Page 49 of The Work of Art

She gave herself a little shake. Gracious heaven. There was no reason to act like a silly pea-goose. She was Arthur’s wife now. Naturally the servants would have put her in the room adjoining his. They didn’t know that she was his wife in name only.

Turning her attention back to her own bedroom, she spent a few more minutes in exploration, before sitting down at the draped dressing table and unpinning her hair. She brushed it through, a full hundred strokes, as she waited for Violet to come and help her undress.

The maid had obviously already been there once. The few belongings Philly had brought with her had been unpacked. Her rose soap and toothpowder were on the washstand, and her lawn nightgown was laid out on the end of the bed next to her ruffled white dressing gown. When she was done brushing her hair, she came and sat on the bed beside them for a while.

After a time, when Violet had still not arrived, Philly began to undress on her own.

She was able to strip down to her chemise and stays without too much trouble. However, when she attempted to unlace her stays, she found they were tied in an immoveable knot. She struggled with it, straining to see behind herself as she felt the laces with her fingers.

It was no use.

In her hurry to dress that morning, she’d tugged her laces so tight and tied them so securely that they could never be undone without a maid’s help.

With a heavy sigh, Philly sank down in the large velvet armchair in the corner of her room and waited for Violet to arrive. She debated summoning someone, but didn’t like to ring the bell pull so late at night. She was certain Violet had been waylaid with some task or other and would come eventually.

An hour passed.

Too tired to wait any longer, Philly resigned herself to going to bed in her stays. She rose from the chair.

And immediately stilled.

Voices sounded from the adjoining room, followed by the closing of a door. It was Arthur, finally retiring for the night. It sounded as though he’d just dismissed his valet.

Philly bit her lip. She didn’t want to sleep in her stays if she could avoid it. And Arthur was not only her husband, he was her friend. Surely, he wouldn’t mind unlacing her before he went to bed? She fretted over asking him for help, changing her mind several times before at last slipping on her dressing gown and going to the connecting door. She took a deep, steadying breath.

And then she knocked.

Arthur had already discarded his coat and cravat when he heard the tentative knock. A jolt of alarm shot through him. Philly had retired hours ago. He hadn’t expected to hear from her until the morning. Was something amiss?

He crossed the floor of his room and opened the connecting door, not giving a thought to his state of undress. His mouth opened, and—

Whatever he’d meant to say evaporated into the ether. He was confronted by a sight that robbed him of speech, as well as breath.

Philly was in her dressing gown, her dark auburn hair falling in a magnificent cascade around her shoulders.

It took him several seconds to compose himself. “What is it?” he asked gruffly. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I…” Philly’s gaze drifted from his chest, to his shoulders, and then to his bare neck. She moistened her lips. “It’s rather silly. The maid never came to help me undress—”

“Have you been waiting this whole time?”

“Yes, but—”

“I’ll ring for someone.”

“No.” She caught his arm as he began to move away. He stilled at her touch. “Please don’t, Arthur. It’s far too late, and now I’ve waited too long. It will be terribly embarrassing. I’ve managed very well myself, and there’s only a slight problem, which I hope you might help me with, and then I shall go to bed. I can start fresh with the servants tomorrow.”

Arthur frowned. He couldn’t for the life of him understand Philly’s concern over what the servants thought of her, but he had no intention of going against her wishes. “What would you like me to do?”

“I can’t get my stays untied.”

“Your stays?”

“I had to dress myself this morning, and I’ve somehow got the laces into a terrible tangle. I’ve been trying to unknot them myself for the last hour, but I fear I’ve only made things worse.”

His heart thumped hard. He didn’t know what to say. She was standing in front of him looking so beautiful and so vulnerable, and all at once he no longer felt merely protective of her, he felt possessive. She was his wife. No matter what arrangement had brought them to this point, she belonged to him now. Would it be so ungentlemanly, so dishonorable, to take her in his arms?

“Arthur, do you mind trying to untie them?” she asked.