Of primary concern were the threats Willard represented. But there were other, smaller considerations, too. For instance, before he brought her back to their home—theirhome—he’d need to find and hire a lady’s maid.
His mother could be of help, there…could she not?
Strange to see help where, before, he’d only understood obligation. And the change was not in his mother, but in himself, in the nuance he had never understood. Later today, after her visit with Lady Eltenham, he was to meet with her at the townhouse. Perhaps he could ask for her advice then. Ask for her advice and tell her how right he now knew she’d been.
Love was a necessary component of marriage.
If he hadn’t been aware of his love for Millie, he would not have been instinctively trying to understand and interpret everything she said in the best possible light. Her subtle, teasing digs might have invoked hubris over humor, anger over affection.
Thank goodness he was aware.
The light, slowly increasing though drawn curtains, illuminated her features. Though peaceful now, soon she would awaken. His Eve in the garden, suddenly aware she was naked and, at least in Millie’s case, cold, too.
The marvelously novel idea he’d had the night before—sleeping unclothed with his bride—had been, at best, indiscreet. The bed they’d shared hadn’t any curtains to pull closed against the morning chill. And, as the fires would first be lit in the duke’s bedchamber, and then, that of his sister, a good deal of time might pass before anyone thought of the guests on the third floor.
He had better seek out coal.
He forced himself out of the cozy nest of fabric, taking care that very little precious heat escaped. Quietly as he could, he moved toward the glowing embers. Then, he held a candlewick against one and waited, unclothed and shivering, for the blasted thing to ignite.
Finally, the string took to flame.
Making his way with faint illumination, he slipped inside the dressing room to retrieve a shirt and banyan. He muffled hismovements, ever aware that Gerard was likely still asleep in the trundle in the far corner. When the door to the servants’ stair opened, Neville nearly jumped out of his skin.
At least he wasn’t nearly as aware of the cold, now.
“You gave me a fright,” he whispered.
Gerard set down his lantern and then the bucket of coal he’d been carrying in his other hand. “As you know,” he intoned, “the house is short of staff. Given the room’s state, I presumed you would prefer I tend to the fire.”
“Excellent man!” He blinked in the darkness, more aware than he’d ever been of how often—howwell—Gerard anticipated his every need. “Such work is far beneath your dignity.”
Amusement briefly ghosted Gerard’s features. “But not, apparently, yours?”
“I was preparing to go downstairs. I didn’t want Mi—my lady to awake to the cold.”
“Very good. Shall I just…?” Gerard picked up the bucket and attempted to pass.
“Ah—no. I will take in the coals.”
“You?” This time, rare humor fully uplifted Gerard’s lips. “Use a poker to remove the ash, spread a thin layer of coal, wait for a blue flame to appear, and then add another layer for good measure.”
As Neville had only sporadically needed to attend to such things himself, he was grateful for the reminder not to too be too hasty in shoveling out the coal.
“Don’t concern yourself with the ash and the clinkers. I will collect them in the housemaid’s box later today,” Gerard continued. “Sally has placed my lady’s things on the shelf closest to the door. And I have emptied the tin footwarmer of sand and coal and filled it with hot water instead. I intended to pour some into the bowl on the table for my lady.”
“Brilliant,” he sighed. “Thank you.”
“And for you?” Gerard queried.
He rubbed his stubbled cheeks. “Might you set up a shave in another room on this floor?”
“The fires are unlit,” Gerard reminded.
Neville shivered. “Lighting them would be a waste.” He paused. “Where did you shave?”
“Below stairs. In a room off the kitchens.”
“Then that’s where I will go as well.”