Page 48 of A Much Maligned Miss

Reg squinted uncertainly at Gervaise’s dressing gown. “Kettle’s not long boiled, milord. If you want me to fill that up for you,” he said, nodding toward the wash jug Gervaise held in his hands.

Gervaise glanced down at it. He’d almost forgotten the wretched thing in the midst of his realization. “That would be helpful, thank you,” he said, handing over the chipped jug.

“Tea’s brewed if you want to take the young lady up a cup,” Reg said, then cleared his throat, turning rather red. He nodded toward an earthenware teapot.

Gervaise, who had never made anyone a cup of tea in his life, found himself casting about for a cup and saucer. Reg helpfully made for a nearby cupboard and swung open the door to reveal a haphazard collection of mismatched china. Gervaise nodded and selected a pairing of cup and saucer which least offended his eye.

Reg, he noticed with disfavor, had rolled up his shirtsleeves. Though his arms were certainly brawny, no one could ever accuse him of being “cheery.” “Tell me, Reg, are you familiar with a tune called ‘I’ve Been Roaming’? he asked.

“Never heard of it, milord.”

Gervaise nodded with satisfaction. “I am heartily pleased to hear it. Sugar?” he enquired. “Milk?”

“There’s sugar ’ere,” Reg said, nudging a jar in Gervaise’s direction. “But the milk smelled funny this morning, so I poured it down the sink. Effie will bring more along later, like as not.”

“I see.”

Five minutes later Gervaise mounted the stairs again, steaming jug in one hand and cup and saucer in the other. He eyed the tea feeling somewhat mystified about its existence. He had seen Caroline drink tea at breakfast the past few days, so he knew she drank the stuff but still…

He found her propped up on one elbow, stroking Romulus’s belly and talking to him in a low, sweet voice he imagined she would use to address an infant. She sat up at his entrance and cleared her throat, tugging self-consciously at her nightgown. This seemed odd to Gervaise as the thing could not possibly be any more encompassing.

He set the water jug down in the cracked basin and then perched on her side of the bed. “I made you tea,” he said, presenting cup and saucer.

Her face brightened and she took it from him. “Lovely.”

“There wasn’t any milk, but there was sugar.” She took a cautious sip. “How is it?” he asked curiously.

“Wonderful,” she assured him. “Nice and hot.”

“Was one teaspoon of sugar too little or too much?”

“Just right,” she answered at once and gave him a smile. “Why do you look like that?” she asked, seeing his frown.

“I doubt very much my debut cup is perfect. Besides, I imagined you would take milk.”

“Oh, I do, but I can do without when the occasion demands.”

“Tell me then, what would constitute a poor cup of tea in your opinion?”

“That’s easy. I hate it when it is stewed, or even worse, lukewarm. Or when it is too milky. I only like the veriest splash of milk.” He nodded, saving this information for later. “I am quite exacting in my standards, I assure you.”

“That’s good,” he answered, taking her hand in his. “You should have high standards and what’s more, you should hold me to them.” He pressed an absent kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I have business to attend to today,” he said in an abrupt change of subject. “I mean to collect a few essentials and see my man of business. Is there anything I can pick up for you?”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so, unless—” She hesitated, lowering her eyes. “That is, I do need a new nightgown, do I not?”

Gervaise’s eyes drifted down over the expanse of white cotton currently swathing her body. “You do,” he agreed. “Yet, I think this one has done you solid service so far.” Ignoring her puzzled expression, he stood up. “Now where is that boiled wool monstrosity you spoke of? Is it in your carpet bag?”

“I thought you did not want to clap eyes on my ugly dressing gown!” Caroline reminded him in surprised accents.

“I don’t, but I am going out, remember? You need to be decently arrayed when Reg comes up to the light the fire for you.”

“Oh! But surely, he is going to light the fire in the sitting room, not in here,” she objected as he retrieved and shook out the brown woolen garment.

“Even so, I need assurance you are both warm and seemly. Put out your arms,” Gervaise said, and performing yet another unaccustomed office, he buttoned her into her frumpy robe. “I thought modest young ladies were supposed to wear their hair in unbecoming braids when they went to bed,” he remarked critically, lifting the heavy curtain of her dark hair out of the way.

“Oh, they are. But you forget I am neither young nor modest these days.”

Ignoring this nonsense, he sat back to evaluate the result. Seeing she still looked far too pretty in it, he suffered a pang. If anything, its ugliness accentuated her good looks, by way of contrast. It was most unsatisfactory.