Aria couldn’t tell her that the marquess plagued her thoughts all night or that seeing him now made her dizzy. “I was thinking of my family.”
“Oh, Aria,” Sarah cooed and went to her. “You will return to them. I just know you will find the way.”
Aria nodded. Her gaze involuntarily flicked to the marquess. He was watching her with a warm glint in his eyes.
“Sarah,” he said. His voice was gentle but authoritative, “bring your lady some food. I’m certain she hungers.”
“Yes, m’lord. Right away.”
They both watched Sarah hurry off, then Aria flicked her blankets off and hung her legs over the mattress to leave the bed. She’d never had breakfast in bed, and she didn’t want to start now. It would be one of those little things that would help spoil her for her real world where her fatherhadto be fed intravenously in his bed every day for the rest of whatever was left of his life.
She noticed that the marquess turned his face to look away from her. Was it because she was in her nightgown and her legs were exposed?
She gave the back of his head a slight smile. This was the same man who, while he was dancing, could flash a woman a look that made her snap her fan open and wave it furiously in front of her face. Even women sitting with their fathers who had been threatened by him five minutes earlier. But at the sight of Aria’s bare legs, he became shy.
There was too much to like about him. She didn’t think he was a tyrant. He might be short and dispassionate with others, but he wasn’t cruel to them. Sarah was one of Dartmouth’s servants and she was in love with its lord, despite his allegedly having something to do with her father’s death. He couldn’t be all that bad, unless, like the duke of Hamilton’s daughter, Sarah would forgive him anything.
“Are you going to stare at the wall the whole time?”
“Only if you don’t return to your bed,” he replied just as coolly.
“I have to use the…I have to—” She pointed quickly to the linen partition in the shadowy corner of the room. If she lived here, God forbid, for the rest of her life, she would never get accustomed to urinating in a metal pot.
He caught on and nodded, then without another word, he left the room.
Aria breathed. It didn’t help, she still felt faint. How could he look so good in the mor—oh, right. Never mind. She’d never slept in so late in her life. Her thoughts felt scrambled.
She was able to clean up without his face or his voice haunting her, but only because her stomach was growling with hunger.
When Sarah returned with a tray of porridge, some berries, fresh bread, butter and honey, she was alone.
“Did the marquess leave?” Aria tried to sound nonchalant and appear unfazed when Sarah informed her that he had, indeed, left. Why else would he stay? “I believe he went to the coffee house.”
“Coffee?” Aria didn’t even know there was coffee in 1795. She looked at the tray being set down on the bed by Sarah. There was no coffee.
“Yes. It is served at the coffee house. Will sometimes goes but my mother says the drink only serves to make a person quick-tempered and shaky.”
“Caffeine,” Aria said with a longing sigh.
“Hmm?”
“Sarah,” she said as she sat in the bed and picked at her food. “I’d like to go to the coffee house.” Oh, how she wanted a cup of coffee.
“Oh, Aria, you cannot go to the coffee house!”
“Why not?” She tasted her porridge. It was bland, but she was hungry and thankful.
“Women are banned from going.”
Aria stopped eating. “Hmm? What was that? Women are banned? Why?”
Sarah shook her head. “I do not know.”
Aria flung her legs over the side of the bed for the second time that day. “I’ll find out!” She looked around the room and, draped over a velvet settee, she saw a pretty, short-sleeved olive-green gown that looked to be silk, volumes of petticoats in white muslin fabric, and a matching green bodice and caraco with full-length, tight sleeves. She went to the gown and ignoring the skirts, pulled the silky fabric over her chemise and pockets. It fell loose on her, a size too big, but after Sarah cinched it below her breasts, it fit better.
“You look romantic and beautiful,” Sarah told her, backing up to have a better look at her after she combed Aria’s hair and pinned it up, leaving a single curl to dangle over her shoulder. “Will I lose him to you?”
Aria’s blood felt as if it were draining from her body. She liked Sarah, and she owed her much. She didn’t want to be having this conversation with her. “Is he yours to lose?”