Read Online The Kidnapped Bride by Amanda Scott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Amanda Scott
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dressed in buff breeches, a coat of blue superfine, and a gold Florentine waistcoat. His cravat was well-starched and tied in the intricate Mathematical style that he favored, and his topboots shone like polished obsidian and sported immaculate white uppers. Sarah suddenly had the thought that, though Beck was insolent, obnoxious, and generally impossible, he did seem to know his job. The Earl of Moreland was precise to a pin. He looked at her appraisingly.
“Minister arrives about half past ten, m’dear. That gives you an hour and a half. Would you like a bath?”
Her eyes lit. “Oh, yes! But it is not enough time to wash and dry my hair.”
“Never mind your hair. Looks fine, and you’ll have plenty of time later to wash it. But, if you want a bath I’ll have Tom and Beck bring up a tub.” He left soon after that, and it was not long before Beck and Tom, carrying a huge tub between them, entered the room. Several trips later, the tub was filled with steaming water and she was alone again.
In less than a twinkling, she was soaking in the tub, lathering herself with French scented soap. It was deliciously relaxing. She stayed until the water began to turn cold and then, regretfully, stepped out and dried herself. It was but a few moments work after that to slip on a clean chemise and her white muslin evening gown. It had been washed and pressed since the evening before, and she supposed Beck must have done it. The notion struck her as being an odd one, but she could not imagine either Matty or old Tom doing an acceptable job of it. She adjusted her sash and slipped her feet into the pair of matching satin slippers before turning her attention to her hair.
She had pinned it up in a straggly knot on top of her head for her bath. Now she took out the pins and let the heavy mass fall over her shoulders and down her back. Definitely, her hair missed Lizzie’s attention even more than she did herself.
Lizzie loved Sarah’s hair and cared for it lovingly. At a time when most young ladies cropped and crimped at least their foremost tresses, Lizzie totally approved of her mistress’s luxuriously long, thick mane. She brushed it nightly and washed it with scented water every six days without fail. Her nimble fingers coaxed it into intricate and fascinating styles that were always much admired. Miss Lennox-Matthews’ lovely, honey-bronze hair was nearly her hallmark, but Miss Lennox-Matthews was confounded by the task of managing it herself. She stared now at her reflection in the mirror. Steam from her bath had left becoming little curly wisps around her face, but the rest was dull and tangled. With a sigh, she picked up her brush and dragged it through the thick tresses. It took nearly half an hour to brush it into sufficient order to please Sarah. She wished she could do something with it, however, to keep it away from her face. She was tired of continually having to confine it behind her ears with a ribbon and was still glaring at her reflection when Darcy, after a perfunctory knock, entered to inform her of the parson’s arrival.
“Why such a face, m’dear? You look wonderful.”
“I was wishing my fingers were as clever as Lizzie’s with my hair,” she admitted. “I can’t do anything with it.”
“Suits me to a cow’s thumb,” he said firmly. “Don’t go messing about with it. Told you that before. Come along now. Parson’s waiting.” He gave her a straight look as she moved toward him, and she stopped, puzzled by the expression on his face. Not taking his eyes from hers, he placed both hands on her shoulders. “Look here, Sarah,” he said evenly, “you haven’t got any notions of last-minute rebellion, have you?”
She shook her head. “Have no fear, my lord,” she said quietly. “I have no intention of enacting a Cheltenham tragedy for Mr. Stanley’s benefit. You have quite succeeded in making this ceremony nearly as important to me as it is to yourself.”
Satisfied, he offered her
“Minister arrives about half past ten, m’dear. That gives you an hour and a half. Would you like a bath?”
Her eyes lit. “Oh, yes! But it is not enough time to wash and dry my hair.”
“Never mind your hair. Looks fine, and you’ll have plenty of time later to wash it. But, if you want a bath I’ll have Tom and Beck bring up a tub.” He left soon after that, and it was not long before Beck and Tom, carrying a huge tub between them, entered the room. Several trips later, the tub was filled with steaming water and she was alone again.
In less than a twinkling, she was soaking in the tub, lathering herself with French scented soap. It was deliciously relaxing. She stayed until the water began to turn cold and then, regretfully, stepped out and dried herself. It was but a few moments work after that to slip on a clean chemise and her white muslin evening gown. It had been washed and pressed since the evening before, and she supposed Beck must have done it. The notion struck her as being an odd one, but she could not imagine either Matty or old Tom doing an acceptable job of it. She adjusted her sash and slipped her feet into the pair of matching satin slippers before turning her attention to her hair.
She had pinned it up in a straggly knot on top of her head for her bath. Now she took out the pins and let the heavy mass fall over her shoulders and down her back. Definitely, her hair missed Lizzie’s attention even more than she did herself.
Lizzie loved Sarah’s hair and cared for it lovingly. At a time when most young ladies cropped and crimped at least their foremost tresses, Lizzie totally approved of her mistress’s luxuriously long, thick mane. She brushed it nightly and washed it with scented water every six days without fail. Her nimble fingers coaxed it into intricate and fascinating styles that were always much admired. Miss Lennox-Matthews’ lovely, honey-bronze hair was nearly her hallmark, but Miss Lennox-Matthews was confounded by the task of managing it herself. She stared now at her reflection in the mirror. Steam from her bath had left becoming little curly wisps around her face, but the rest was dull and tangled. With a sigh, she picked up her brush and dragged it through the thick tresses. It took nearly half an hour to brush it into sufficient order to please Sarah. She wished she could do something with it, however, to keep it away from her face. She was tired of continually having to confine it behind her ears with a ribbon and was still glaring at her reflection when Darcy, after a perfunctory knock, entered to inform her of the parson’s arrival.
“Why such a face, m’dear? You look wonderful.”
“I was wishing my fingers were as clever as Lizzie’s with my hair,” she admitted. “I can’t do anything with it.”
“Suits me to a cow’s thumb,” he said firmly. “Don’t go messing about with it. Told you that before. Come along now. Parson’s waiting.” He gave her a straight look as she moved toward him, and she stopped, puzzled by the expression on his face. Not taking his eyes from hers, he placed both hands on her shoulders. “Look here, Sarah,” he said evenly, “you haven’t got any notions of last-minute rebellion, have you?”
She shook her head. “Have no fear, my lord,” she said quietly. “I have no intention of enacting a Cheltenham tragedy for Mr. Stanley’s benefit. You have quite succeeded in making this ceremony nearly as important to me as it is to yourself.”
Satisfied, he offered her
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