Page 76 of A Prince Among Pirates
Despite the appeal of the smell of bacon, I once again find myself unable to eat.
As I stare into my tea and relive my last few moments on theDeliverance, the footman makes quick work of tidying my bed and selecting clothes for me to wear. I glance up in time to see him making the grievous error of choosing a matching rather than a coordinating waistcoat. I finish my tea and move to stand.“The red one,” I say, pointing. This I can focus on. I need a distraction, or I will break down in tears in front of this poor servant and humiliate us both.
He jumps, clearly startled that I am addressing him as he works. He turns to me, holding a gold waistcoat in his hands. “Pardon, my lord?”
“I cannot abide monotone ensembles,” I explain, taking the waistcoat from him. “If I am to wear a gold jacket and breeches, I would prefer a red or blue waistcoat. Red is absolutely delicious with gold.”
He stares at me, and I frown back at him. “Singular colors are sad and boring,” I say by way of elucidation.
Bless this young man—he blinks at me, and I see the moment he loses control, his mouth twitching before he smiles. He’s holding in a laugh, but that’s fine. He can laugh all he likes; it doesn’t make what I’ve said any less true.
“Of course,” he says, allowing a chuckle to escape as he takes back the gold waistcoat and returns it to the armoire. “Red it is.”
He pulls out a red waistcoat with gold trimmings. The gold is a darker shade than the silk of the jacket and breeches, and I smile widely to show that I’m pleased with the choice. “Perfect.”
“Shall I help you dress?”
“Yes,” I say, untying the robe as I approach the bed, where he has laid out the rest of my clothes for the day. “Will my father be in to see me soon?”
He hesitates, then steps up beside me to delicately lay the waistcoat out on the bed, before reaching for the white shirt hehas selected for me to wear. “I… believe so, my lord.”
What is with everyone giving me these halting half answers when it comes to my father? I turn to face the footman just as he is about to help me into my breeches. He freezes before we become a little too familiar with each other, then stands back upright to study me.
“Is something going on?” I ask. “No one will give me a straight answer about my father. Why am I locked in the prince’s old apartments?”
“I’m just a footman, sir,” he says, sounding almost pitiful enough to placate me.
“You know something.”
He sighs. “I know that your father will be in shortly to speak with you,” he says. “Which is why I would like to get you into a pair of breeches, so you aren’t forced to have an audience with him bare-assed.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, both of us realizing in the same instant that he has grossly overstepped. My mouth twitches, and Ialmostsmile despite myself.
“Fine, very well,” I say. “You make a compelling argument.”
I allow him to dress me and powder my throat and underarms with something that smells of orange and roses. He is meticulous as he does up each button and lace, and though his fingers move with the swift skill of long practice, he still checks his work. Finally, he takes a beautiful bit of Bordeaux silk and wraps it three times around my throat before tying it into a perfect looped knot.
I rather like this footman. Something about him reminds me of the family I lost at sea. The thought makes the breath in my lungs catch, and for a moment I feel as if I might suffocate. I dare not lose my senses in front of him—I couldn’t bear the humiliation on top of my grief. I force myself to exhale and tilt my head back, blinking the sting from my eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Thomas, sir.”
“Thomas,” I repeat with a nod. “Thank you, Thomas. Excellent work. You should be a valet.”
“I hope to be very soon, sir,” he says.
“Is that so?” I ask. “Have you an employer in mind?”
“His Majesty may see fit to place me within his household,” he says.
“Pity,” I say. “You’re utterly wasted on Henry. He’s dull as dishwater when he dresses.”
His eyes widen, and I can see that he wants to laugh, but also that he doesn’t dare laugh at the king, even in just my presence. I pat him on the shoulder. “I hope I’ll see you again.”
“I believe you will, my lord,” Thomas says with a smile that’s just a little too polite. He bows and turns to take my tray from the table, before leaving me alone with my grief and the lingering scent of bacon.
Two hours later I am tired and thoroughly annoyed from sitting up straight to keep my clothes from becoming creased. If I’m going to be dressed down by my father, I want at least to look mybest—which is difficult, as I am certain my eyes are rimmed with red from my failed attempts at keeping the tears at bay.
I must find out what’s happened to the crew of theDeliverance, or I’ll continue to have nightmares about Captain Sharpe’s feet dangling over the execution dock. When the door to the drawing room finally opens, I jump up, fully prepared to take up all the space in the room and demand answersbeforehe has a chance to start in on my inevitable tongue-lashing.
