The Duke's Bidding

Chapter 29

"Here you are, Miss," Alice said. "Did you have a nice supper?"

"Yes, dinner was lovely, thank you." Elizabeth tottered over to the wooden boudoir seat. She squirmed uncomfortably as she pulled at her hairpins.

"Let me help you, Miss." The maid rushed over to assist her.

"Thank you, Alice."

"Did you meet the other visitors? Ah, I can't imagine the many places they have all traveled. If I was given a chance—of course I would be afraid, but I bet it will be marvelous to sail the seas, and encounter people from other lands. How wonderful to experience traveling the world."

Elizabeth wanted to correct the assumption that living on board ships would be wonderful, but she didn't want to dampen the girl's exuberance. She imagined myriads of adventures at that age. The reality of what women were allowed to do was disheartening, though that didn't change much if one was of noble lineage or a commoner. Yes, she would allow the girl to imagine. Perchance we can ask Mei about her adventures.

"Would you like me to make you anything before bed, Miss?"

"Just help me with my stays," she answered wearily. "I think I overdid things tonight. Perhaps I should have retired earlier."

"Are you in much pain, Miss?" Alice continued to brush Elizabeth's hair. "Would you like me to fetch you some laudanum?"

"That won't be necessary." Elizabeth hated the aftereffects of the painkiller. She would rather suffer the constant twinge than join the ranks of those lost to oblivion. No, thank you just the same. Elizabeth perused the novels stacked on the writing desk. She balanced the container Mei had given her and the book in her right hand shuffled toward the bed.

"Here let me," the maid rushed around her and lowered the bedclothes.

"Anything else Miss?"

"Thank you, Alice. That will be all."

The maid spent another minute picking up around the room, added more logs to the fire before quietly slipping out.

Elizabeth climbed into the fourposter bed and adjusted the linen around her. She pried the lid off the jar of salve and applied a pea size amount on her neck, where yellow tints showed signs of the toll her body had taken at Fredrick's hands. Her skin tingled as she spread the ointment in small circles.

Placing a generous blob on her palm, Elizabeth eyed the salve as it warmed against her hand. What a novel idea, the ointment, now liquid glistened on her hand as she lifted her nightgown to apply the blend to her ribs, wincing at the pressure. The medicinal scent of the liniment was refreshing. Soon her skin warmed, soothing the ache. She rather liked this combination of peppermint and whatever this woodsy aroma was. I should ask Mei about the ingredients.

Returning the jar to her bed side table, Elizabeth reached for the book The Romance of the Pyrenees by Catherine Cuthbertson. The book seemed to be a serialized Gothic turned into a collection, not quite a novel, with a heroine of Italian descent. Cuthbertson had managed to throw in every trope in the genre, from the outlandish aristocrats to brazen banditos. Castles, convents, shipwrecks, trapdoors, and secret passages were strewn all over the story, and quite a number of swooning's.

The account was so bizarre that Elizabeth could not help but leaf through to discover the next revenge plot and counterplot. Cuthbertson's characters never just breathed, they respired and when they didn't swoon they hid their identities in ridiculous disguises. It was sometime before the umpteenth swoon finally annoyed Elizabeth enough to close the book. She tossed the volume on the bed and was about to blow out the candle when a gentle rat-a-tat sounded at the adjoining door.