said. “For her to be on her way.”
Silence stretched out, and then another voice, one she didn’t recognize. Not Grace. Not May. A low, guttural utterance, more like a moan.
“I donotlike her,” Muriel flared. “I said I want her gone, and I do.”
“But she bought ribbons for Nanette, dint she?” Ellinore said. “Here, chick, come about and I’ll fix tha proper.”
Leda told herself to leave, go to her room, as she’d told Jack she was doing when she left him in the small parlor downstairs after dinner. No good would come of eavesdropping as the girls discussed her. They had a right to their own opinion of her, whether they knew of her shamelessness with their father or not.
She’d paused in her step, dallying in the hall outside the nursery, because the exchange of confidences between sisters made her nostalgic for a tender time in her own life when she and her sister had stayed up nights whispering to one another about anything and everything, while the moon floated past their window like a double Gloucestershire cheese that monthly was eaten and then filled up again.
She’d been so pleased, absurdly so, when it had seemed Muriel wanted to name her little corn dolly Judith, after Ledahad remarked on the woman’s cleverness. She ought to have known better.
Muriel made an outraged huff. Through the slit in the door Leda saw her dart forward, lift her hand, jab at something. She came back holding a ribbon. “That one’s for Judith,” Muriel cried. “You can’t have them all, you little greedy guts.”
She busied herself tying the ribbon about the little doll. “Clever Judith,” she crooned. “Pretty Judith.”
“Whiff, now you’ve made her mad,” Nora said. “Is the little cat going to bite us?”
Muriel tossed her head. “Dint you see all the marks I have from her? You’ll have your share soon enough, I shink.”
Who was with them at this hour? Leda wondered. Grace and May, after work from dawn to dusk, ought to be well in their beds. She’d sent the tea things back with May an hour ago for precisely that reason, so someone wasn’t waiting up for her while she sat in the parlor, spinning out all the time she could with Jack.
“Whiff, don’t let that Grace hear you speak Norfolk.” Ellinore moved behind Muriel, both girls visible now through the slit of light falling through the door. Leda was ashamed to realize she’d inched closer. “Though how we’re to understand a word in her Wiltshire dialect, I’m bound I don’t know. Worse than Nanny.”
A response to this came from deeper within the room, a point which had fixed both girls’ attention. It was a low drone of a voice, but Leda couldn’t make out the words. Whatever their content, they made Muriel laugh. Ellinore shook her head with a rueful smile.
“But your da hant said a thing neither? I don’t see how the all of you?—”
The door creaked beneath Leda’s hand. She only wanted a peek. The girls were looking at someone—who was with them?
The girls whirled toward the door, Ellinore’s face surprised and wary, Muriel’s full of horror. A muffled sound came within, much like the mewl of a kitten, then a thump. Leda pushed the door further.
“Is ought amiss?”
Muriel’s mouth worked but produced no speech.
“You’ve just caught us heading to bed, missus,” Ellinore said. “That’s what we’re about, innit, Muriel?”
Muriel rolled her eyes about the room like a frightened rabbit. Leda followed her gaze. The door to the inner room, the bedroom, stood open and dark. Leda had never been inside there but saw the outline of a cot placed near the wall, no doubt an addition for Ellinore. They would have to see about getting her a proper room; she was old enough for it. The wardrobe in the nursery was shut up, the bookshelves all orderly. Three plates and cups sat on at the little table, their tea things not yet put away.
Leda walked across the room, spotting a splash of color. The wooden floor creaked as she bent and lifted a length of ribbon.
