Her Rebel Lord

Surely it was not the redcoat from the Whore’s Eye. ’Twould be too great a coincidence. And yet, why not? Papa was retired from the King’s Army. But if it was the same man, he might recognise her. But she had kept the hood of her cape up. Hadn’t she? She could not remember. And there were precious few redheads around.

What a muddle. Perhaps she would have Lizzie powder her hair, even though it was usually done only for formal occasions. The man might not have seen her clearly enough. And she had been drenched and bedraggled. Nor would he expect to see the woman of last night here. It might be enough disguise.

Jenna levered herself up, wincing at the stiffness in her muscles. She had done too much lifting last night with Gavin, but there had been no acceptable alternative. She hoped her cousin was comfortable until she could get to him.

‘What time is it, Lizzie?’ The clock was on the bed table beside her, too close for her to see clearly without her glasses. She had left them on her work table.

The older woman turned her ruddy, lined face to Jenna. Frizzed white hair framed her round cheeks. ‘Past eleven.’

‘What?’ Jenna bolted upright, ignoring the insistent twinge of her abused body. ‘Eleven! I never sleep past eight, even in the winter.’

‘Not normally, no.’ Lizzie moved to plump the pillows behind Jenna. ‘But Joshua says you were out late last night with a birthing. It must have been a difficult one.’

The maid lifted one eyebrow, waiting for Jenna to explain where she had been. Joshua was the stable boy who must have seen her horse gone.

Jenna took a breath and told her lie, unable to meet Lizzie’s eyes. ‘It was a premature call. The babe is near and the father got overexcited.’ She smiled as though the falsehood was truth.

Lizzie snickered. ‘Ever like a man to rush things.’

Jenna flushed. No stranger to what happened between a man and a woman, she understood her maid’s underlying meaning. More times than she could count, she had heard women whispering how a man wanted his pleasure with no regard for the woman. And then look where it landed her, and with none of the delights to make up for the pain and danger.

And yet…she felt the phantom touch of The Ferguson’s mouth on hers. Her toes curled and her breath caught.

To cover her reaction, she pushed back the covers and swung her feet off the bed. Chill air hit her. She grabbed for her nearby woollen robe and hustled into it before going to the fire. She extended her hands and turned slow circles, hoping the warmth would wipe out the tingle she still felt from the memory of Duncan’s kiss.

‘What have you laid out for me to wear?’ Better to think of something different.

Lizzie picked up a teal-satin pet-en-l’air jacket trimmed with heavy lace. There was a quilted cream-satin petticoat and lace-edged kerchief lying on a nearby chair. A matching round-eared muslin cap completed the outfit. Jenna smiled her approval. Simple as she liked, yet warm enough for the winter day after she layered her chemise and another petticoat under it all.

‘That should be perfect.’

‘I should say so.’ Lizzie sniffed. ‘I might not be French trained or spend months in London, miss, but I know what’s proper.’ She cast a look at Jenna. ‘And what becomes you.’

‘True. You have a good eye.’ Not everything looked equally well with Jenna’s ginger hair and freckles.

Ah, freckles. She crossed the room to her mirror and wash basin and peered at her reflection. Muddy brown splotches marched across her nose. She reached for the milk wash and set about scrubbing her face.

Lizzie harrumphed. ‘No matter how you rub, those won’t come off, Miss Jen. I doan care what the advertisement says.’

Jenna rinsed with ice-cold water, her teeth chattering. Her complexion glowed like polished glass, but the freckles remained. She groaned. Now she looked like a milkmaid.

‘Best I dress.’ She did not try to hide her disappointment. Lizzie knew how she hated the brown spots. ‘Papa is likely getting impatient.’

‘Hah! He was impatient when he sent me to waken you.’ Lizzie picked up the freshly cleaned and ironed chemise as Jenna stepped out of her nightdress.

‘Oh, dear.’ Jenna hated upsetting Papa. He was so loving that she did everything she could to ease his day. Keeping him waiting was not what she normally did.

‘Here, now.’ Lizzie held out the stays.

Jenna groaned. She preferred to go without as The Ferguson had discovered last night. But when she couldn’t…

She sucked in her breath and held it. It was her little rebellion. Lizzie pulled the stays tight and secured them. Only when she was sure the maid was done did Jenna let her breath out. This way her stays were always a little looser than they would otherwise be. She might not have the smallest waist, but she was more comfortable than most women and she did not believe that having a tiny waist was worth not being able to breathe properly.

Except… The memory of The Ferguson lifting her last night and commenting on her lack of stays brought heat to her already rosy cheeks. She had felt so vulnerable, actually feeling the print of each of his fingers along her waist. Stays kept a woman from feeling much when touched. But last night, she had felt everything. She shivered.

‘I’ll have you dressed in just another moment, and you’ll be much warmer.’

Jenna grinned at Lizzie’s mistaken understanding. ‘Thank you.’

Once she was dressed, Jenna sat for Lizzie to style her hair. The maid wound Jenna’s curls close to the head as fashion dictated.

In her best, nonchalant tone, Jenna drawled, ‘I believe I would like it powdered this morning.’

Lizzie’s eyes opened wide. ‘I must have heard you wrong, miss.’

Jenna resisted the urge to grit her teeth. ‘No, you did not. I want it powdered this morning.’

Lizzie shook her head. ‘Even I know that isn’t done.’ She raised one grey brow. ‘And even when it should be done, you refuse.’

Jenna lifted her chin. ‘I can and will do exactly as I please, thank you.’

Lizzie met Jenna’s eyes in the mirror. ‘You always were stubborn when you set your mind to something.’

Jenna forced a tight smile. ‘Yes. And I intend to do as I please, not as fashion dictates.’

With a sigh of resignation, Lizzie fetched the flour and the cape to put around Jenna’s shoulders to protect her clothing. Several breath-holding, eyes-squeezed-shut minutes later, it was done. Lizzie pinned the muslin cap with teal ribbons on Jenna’s now-white hair. Her toilette was finished, except for teal stockings and plain black leather shoes that were both comfortable and practical.

‘You’ll do,’ Lizzie said proudly. ‘In spite of the hair,’ she added in an affronted undertone.

Jenna ignored the last comment. A glance in the mirror told her she looked as well as could be expected, even if she was slightly outrageous with the powdered hair. She would never be a beauty, but she was clean and well groomed in a casual way that suited her. And the powdered hair suited her complexion.

More importantly, she did not look like the drenched rat from the Whore’s Eye last night.

She stood and smoothed down her skirt. ‘Then I will be on my way.’

Unwilling to let her charge go without gilding, Lizzie stopped her. ‘You should wear that strand of pearls your mama left you.’ She gave her a sly look. ‘They would go very nicely with the hair.’

Jenna froze. She dared not let Lizzie—or anyone—see that her jewellery was missing. The pieces should be with Gavin’s horse, which was with The Ferguson. What a tangle the disguise of the hair had created.

She waved her hand in a dismissive way. ‘Oh, that would be too much. I am not dressing for Papa’s guest.’

Lizzie arched one greying eyebrow. ‘What if he’s an eligible bachelor?’

‘I am not looking for a marriage partner, Lizzie, and you know that. Papa needs me.’

Lizzie sniffed. ‘Iff’n you ask me,’ twould be the best thing for both of you.’

‘Well, I am not asking you.’