Page 29 of Rakes & Reticules
“Well, as I’m sure you’ve gleaned, I am not like most women.”
“Indeed.” This petite sprite was unlike any woman he had ever met.
Then, before the sprouts of sympathy that had dared try to influence him had a chance to take root and grow, he slammed from the chamber.
What was he to do with her?
What a bloody conundrum.
CHAPTERFIVE
The same bedchamber
One week later – afternoon
Siobhan thought she might scream from boredom. She turned away from the window overlooking the bustling street and, folding her arms around her middle, paced across the gold and Persian blue Aubusson carpet once more.
The plush pile squishing beneath her toes felt divine.
This is only temporary, she reminded herself, lest she become accustomed to the luxury as she feared Paddy and Kimber had already begun to do.
She’d felt wholly recovered the past two days, yet that handsome, stubborn donkey’s bottom who practically held her prisoner refused to let her leave her richly appointed chamber. In truth, Fletcher had ordered her to stay abed—doctor’s orders, he said—but her muscles needed exercising.
Her mind as well.
Unaccustomed to idleness, Siobhan was ready to climb the walls of the lavish chamber furnished with a rosewood four-poster bed, armoire, dressing table, nightstands, sitting table, and two tufted gold brocade chairs.
Like the rest ofDe la Chance,royal blue, gold, and black accents decorated the bedchamber. The gold and blue brocade draperies perfectly complimented the blue velvet damask wallpaper and the trompe-l’oeil ceiling, complete with plump cherubs. Rather than overbearing, the color combination created an air of understated elegance, which was undoubtedly what Fletcher Westbrook wanted.
Last evening, footmen and maids had delivered a much-welcome bath and fresh nightgown to Siobhan’s chamber. She’d washed her hair and let the mass hang loose to dry.
After so many months of hiding her hair—her one vanity—Siobhan couldn’t bring herself to plait the waist-length tresses again. Hence, the locks hung loose, swaying with her aggravated steps.
At least the beast had conceded to allow Paddy and Kimber to visit each morning and evening, though why he’d changed his mind, Siobhan didn’t have a clue. Kimber’s ailment was nothing more serious than a summer cold from which she’d recovered. Paddy remained unafflicted but had acquired a serious case of hero worship.
Both children sang Fletcher Westbrook’s praises until Siobhan was hard put not to snap at them.
“Mr. Westbrook bought me new boots.”
“Look at my pretty shoes.”
“Mr. Westbrook has Mrs. Dough make us different biscuits every day.”
“Mr. Westbrook says we might read in his private salon.”
“Mr. Westbrook is so kind.”
“Mr. Westbrook is so generous.
“Did you know Mr. Westbrook has six brothers and a sister?”
“Mr. Westbrook’s father is a duke.”
Siobhan knew the latter two facts because she had struck up a friendship with Primrose McKessick before the former bookkeeper had married Leonidas Westbrook.
A pang twinged in her chest.
She missed her only friend, even if Primrose hadn’t known Siobhan was a woman.
