The Greatest Lover in All England by Christina Dodd

Author:Christina Dodd
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 1994-05-26T16:00:00+00:00

15

Where is the life that late I led?

—THE TAMING OF THE SHREW, IV, i, 134

The fire burned on the massive hearth, but the heat it produced could not dent the chill of the master’s chamber. Tony pushed Rosie within that embrace and, removing her cloak, threw it into the corner, where it subsided in a sodden mass. She stood cold, unmoving, her face still blotched, but blank, as if she did not know where she was or what person served her.

It horrified him. It made him remember a time when he was a boy, alone in a big house in the north, thrust by his beloved family into the bosom of a frigid clan and abandoned.

Oh, it wasn’t true. Even as a child, he’d known it wasn’t true. The memory of his mama had burned in his mind, keeping his spirit alive when the earl of Drebred and his rod would have murdered it. For days, for weeks, for years he had waited to be rescued from Drebred Castle, and at last he’d come to realize he must rescue himself. He’d done it. Damn, he’d done it, but his exile had been too long and too unhappy. Within himself, he was still as sunny a lad as he’d always been, but for a different reason. He knew only too well how quickly life could lose its savor and become a fight for survival. Now he erected bastions around him—bastions of income, of land, of fighting skill, and relentless charm.

Looking at Rosie, limp, still, and silent, recalled his own old hopelessness, and he’d already fought that battle once for himself. Rather than fight it again for Rosie, he wanted to call a maidservant to wait upon her, a doctor to bleed her, and on heaven to cure her ills—and all he dared to do was call on heaven. Rosie was his responsibility now.

Brisk as Jean, kind as Ann, he stripped off Rosie’s overskirt and bodice, and went to work on the strings that supported her petticoats. “I don’t blame you for being distraught at Sir Danny’s leaving today. ’Tis a miserable day for travel. The roads will be a quagmire, but what are his choices? ’Tis St. Nicholas Day tomorrow, and the winter rains have held off long as they’re likely, I suspect. The country folk complain if it’s a dry autumn and they complain if it’s a wet autumn, but they’re predicting a long, wet winter.”

She wasn’t listening. She turned at his direction, let him remove what he would, but she stared straight ahead as if stunned by events too dreadful to absorb.

He opened the door to the antechamber, a massive room that contained his favorite volumes, a small desk, chests, and tall standing wardrobes filled with clothing, shoes, and anything else he might need. “Come in here and help me find you something to wear.” Seeing that she followed him, he moved inside, opened a chest, and rummaged through the contents. “After you’ve made your choice, I’ll call a serving maid to help you.

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