“Do you shop at Seymour’s?” Mrs. Frost sounded curious.
“I used to work for Mr. Seymour.”
Mary gave a spurt of laughter. “At his store in Ballarat! He said he planned to have a female choose his fabrics. He so loves his little mysteries. I shall tease him about falling in love with one of his employees, don’t doubt it.”
Mrs. Frost clicked her tongue. “Oh, you’re being too romantic. I wasn’t in love with Richard when I married him. My Papa thought of marriage as a business proposition, and if Starling knew the workings of Alasdair’s businesses... Was yours a love match, Mrs. Seymour?”
Starling blushed. “I shouldn’t say. Really.”
Mary widened her eyes. “It’s obvious Alasdair adores you. He needed to marry for no other reason.”
Mrs. Frost inclined her head, ending the subject. “Mary, what color is your bedroom?”
“Green. Such a soothing color, and I like the placement because the window overlooks the side garden. You have the yellow room next to ours, I believe. A view of the front street.”
“Yellow. Yes.” Mrs. Frost tightened her lips.
“You would look quite lovely in yellow,” Starling said, concentrating. The blonde had skin the color of a white peach. “It would be perfect on you, that or any other warm color.”
Mrs. Frost gave her a glance of affront. “I never wear anything but shades of lavender. Never. I dislike warm colors. Perhaps this headache was brought on by resting all afternoon in a yellow room.”
“More than likely from traveling for days. I would think yellow would brighten one’s mood rather than cause a headache,” Starling said without thinking.
“Perhaps I ought to go to my yellow room and dance for joy?”
“Dancing might be difficult with a headache,” Starling said with sympathy. Her head, too, seemed heavier than usual and her tongue had taken on thoughts of its own. She didn’t object to being meek. She just couldn’t seem to keep her mouth closed tonight.
“With your permission, then, I shall retire instantly. Could you add to your goodness and send me a cold compress?”
Starling blinked. “Of course.”
“How delightful it is not to have a fuss made over my headache.” Mrs. Frost rose, placing her napkin carefully on the table. With an uptilted chin, she left.
Paul grinned. “The journey here lost her two years of her life. She was nineteen when she met Alasdair, not seventeen. In a couple of days, she’ll be your age,” he said to Mary, who looked rueful.
Starling said, “I assume I’ve been a lax wife. Should I have offered her something else?”
“A left to the jaw,” said Paul.
“Don’t listen to him. I expect the long journey made her tired and headachy. Perhaps you could send up the rest of her meal on a tray. She likes to pick at her food.”
Starling giggled, then she covered her mouth with her hand. “How strange. Likely, she has never gone hungry.”
“Her parents were very rich and doted on her. Her father died just after her husband, and her mother died recently. In a few short years, she’s been left with no one. That would be dreadful. I think she should be allowed some leeway. It’s just hard to bear when she talks of Alasdair as her property. I’m sure you don’t like to hear that, either.”
Strangely, Starling didn’t, but she assumed that was because Mrs. Frost seemed to be a woman who didn’t like other women. Brought up by females and associating only with females most her life, Starling had a great deal of respect for her own sex. Perhaps she would like Mrs. Frost tomorrow. She liked Mary and Paul already.
She hoped she had acted out her part as well as Mr. Seymour would have wished. Rather than being told to act meekly, to be believable she should have been asked to make an effort to speak to his relatives. Now that she had, in her opinion the evening had been a mild success, except for not knowing her role well enough to ask a servant to assist Mrs. Frost.
Had the little girl not fallen in the well and Mr. Seymour not been put in the dangerous position of trying to get her out, Starling would be quietly triumphant. Mr. Seymour’s sister had accepted her without a blink, including the fact that she had worked for Mr. Seymour. Starling had to assume she was adequately managing the job he had asked of her.
With a smile that kept coming, she ate a big serving of jellied fruit.
* * * *
After removing his mud-caked shoes in the laundry, Alasdair strode through the dimly lit house to his bedroom. Light gleamed under his door. He moved across the threshold, almost surprised to see Starling asleep in his bed. Such was his preoccupation with getting Tammy safely in her parents’ arms, he had forgotten about the woman who shared his room. Her hair curled around a young face etched with weariness. Bearing in mind the to and fro-ing she’d done in the rain today, she had earned her rest.
He dropped his dirty clothes behind the dressing screen; washed as quietly as he could; and, chilled, slid into bed. With an ironic smile, he turned down the bedside lamp, remembering that until the rigors of Ballarat had left him with too little energy to waste, he’d agonized over Lavender sleeping with Richard Frost. He hoped she thought about him with his “wife.”
Starling stirred. “Did you get Tammy out?” Her voice was husky.
“About ten minutes ago.”
“I’m glad. Mrs. Burdon must be the happiest woman in the world right now.” Her arm moved, lightly resting against his turned back.
He tried to quell his reaction to the warm skin contact, but the truth was he was as horny as a goat. Thoughts of Lavender had been stirring him for hours. His body had been ripe and ready since he had walked into the house. “Don’t encourage me,” he said. “I’m too tired.” Pulling the sheet to his ears, he tried to will the ardor between his legs to disappear.
“You’re cold.” She sounded slurred. “I’ll warm you so that you can sleep.”
His toes curled and his body tightened. Doubtless, after going without for a while, she was as ready as he. “We agreed that you would be a wife in name only, remember?”
“Shh,” she said, as if trying to quiet an unruly child.
Her body curled against him. Her knees pressed into the backs of his. Feet like hot bricks rested on his calves. His breath grew forced. She spread her palm on his back.
“I think you’re bare,” she said in a surprised voice.
“You’d be right.” He tried to ignore his erection.
Her soft breath tickled the skin of his back. “Are you relaxed now?”
“Have you heard the term, ‘propagate or perish’?”
“No.”
“Of course not.” In the past, during times of stress or danger, he had known irresistible urges to have a woman, any woman. Although the danger from the collapse of the tunnel was over, the urge remained.
“It can’t have been easy in that muddy hole, and I’m sure you must have worried about losing Tammy when you were so close.”
“The tunneling was uncomfortable, I’ll admit. I didn’t think a lot about Tammy. More about the task.”
“But you would much rather have been here with your guests.”
“No.” He made a rueful mouth in the darkness. “I would rather have been tunneling. At home, I had an unsolved problem.”
“Nevertheless, you performed a brave deed. Are you warm enough now?”